‘No,’ Isobelle whispered, clutching for Gwen’s icy hand, bowing over her body, her throat tightening until she couldn’t speak.
‘No,’ growled Olivia, her breath steaming the frigid air. ‘No, you don’t.’
Isobelle’s head snapped up, but Olivia was addressing Gwen. Isobelle watched in silence as Olivia bent to press her ear to Gwen’s chest in search of a heartbeat, and then pulled Gwen up into a sitting position, starting to strip off her chainmail.
‘Olivia, what are you—’
‘Get her other arm!’ her maid snapped, and years of conditioning meant that Isobelle grabbed for Gwen’s arm, obediently peeling her beloved out of her chainmail. Tears were spilling down her cheeks now, and she found shecouldn’t bear to meet Gwen’s sightless eyes – she let her vision blur as they lay Gwen down on her back once more.
Olivia rose to her knees, interlacing her hands and placing them in the centre of Gwen’s chest. Then she began to push – again and again, quickly. ‘Tilt her head back,’ she said, her voice low with effort now. ‘Pinch her nose, and breathe into her mouth, twice.’
Isobelle rose to her knees, following Olivia’s instructions – her maid ceased the pumping on Gwen’s chest as she delivered the two breaths, trying desperately to ignore the way Gwen’s mouth was slack beneath hers.
‘How did this happen?’ Olivia demanded, returning to pumping at Gwen’s chest. ‘Why weren’t you with her?’
‘Because we fought.’ The words arrived with a sob. ‘I told her I couldn’t stand to watch her die. And now I will anyway.’
‘If you’d been there, she wouldn’t have done,’ Olivia muttered, her eyes on Gwen’s face. ‘Comeon!’
Isobelle had no time to question the strangeness of that statement, for Gwen gave a great, heaving cough. Olivia rolled her quickly onto her side, so that what seemed like half the bay could spill from her mouth.
‘Gwen!’ Isobelle cried, relief crashing over her like one of the monster’s great tentacles, crushing her beneath its weight. Now, she began to cry properly, and when Gwen’s hand weakly gripped hers, a great, shuddering sob tore itself from her.
‘She’ll be all right,’ gasped Olivia. ‘We’ll give her a minute, and then bring her inside to warm her up.’ Olivia’s own teeth were chattering, her shift growing frost as she panted for breath.
Isobelle curled herself over Gwen, smoothing back her black hair from her forehead, murmuring nonsense reassurances, rocking slowly as she tried to get a grip on herself.
There was movement behind Olivia, and Henry stepped up to drape his coat around her maid’s shoulders. Only now did Isobelle get a proper look at Olivia’s familiar face.
The woman looked shattered. There were shadows beneath her eyes that Isobelle had never seen before, and she was shivering with the cold – she’d just brought Gwen up from the bottom of the harbour, while Gwen was clad in chainmail. Only Olivia could have done it at all.
The rush of heady relief at Gwen’s revival was mixing with the warm, floating feeling of reassurance that whispered to Isobelle that Olivia was here now. The calmest, most competent of women. Olivia would help them face these insurmountable obstacles. Olivia would know what to do. She always did.
Then Olivia leaned forward to steady Gwen, and Isobelle caught the glimmer of her maid’s necklace in the moonlight. The owl, wings outstretched.
And she remembered. That same symbol was carved all over the half-ruined tower belonging to the witch-hunting
Order of the Evening Star, the one that had defeated an ancient evil – or murdered a dozen innocent women of this town, depending on which stories one believed.
She couldn’t let herself soften – not yet. There were questions she needed Olivia to answer. That she desperately wanted Olivia to beableto answer.
Olivia was checking Gwen’s heartbeat, and listening to her breathing, and feeling the chill of her skin. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get her inside. We’ve got to get her warm – she was in that water a long time.’
She gestured, and a few of the townsfolk brought up one of their carts and helped Olivia bundle Gwen up so they could bring her back to the inn. Isobelle wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in her damp clothes and feeling all her relief drain out of her.
She didn’t know Olivia at all.
30
All of it has been for nothing
‘How did you know to come here?’ Isobelle asked, as Olivia stoked the fire higher. Isobelle sat with Gwen, who had lapsed back into unconsciousness – but a more natural one, her breathing steady and her white face relaxed.
‘I got your letter,’ Olivia replied shortly. She’d ordered a pile of stones to be brought and arranged by the fire, and as they grew hot, she carried them over to stash inside the blankets around Gwen, slowly but surely driving the frigid temperature of the sea from the knight’s body. ‘You mentioned Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea.’
‘And why should that bring you running?’ Isobelle asked carefully, her narrowed eyes fixed on her maid. For Olivia to have got here so fast after receiving her letter, she must’ve been travelling day and night with little or no rest.
Olivia didn’t so much as pause. ‘I remembered a story from when I was young that this place was cursed.’ She tucked Gwen’s blankets back around her and turned againto the fire, where she’d set a pot of water to warm. ‘We should make her a mustard seed poultice for the cold. Where’s the herb kit?’
