But no one would ever know. It would be my secret.
I woke at the abandoned Hidden Cache train station. The solid weight of Oliver pressed against my left side from my head to my feet, and his sunrise-orange eyes glowing less than a foot from my face were the first things I saw. I smiled and reached for him, groaning when the movement set off my body’s litany of complaints. Oliver pressed his face into my palm and closed his eyes in contentment. The sun had passed its zenith, and Celeste didn’t slow as she crossed the tracks, trotting across the quiet meadow on a narrow trail cut through the weeds by giant cerberi feet.
“Where are we going?” I asked, sitting up.
Marcus hadn’t moved from his seat at the front of the sled, and the dark hollows under his eyes told me he hadn’t gotten any rest, either.
“To see a man about a sled,” he said.
The thought of seeing Gus’s face when we showed up on his doorstep made me grin. “He’s going to be outraged that we’re not dead.”
Marcus scoffed with feigned indignation. “As if something as feeble as Reaper’s Ridge could kill us.”
He couldn’t hide his pained grimace when he shifted, but that didn’t stop him from closing the distance between us and brushing a kiss across my lips. My heart sped in my chest, and I leaned into him, savoring the contact.
“Um, I’m going to fly around a bit,” Oliver said, launching from the back of the sled. He dipped toward the earth, caught himself, and flapped upward into a long, lazy circle around us.
“We really should be headed toward a healer,” I said.
“We are. Gus lives in a town with a small FPD base. It’s how I was able to hire him on such short notice. Anyway, bases always have a healer on staff.”
“Okay, healer, then Gus.”
“Gus first. I’m not giving the scrawny bastard a chance to slip away.”
“Good point. How much farther?”
“If Celeste can keep this pace up, another three or four hours.”
I winced in sympathy. It would be faster than going back to Terra Haven, even if we had a train lined up at the abandoned station to pick us up, but it was still a long time for him to suffer.
“Do we have any greenthread left?” I asked.
I took Marcus’s grunt as a yes and rummaged through his pack, retrieving a depressingly small roll of lamb’s ear leaves and a mostly empty bottle of greenthread.
“Turn around so I can lift your shirt,” I ordered.
He obliged and bunched his shirt into his armpits. The strips of previously gray cloth holding the lamb’s ear bandages to his back were now blackened with dried blood and caked with a crusty green substance that alarmed me until I realized it was greenthread, not infection. I had to soak the bandages before I could remove them; then I dabbed on the last of the greenthread and layered the lamb’s ear leaves over his flayed back.
While I worked, Celeste loped across mile after mile. Oliver returned to the sled every time he saw something he deemed amazing—a field of bright orange poppies, a dairy farm, a flock of cockatrices—and I vowed to take him on a vacation so he could see more of the world than Terra Haven. I envisioned trips that included Marcus, our combined magic keeping Oliver healthy even in the most remote locations. Plus, the thought of having Marcus all to myself, without either of us in crisis or injured, sounded divine.
I wasn’t surprised when Marcus nodded off, his head pillowed on the driver’s seat, greenthread numbing what had to be the excruciating pain of his wounds. I stayed next to him, ready to catch him if he tipped toward his back in his sleep, and I watched the rounded foothills flow past and the weed-clogged trail grow into a slender dirt road, content to turn my brain off for a while.
My gaze returned frequently to Reaper’s Ridge, its white peak prominent despite the increasing distance between us. I couldn’t decide which amazed me more: its quiet, storm-free expanse or the fact that I had not only climbed the ridge and survived, but I also could claim half the credit for disbanding all the deadly storms. The presence of the hidden baetyl ensured the ridge still wasn’t safe for humans, but with its protective measures functioning correctly again, now people would be turned aside instead of killed.
Marcus jerked awake at sunset, making a quick assessment of the sled, the hills, me, and everything in between before relaxing again. Then he kissed me long and hard so I “wouldn’t forget.”
“Forget what?” I asked breathlessly.
“Me. You forgot me after Focal Park—”
“I did not!”
“And I don’t want that to happen again, so . . .”
His second kiss lasted longer than the first, and I was almost disappointed when we reached the outskirts of a town a few minutes later. Nestled in a narrow valley and flanked by a patchwork of vineyards, it appeared far too picturesque to house Gus in its midst, though Marcus assured me we were in the right place.
Oliver returned to the sled, landing gracefully on the driver’s seat. He bunched his body to fit on the narrow bench, and coils of his tail spilled to the floor, the red-orange carnelian gleaming in the final rays of the setting sun. By the time Celeste marched us through downtown, twilight had settled over the sleepy streets, but the sight of a gargoyle pulling a sled that appeared to be driven by another gargoyle drew people out to the walkways and windows to gawk as we passed. Marcus and I got as many curious stares, most likely because we looked like avalanche victims, recently freed from the rubble.
Marcus pointed out the Federal Pentagon Defense base tucked behind the main street. Its high adobe walls and towers peppered with arrow slits loomed over the graceful architecture of the rest of the town, hearkening to a more dangerous era. So long as it included a healer and a working shower, I didn’t care how militant it looked.
“Are you sure—” I started to ask, attuned to Marcus’s growing stiffness as the last of the greenthread’s numbness wore off.