Arvid
THIRTEEN
This should be me, she thought, her fingers tightening around the datapad. I should be the one running these tests.
But the harsh reality was that her expertise lay in blood analysis and tissue samples, not food chemistry.
She could identify pathogens in bodily fluids, track the progression of disease through cellular breakdown, understand how organs failed when overwhelmed by toxins.
The intricate dance of herbs and spices, the subtle interactions between traditional ingredients—that required a different kind of knowledge entirely.
The frustration built in her chest like pressure behind a dam.
Every instinct screamed at her to take action, to do something useful instead of standing here like a decorative consultant while other people handled the real work.
She'd identified the pattern, established the connection between communal events and Ash Fever outbreaks, but now she was trapped in the liminal space between discovery and solution.
"The spectral analyses will take another day minimum," one of the younger healers announced, not looking up from his equipment. "Maybe longer if we need to run additional purity tests."
Arvid's jaw clenched. Another day. Another day of waiting while patients suffered, while Essin lay in that hospital bed missing her childhood milestones, while the disease potentially spread to new victims despite the halt on gatherings.
She sensed Calix's presence before she heard his voice, the way her body seemed to attune itself to his proximity with embarrassing consistency.
He'd remained at her side throughout the day, a silent sentinel who anticipated her needs with unnerving accuracy.
When she'd needed additional datapad storage, he'd procured it.
When she'd required access to patient files, he'd made the calls.
His attention felt both supportive and intensely personal in ways that made her stomach flutter despite her best efforts to maintain a professional boundary.
"How about we interview the patients?" His voice carried that natural authority, but there was something else underneath—a gentleness specifically reserved for her. "See what they remember consuming at the events. We might find patterns the lab work can't reveal."
The suggestion hit her like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. Patient interviews were exactly her wheelhouse—extracting crucial information through careful questioning, identifying details that might seem insignificant but could prove vital to understanding disease transmission.
"Yes," she said, probably with more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. "That's the logical next step. Direct testimony could help us narrow down which specific ingredients to prioritize."
His smile sent warmth spiraling through her chest, the expression transforming his entire face from regal authority to something approaching boyish satisfaction. As if her approval mattered more than any council vote or territorial decree.
Dangerous, she warned herself, but the thought lacked conviction.
They moved toward the lab exit together, his presence a solid warmth at her back.
His hand didn't quite touch her spine, but she could feel the heat of his palm through her white blouse, close enough to make her hyperaware of every breath.
The gesture felt protective without being possessive, supportive without being controlling—a balance she hadn't known was possible.
This is exactly the problem.
Three days ago, she'd been content with her solitary existence in Texas.
Her tiny lab, her limited social circle, her carefully controlled life that functioned adequately if not brilliantly.
She'd convinced herself that "adequate" was enough, that wanting more was a luxury she couldn't afford after the military had taught her what happened when you trusted institutions and people who claimed to have your best interests at heart.
But walking beside Calix felt like discovering she'd been living in black and white without realizing color existed.
The way he'd mobilized resources at her request without question or hesitation.
The way he'd spent hours watching her work without complaint or distraction.
The way he seemed to understand her professional needs before she voiced them, as if he was learning to read her the same way she'd learned to read disease patterns and cellular breakdown.
Partnership.
The word whispered through her mind with treacherous appeal. This was what it felt like to have someone at her back who complemented her strengths instead of competing with them. Someone who enhanced her capabilities rather than constraining them.
You're absolutely falling for him.
The realization hit her with violent force, stealing her breath and making her stumble slightly on the pathway between buildings. Calix's hand immediately moved to steady her elbow, his touch gentle but sure, and the contact only confirmed what her traitorous heart already knew.
She was falling—had fallen—completely and irrevocably in love with the King of Ashvorn.
In two days.
Two days since she'd stepped through that impossible portal, and she'd managed to upend every defense she'd built over the past three years.
This wasn't supposed to happen. She was here to solve a medical crisis and return to her manageable existence on Earth, not to discover that everything she'd told herself about being content alone had been elaborate self-deception.
"You alright?" Calix's voice carried genuine concern, his green eyes searching her face with a piercing intensity that made her feel exposed.
"Fine," she managed, though her voice sounded strained even to her own ears. "Just thinking through the patient interview strategy."
He studied her for another moment, clearly unconvinced but tactful enough not to press. Instead, he guided her toward the smaller medical building where the Ash Fever patients were housed, his presence both comforting and terrifying in its rightness.
The corridor leading to Essin's room felt longer than she remembered, giving her time to wrestle her emotions back under professional control.
She was here to save lives, not to complicate her existence with impossible romantic entanglements.
The fact that being near Calix felt like the most natural thing in the world was irrelevant.
The fact that she could imagine a future that involved morning conversations over shared breakfast and collaborative problem-solving was dangerous fantasy.
Focus on the work. Focus on anything except how perfectly he fits beside you.
Essin's room was brighter than it had been during their previous visit, afternoon sunlight streaming through the window to illuminate the young girl sitting up in bed.
She looked markedly improved—color in her cheeks, alertness in her blue eyes, energy in her movements as she played with a small wooden doll.
The sight sent relief flooding through Arvid's chest.
"Essin," she said, approaching the bed with a genuine smile. "You're looking much better today."
The girl's face lit up with recognition, her gaze shifting between Arvid and Calix with obvious pleasure. She gave them both a small wave.
"We wanted to check on you and ask a few questions," Arvid continued, settling into the chair beside the bed while Calix remained standing. "Nothing too difficult."
Essin's brow furrowed in concentration, the expression endearingly serious on her young face. "What kind of questions?"
"Well, we're trying to figure out what might have made you and the other patients sick," Arvid explained gently. "So we need to know about any gatherings you attended—parties, celebrations, community meals. And what you might have eaten or drank at those events."
The girl's eyes widened with understanding, and she nodded as if accepting a crucial mission. Her fingers grabbed at the edge of her blanket while she thought, clearly taking the request seriously.
"I went to Toby's First Rising celebration," she said finally. "That was about a month ago. We had a big party afterward, like we always do for First Risings."
Arvid glanced at her datapad, cross-referencing the timeline with Essin's medical records. The dates aligned perfectly—the celebration had occurred just days before the girl's first symptoms appeared.
"Do you remember what you had to eat or drink at Toby's party?" Arvid asked, keeping her voice gentle but focused.
Essin's face scrunched in concentration, her young mind clearly working hard to recall specific details from what had probably been an overwhelming social event.
"I had some flame-kissed bread," she said slowly. "And some flameroot tea. Mama always lets me have flameroot tea at special occasions. It tastes like cinnamon and honey."
Flameroot tea. Flame-kissed bread.
Arvid made a note on her datapad, her pulse quickening with the significance of the detail.
"That's excellent memory, Essin," she said warmly. "This helps us tremendously."
The girl looked puzzled, her blue eyes moving between Arvid and Calix with growing concern. "You think I got sick from one of those things?"
The question carried such innocent worry that Arvid felt her chest tighten. Here was a twelve-year-old child who should be focusing on games and friendships, not contemplating whether traditional foods had made her critically ill.
"We don't know yet," Arvid said honestly. "But we're working very hard to find out, and hopefully very soon we'll be able to help you feel completely better."
Essin's face brightened. "That would be the best birthday present ever. My birthday's next week."
Next week.
The timeline felt impossibly compressed, but Arvid managed to keep her expression encouraging rather than overwhelmed. She couldn't promise miracles, couldn't guarantee they'd have answers and treatments ready within days, but she could offer hope.
"I'll do everything in my power to make that happen," Arvid said, meaning every word.