“WAKE UP, DOVE.” WARMTH BRUSHES MY EAR. The rough curls of a beard graze my forehead before lips press against my temple. Ah, that’s nice.
Though I wouldn’t mind staying in the dark warmth a moment more, I open my eyes. Cohen is holding me, his face a sliver from mine. I’m limp, boneless. Beyond the haziness, a low animal whine sounds again and again. Disoriented, I slowly take in more of the scene—?Cohen sitting on a rock, supporting me with one arm under my back and another under my knees; a whitish golden dog beside us, nudging my leg with his snout; a dark-haired woman a few paces off, waiting with a careful expression.
She’s the woman from the well. And her dog. Tail-wagging, tongue-lolling, happy dog.
“You left so quickly.” The woman shuffles closer, bucket in hand. “Forgive me for not giving you water when you asked before.”
“She needs more than water. She needs rest.” Cohen sounds different, strained and angry. I wish I could curl into him more, but my noodle body doesn’t respond how I want.
“Aye. My home is close.” She points beyond me. “But the Beannach water will strengthen her the most. It’s the best way I can help. It will help make her whole again.”
I can feel Cohen’s reservation in his clenching grip. He must trust her to some extent because he takes the water from her, sniffs it, and then tastes some. After deciding it’s good, he cups a handful for me.
Scoop after scoop, he encourages me to drink till my belly is full. My tongue tingles from the Beannach water. Better than what we’ve drunk out of the streams, each mouthful tastes like drops of honey have been added. The sweetness spreads through my heavy limbs, infusing them with lightness and strength at the same time.
I glance at the eager blue eyes of the woman, brimming with concern. It makes sense that she’s a Channeler. She provides a bucket of her blessed water for Cohen before leaving and returning with two buckets for Siron, which she refills as soon as he empties them.
“The well is sacred to my family.” Reverence touches her comment as she gathers the empty wooden buckets by their braided rope handles. “Whenever you’re passing through, please drink from it.”
Her head dips, thick black hair falling forward as she places a bronze-toned hand to her violet dress just over her heart. “My offer of gratitude. Go well with the spirit.”
What do I say to that? I blink at her, mind wading through exhaustion to come up with a response. Cohen scuffs his foot against the ground. I turn my chin to find him staring at me with a strange, almost alarmed expression in his eyes.
“Er, you too.” I attempt a small wave that ends up looking like a hand stutter.
Cohen’s attention catapults to the woman as she walks away, confusion and curiosity betraying his usual gambler’s face. If he’s trying to figure out what transpired between the woman, the dog, and me, well, his guess is as good as mine.
A quiet, subdued Cohen saddles up behind me and encases my frame in his arms before clicking his tongue twice against his teeth—?a command for Siron to leave. The water has renewed Siron, giving him vigor to run fast, taking us far from the town and the woman’s well. We’ve traveled over a league when I realize the significance in the woman’s comment. “She needs more . . .”
I twist in the seat to look at Cohen, wide-eyed. “The woman knows I’m a girl. She—?what if she talks about us?”
His hands shift to rest loosely on my hips. “We’ll be fine, Britt.” I expect worry, but his voice is cavalier and his expression unreadable. It’s a reckless move to continue on a westward path. He must know that.
“We don’t know her. We should change course.” Siron’s hoofs clip against the rock lining of a dried-up creek taking us west to Celize, where the land is greener. Over my shoulder, Cohen’s face shows no hint of apprehension.
“She told me you helped with her dog.” The tone of his voice rises as if he’s asking a question. My head is too cloudy from the aftermath to figure out what happened. Perhaps Cohen is equally confused, which is why he’s not pressing me for answers. His eyes are indecipherable, telling me nothing of his thoughts. I don’t know how it was possible for me to draw poison out of the animal. Before I can explain to Cohen what happened, I need to be able to understand it myself.
“She believes she owes you a debt. She won’t betray you to Shaerdan’s soldiers or Omar.” He breaks my concentration with his matter-of-fact tone, insisting worry about the woman is superfluous. I find myself relaxing. “Besides, Channelers don’t speak of their magic to outsiders.”
Seeds, I hope that’s not the case with everyone. How will I figure out what happened?