Elloven nodded, though she had no confidence at all in her stability. Jesstin got up first, lifting her like she were nothing. He was all hard muscle, every carved inch of him, and she wondered how he’d earned it running a tavern.
Her stare hung on the frozen man as Jesstin carried her away. She knew she was responsible, just not how. There’d been no dark command inside of her, no nightmares of ice.
If fear had caused it, why had it never happened before? Why had it not happened even once in all the time she’d been with Castien, Fabrien?
Jesstin nudged her into the carriage, where she collapsed onto the bench.
“Our driver is dead. The stable hand is fuck knows where. Will you be all right back here by yourself?”
No. “Yes. Go. Go.”
Jesstin didn’t look convinced. She wasn’t a good liar in the best of circumstances.
“I’ll be fine...” Elloven realized he intended to leave without Taven, but if they did, then she’d never find her way to Rivenholde.
“I’ll stop as soon as it’s...” Jesstin’s eyes rolled. His plummet was fast. She saw herself diving for him before it happened, but she only cushioned his fall. He landed half on the bench, half on the ground, leaving her pinned between his back and the door.
The side of his head had been half caved in, leaving a gaping section where flesh had been torn away. Skin around his temple was already bruising. She didn’t know as much as her mother about nursing, but she knew enough to understand how serious it was.
“There you are!” Taven cried, flinging the door wide. “Did you see those men? Those blocks of ice? Was that you? Oh, thank goodness you’re safe, Ellie. If you’d...”
“Where were you?” she demanded, squirming but failing to free herself. “Come help me!”
“Was that you? Are they dead? If they’re not, I imagine they soon will be.”
“Help me! And be careful with him. He’s hurt badly.”
“It’s his own fault for trying to be a hero.” Taven climbed in, ducking low. He looped his arms under Jesstin’s shoulders and dragged him away, giving Elloven a chance to move.
“Don’t you dare drop him,” she said, her jaw as tight as a screw as she took a fresh breath through her nose. “Put him on the bench. Carefully.”
What would people think when riding past the frozen men outside? How long would they remain in ice? Would they thaw when the weather warmed or forever be... I did that. I did that. Bloody hell, I did that.
Taven hoisted Jesstin up, torso first. His muddy boots slapped the carriage wall as Taven fumbled with his legs, which wedged the sword into the floor. Taven ripped hard to dislodge it, and Jesstin fell to the side. A stream of blood trailed down the side of his face, landing in fat, viscous droplets on the carriage floor.
“Taven,” she croaked, then said his name again, but louder. “I need you...” She swallowed. “Need you to heal him.”
Taven suppressed a grin. “Why would I, Ellie?”
“He saved my life. How can you ask me that?” She’d remember the look he was wearing. She’d store it for later, if her weakness around him ever returned.
“Seems to me you saved your own. He’s the one bleeding to death in the carriage.”
There wasn’t time for an argument. Imagining Jesstin could, would, die if she failed to convince Taven was the only truth that mattered. “Please, Taven.”
He shook his head with a snort. “You’re something else.”
“What will it take?”
“Listen—”
“What will it take, Taven? You want me to accept your betrothal?”
His brows connected in the center, then his face slowly softened. “Ellie.”
“Taven, please. He’s dying!” Elloven crashed to her knees, gripping his as she implored him. “Whatever you want from me, you can have it.”
Dizziness sent her tilting sideways. She had to rest her head on Taven’s leg to even breathe.
