I gasp. “You’re bleeding!” I grab onto his hand, but he tears it away and backs up, letting out a snarl that sounds a lot like the one we heard earlier. His black curls are matted with perspiration and cling to his slick forehead, and his chest is rising and falling quickly again.
“He’s probably still in shock, Cadence. Especially since he touchedit,” Adrien adds in a whisper.
Juda emerges from the tavern and tromps over to us, his white hair flapping in the cool breeze, his skin flushed red from the weight of the giant soup pot cradled in his arms. “Heard you needed something heavy. If you fill this old thing with water, not even gale force wind will be able to shift it.”
Adrien asks a fireman to fetch a hose from his electric utility vehicle. The man hooks one end to a fire hydrant on the edge of the square and drags the nozzle all the way toward the well.
Once the pot overflows, Adrien turns to the tavern’s bearded owner.“Get back inside. You’re going to get sick, Juda.”
Juda casts a long look at the well before catching sight of his daughter-in-law. He sucks in a breath. “What happened to your cheek?”
Gaëlle shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Just slipped and bumped it on the post.”
He purses his lips but walks back toward Nolwenn, who’s standing by the entrance, bundled in a thick down jacket that reaches her slippered feet.
Profound worry bleeds into her maze of wrinkles. “Come inside, all of you. I’ll steep some tea and put on a pot of coffee.”
“In a second, Nolwenn.” Adrien’s dark-blond hair isn’t as neat as usual, which lends him a slightly rugged edge. A heroic one.
In fact, heisa hero. He’s just saved Slate, Gaëlle,andme from the dark magic of the Quatrefoil.
He turns to the fireman. “Can you make sure no one removes this?”
“Bien sûr.We’ll take shifts.”
Adrien pats the man’s arm. “You’re a good man, Francis.Merci.”
“Just doing my job, Monsieur Mercier.”
Adrien rubs his hands together, probably to drag warmth back into them, then tilts his head toward the tavern door. “We’re done here. Come on.”
Gaëlle loops her slender arm through mine, and we begin to trek across the rink. When I hear Adrien call out to Slate, I glance over my shoulder. He’s as rigid as my mother’s bronze bonsai, but his eyes aren’t glassy, which reassures me that he’s alert and not lost in some nightmare.
“Allez-y.We’ll catch up,” Adrien says. When I don’t move, even though Gaëlle’s tugging on my arm, he adds, “I promise I won’t leave him out here alone.” A gentle smile buffets the apprehension crinkling his eyes and grooving his forehead.
Inhaling a long, icy breath that scorches my lungs, I turn around and pad cautiously across the ice. Gaëlle slips more than once in her shearling boots, and I hold her up. This morning is a preview of the support we’re all going to have to give each other.
17
Slate
Every breath was a blade slicing through my lungs. I couldn’t hear a thing over my pounding pulse, couldn’t see a thing either. My vision wobbled. The square, the crowd, the well—they all went in and out of focus like a bunch of strobe lights. But then I saw Cadence, her face a horrified shade of white, and everything stopped.
Cadence.
The real Cadence.
Not the twisted magical one that duped me as though I was some naïve kid.
With my eyes, I trail her treacherous hike into the tavern,arm in arm with Gaëlle. Gaëlle, who’s cradling a hand over her reddened cheek.
Shame burns me like hot oil.
I hit Gaëlle. I’veneverhit a woman. Ever.
I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I was trying to reach Cadence’s writhing fingers when I felt a yank on my shoulder and reacted on instinct. It was only after I hit Adrien, and after Cadence—the real Cadence—called out my name that I saw Gaëlle’s face and made the connection.
I’m a goddamned idiot. On all accounts.
