Page 25 of For the Love of the Quest

Until the sharp angles of Thomasin’s face came into view, inches from her own face. A hand brushed the sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face and then cupped her cheek. Thomasin’s hazeleyes were soft and hard all at once. Terrified, but determined. “I’ve got you. I’m going to take care of you.”

Something inside Edith unlatched. The panic was still there, of course it was. But she knew that Thomasin would get her through this. If there was anyone she could be strong for, if there was anyone who could make her strong, it was Thomasin. Edith nodded, teeth biting into the leather.

Thomasin’s hand flexed against her cheek, and then in a move that shocked Edith perhaps more than anything else, the woman bent over her and pressed her lips against Edith’s forehead.

Before she could even begin to have a single thought about it, though, her entire being was consumed with inescapable, torturous fire.

Her jaw clamped down, her scream muffled by the leather strap. The smell of burning flesh invaded her nose, making her stomach heave. The pain was fiery hot and ice-cold all at the same time. There was no escape from it, no reprieve as wave after wave of indescribable anguish crashed throughout every nerve ending in her shoulder.

She made the mistake of looking down. At the sight of the red-hot dagger pressed flat against her wound, her ruined skin sizzling and bubbling, she finally lost consciousness.

Chapter Twelve

The inn smelled like damp wood and old lettuce. But they were lucky that it had only been a few minutes’ ride away from where Edith had fallen off her horse. Even luckier that they had a room available. Jay had carried Edith’s still-unconscious form up the steep wooden stairs as Thomasin paid for the room with the silver she’d taken off the highwaymen.

Now, she sat in a rickety chair that made her lower back hurt and watched Edith closely. The slow rise and fall of her chest. Her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. It had been almost two hours, and she still hadn’t woken. Thomasin had managed to barter with the innkeeper for some clean bandages. The snugly wrapped straps of white linen were a stark contrast against the faded beige of the bedsheets. Beneath the bandages was the thick paste that Jay had applied in an even layer over the burned and blistered skin where the open wound had once been.

Edith’s muffled screams and whimpering cries echoed in her head. Thomasin rested her elbows on her knees and let her head fall into her hands, roughly dragging them through her hair.Thomasin had always believed that the worst that could happen usually did end up happening. But for some reason, she couldn’t fathom the idea that Edith might die. Edith, who lived in a little fantasy world where she could go on quests and find magic swords. Thomasin envied her belief, and she didn’t want to be proven right that only terrible things happened. She wanted Edith to live and prove to her that magic might be real. God, it was stupid of her to think such things. Around Edith, she found she couldn’t help it. Edith was infectious. No pun intended.

The cauterization should’ve burned away the infection. Thomasin thought of the jagged patch of scar tissue right above her hip bone. That had been a much deeper wound, and a far worse infection. But she was still standing. Marshall had made her do it herself. He had held the knife in the fire, handed it to her, and said that this was the only way she’d learn something. Her hands were slick with her own blood, and she had barely been able to keep hold of the hilt. His assessing eyes had been on her, so she knew she couldn’t hesitate. She didn’t know how she had managed to keep the blade against her skin, or how she had kept from blacking out, but she had done it, and she had lived.

She could only hope the infection hadn’t taken to Edith’s blood yet. Jay was good with plants, and he had assured her the salve would help treat any lingering infection. But if the sickness was already inside her, there would be nothing they could do to save her. Thomasin inhaled, forcing air into her lungs.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice croaked.

Thomasin jerked upright. Edith’s pale blue eyes were open, and her lips were tilted into a frown.

“Am I—amIokay?” she sputtered. The legs of the chair squealed against the wood floor as she scooted closer to the bed. “How doyoufeel?”

Edith swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Thomasin scrambled to pour her a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. She pressed the glass into Edith’s good hand, their fingers brushing, then slid her arm very gently beneath her shoulders, watching for the slightest wince of pain. She helped Edith sit up against the headboard, ready to catch her if she passed out again. The color remained in her cheeks as she brought the glass to her lips and took a small drink.

“So?” Thomasin prodded.

Edith set the cup on the nightstand, her movements tense. Her injured shoulder gave an experimental shrug, and she grimaced, a hiss slipping through her gritted teeth. “It hurts, but not nearly as bad as it did,” she said, attempting to turn the grimace into a smile.

“Are you sure? Do you feel dizzy? Sick?”

“Honestly, no. I feel a lot clearer.”

Thomasin nodded to herself, then met Edith’s eyes. “Well that’s good to hear, because now I can murder you myself.”

The smile slipped from Edith’s features. “Excuse me?”

Thomasin smiled, rocking forward in the chair and resting her fists on the bed so that their faces were only a foot apart. “You heard me. I am going to throttle you until you get it into your perfect, ridiculous little head that not telling me about your ragingly infected wound was quite possibly the stupidest thing that any living being has ever done.”

“It wasn’tthatbad,” Edith scoffed.

“You were halfway to death’s doorstep!” Thomasin snapped.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

Thomasin shoved away from the bed, laughing grimly as she began to pace back and forth across the length of the room. “You haven’t even begun to see dramatic.” She pointed an accusatory fingerat Edith. “You know what’s dramatic? Letting yourself die from an infection because you justhaveto keep it to yourself. And for what? Why, Edith? Why on earth would you hide something like that?”

Edith opened her mouth to respond, but Thomasin wasn’t done. She had held in this tirade for far too long, and the rage she felt at Edith’s complete lack of care about her own well-being was bursting from her.

“You know what a normal person would do once they noticed their wound was infected? They would say, ‘Hey guys, my stitches are looking a little gnarly, mind giving me a hand?’ But you, Edith, oh, you didn’t do that, did you? You decided it made sense to wait until your fever was so bad you couldn’t even stay on your feet! And it’s not like that was even a choice you made! That was just your body giving up on you, because it knew your brain was too goddamn messed up to ever do something sensible!”

Edith shrunk against the headboard as Thomasin came to a stop at the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips, brows pressed into a flat, angry line.