He felt the drums before anything else.
At first, he’d thought it was a dream until he felt Jacqueline shift against his side and murmur something into his neck. Phelan opened his eyes and stifled the urge to groan. The throb of those drums in the distance resonated down through his very soul. He knew those drums.
They ride.
His lips brushed Jacqueline’s temple and he eased out of bed, balling a blanket against her to fill the space where he’d been laying. She didn’t need to be involved. Not this time.
“Sleep,” he whispered, pushing a measure of his own gift into the whispered word, fingers catching in her hair as he brushed his hand over her head. “Sleep.”
He was dressed before Rory knocked on the door. His ribs twinged, side ached. Rory winced as Phelan opened the door.
“I should let you—”
Phelan shook his head. “It’s no use. I know they’re coming.” Not for me, though. Not this time.
The thought should have cheered him, but he only felt hollow.
His fingers closed around his staff and he took his satchel of herbs from the peg near the door. For a moment, he thought about taking Jacqueline’s as well, but thought better of it.
Sif was waiting in the darkness of the corridor, holding a lantern. Their gazes met for a moment. Her eyes narrowed. He sighed.
“For what it’s worth,” he said in a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“As well you should be,” she hissed back. “One of you should have found a way to tell me.”
“We couldn’t tell what we didn’t know.”
Rory relieved Sif of the lantern, shaking his head. “Can we not do this right now? Trouble’s practically on our doorstep.”
“No practically about it,” Phelan muttered, hand tightening around his staff. It was warm to the touch, warmer than it should have been.
He slipped past Rory and started to move faster as the drums set his bones shivering.
There would be only one chance at this and they’d best make it count.
