Near the door towered a brightly painted clock with jeweled pendulums. But instead of hours, it seemed to have names of food and drink. Things like Dumplings & Meat, Fish Stew, Mystery Stew, Toast and Tea, Porridge, Ale, Beer, Mead, Wine, Cider, Honey Pie, Brambleberry Crisp, Forest Cakes.
She half expected an innkeeper with a long beard and a jolly laugh to greet them as they entered. But it was only Jacks’s heavy boots that swiftly crossed the rough floorboards.
What is this place? she thought.
Jacks didn’t reply or even seem to hear her thought as he started up the stairs. Whatever magic worked here must have severed their link, or she was just too weak.
There were candles glittering light and fires burning in hearths, but not a single person appeared. Fairytale images covered all the closed doors on the second floor: a rabbit in a crown, a knight holding a star-shaped key, a pastry goblin tossing sweets.
Jacks hurriedly carried her past them all. Then up two more flights of stairs until he reached a pair of old glass doors that opened to an even older arched bridge that led into a thick cluster of snow-tipped trees.
“Stay with me a little longer,” he murmured, and then he opened the doors.
Evangeline pressed her head to his chest, bracing for the return of cold, but instead of feeling ice, the chill felt like sparkles against her skin, giving her a small measure of relief.
It was then she also realized, although she was still in pain, she’d not experienced a single new slash or lash since they’d arrived at whatever this place was. She wondered if perhaps it was some sort of new magic that only lived here, or if Apollo was being cared for, too. She remembered Jacks telling Luc to ask Chaos to get Apollo to safety, and she hoped that was happening now.
More snowbirds chirped a cheery tune as the bridge ended at a rounded door tucked high inside the branches of a tree.
Jacks took a deep breath, and Evangeline felt his chest moving against her as they stepped through the door and into a smallish loft. There were no fires or candles, and yet somehow the place was warm and bright with the sun shining through all the many windows. So many windows carefully nestled between branches in a way that made it difficult to see where the glass began and the tree ended.
There might have been some furniture, but her vision was so hazy around the edges it was hard to be entirely sure.
The bed merely looked like a pile of old quilts in faded patterns. Jacks carefully placed her head on a pillow and laid her on her stomach. The blankets were as soft as they looked, but she still hissed from the pain that prickled across her injured back.
“Sorry, Little Fox.” He brushed back the hair that had stuck to her forehead, and it felt a little like a fever dream. Or maybe she was really dying and that’s why Jacks was being so sweet.
“I’ll be right back.” His voice was soft.
Her eyes drifted shut, then she heard his steps, featherlight, as if he didn’t want to wake her.
Her lids fluttered open. She’d expected he would return with some sort of healer. But it was only Jacks with his arms full of supplies.
He set them on the wooden floor near the bed, and then he carefully smoothed her hair away from her back and shoulders. “I need to cut off your dress.”
That was all the warning she got before she heard the tear of a knife as it sliced through her blood-soaked gown from her shoulder blades down to the dip in her waist.
For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
Her head grew even lighter at the feel of Jacks’s hands gently peeling her dress away from her back. The process was excruciatingly slow. Several times, Jacks quietly hissed through his teeth, and she imagined what a mess her back must have been. But he didn’t say a word about it. He just went on to carefully clean her wounds, wiping them with cool, damp cloths. It stung every time the cloth touched a gash. But then his fingers were soothing her by grazing the uninjured side of her ribs, sometimes with his knuckles, other times with his fingertips, and it was all she could do not to gasp.
“You’re good at this,” she murmured. “Do you often travel with girls who’ve been flayed?”
This earned her a soft laugh. “No.” Then quietly, as he ran a cloth along her lower back, just below the dip in her waist, “Would you be jealous if I did?”
I’m not a jealous person was what Evangeline intended to say, but instead the words “Of course” came out.
Jacks laughed, louder this time.
Embarrassment surged through her. “That’s not what I meant to say.”
“It’s all right. I’d probably kill another man if I found him with you like this.” Jacks’s hands pressed harder as they went to her shoulders and, one by one, ripped off the sleeves of her dress so that what remained of the gown completely fell away.