Page 22 of In Violent Waves

“Because no creature sets foot in Badenvaria. Now, please—silence.”

He guided them a few more miles before the pain became too much for Lyra. When she started whining, Wilder swallowed his complaints and found them a large boulder with a towering cedar beside it, a perfect makeshift camp.

“Can we start a fire?” Lyra asked, rubbing her arms with her hands.

“So we can alert every creature in this forest to our location?” Wilder’s brow rose precariously high on his forehead.

Lyra’s teeth chattered, which may well give away their position, anyway. He had nothing left to give her. She already wore his cloak.

Wilder was confused about how she was this cold to begin with under the multitude of fabrics that made up her dress. If he was not mistaken, that outer layer was velvet. It should have kept her warm on its own.

“It’s n-not the t-temperature,” she stuttered out, plopping onto the ground and rubbing her legs.

Gods. Of course, it wasn’t the temperature. It was undoubtedly the shock from her kidnapping, her near rape, and the walking. She had never walked before.

Wilder’s lips pressed into a grim line. It was unfortunate for her to be uncomfortable, but he did not know how to help her. And yet, strangely enough, he wanted to.

“I need yarrow,” she mumbled between trembling lips.

“What’s yarrow?” He tilted his head and squatted down to hear her better. The line between his brows grew deeper.

“It’s a plant. It helps with the pain.”

Wilder studied her. This could very well be a trick for her to escape again.

But when her gaze shifted from her legs to him, the truth was plainly written. She was in agony.

The emerald green of her irises had shifted to gray.

“Where can I find yarrow, and what does it look like?”

His question had a breath of relief slipping through her lips.

“It’s a tallish green plant with small white flowers. It will be in grassy areas.”

Her voice was a raspy whisper. She was fading fast. Wilder stood and looked down at her for a moment longer.

“Do not leave this spot. I meant what I said. I am the least of your worries here. I will get you to the Wildssafely. You have my word. But you must listen to me.”

He didn’t know how much weight that would carry with her, that his word was his bond, but with her abundance of reading,surely she had read that somewhere. She looked up and nodded, but her eyes struggled to stay open.

He moved to leave and then paused. “And do not make a noise unless you are attacked. In that case—scream. I will come for you.”

Lyra’s lashes fluttered at his words as she fought to stay conscious. He did not like that at all. His orders had been to keep her alive.

Turning on his heel, he rushed back onto the path. He had thought he had spotted something similar a few hundred yards back. A weight settled onto his chest when he got far enough away from Lyra that her scent no longer plagued him.

Plagued him—like she was a disease that could not be cured.

A disease that corrupted everything in its path.

He had been taught about the merfolk. That they were monsters. Vile, evil creatures that knew only war, death, and wickedness. Wilder jogged down the path they had traveled, spotting the small clearing up ahead. The yarrow must be there. It had been the only place they had passed thus far without trees.

Wilder broke through the wall of trees and into the small clearing. There he spotted row after row of small white petals on tall green stalks. This had to be yarrow.

Lyra hadn’t instructed him on how much to grab. But it was two days to Fresia, and from there, at least another week to the Wilds. That was a long time for her to be in pain.

He yanked a handful of yarrow from the ground, and another, and then another.