23. Chapter 23 #2
No. How could he pick only three? He didn’t know if the blood bond would work—he didn’t even know if the tether would work, but it seemed like it should.
Still… only three…
“Everan and Kord,” he said finally. He stared at the ground as he swallowed. “And Visa.” For Everan. “We’ll use blood bonds on the others, as many as we can.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she said softly.
After they saw to Teron the best they could, and Cyrus felt like he could leave for a short while, they called Kord, Everan, and Visa to Essandra’s workroom.
Essandra made quick work of it, pricking their fingers and drawing their blood.
Cyrus gripped Kord’s shoulder as Essandra set the tether.
She’d told him multiple times he didn’t need to touch someone to tether them, but it felt more natural.
He felt more sure of it this way, and right now he needed to be sure.
“So, this will protect us from getting the fever?” Kord asked as Cyrus moved to Everan.
“We think so,” Cyrus said.
“We hope so,” Essandra emphasized.
They moved to Visa. She smiled appreciatively as Cyrus put his hand on her shoulder.
Essandra breathed the spell, and it was done.
Kord glanced at Visa. “What about Leti?” he asked.
Cyrus paused. He’d forgotten about the girl Kord had been courting. “I can only tether three. Any more than that and the bond starts to break apart. But we’re going to use the blood bond too. We’ll have her take that.”
Kord’s brows drew down. “Will the blood bond work?”
“To be honest,” Cyrus said, “we don’t know if either of these will work.”
“But the tether is the most likely?”
“The tether is a physical bond,” Essandra replied. “It’s stronger.”
Kord shook his head. “You should have tethered Leti. Break mine and give it to her. I’ll do the regular blood bond.”
“No,” Cyrus said. Kord was speaking out of obligation, and Cyrus wouldn’t break his friend’s best protection from the fever for a woman he didn’t even love.
“I’m serious,” Kord said firmly.
“I am too. She’ll be fine with the blood bond.”
“You don’t know that!” He stepped closer, pleading. “Cyrus. Tether her.”
But Cyrus couldn’t do that. He needed Kord safe. “No,” he whispered.
Kord’s nostrils flared, and his lips thinned.
“She can have my tether,” Visa said. “I’ll do the blood bond.”
“Visa,” Everan objected, as Kord shook his head and said, “Absolutely not.”
Kord set his steely glare back on Cyrus. “Use mine. Do it.”
Still, Cyrus didn’t relent, and after two more times pleading, Kord stormed from the room in a fury.
A quiet hung in the air.
“Visa,” Essandra said softly, “will you help me prep wine for the blood bonds?”
“Of course,” she said, and the women left Cyrus and Everan alone in the room.
Everan leaned back against Essandra’s worktable with his arms crossed.
“Do you think I’m wrong?” Cyrus asked him.
His friend sighed. “No, but I would have wanted the same in his place. I probably even would have fought you for it.”
Kord still might…
If Leti got sick, Kord would never forgive him. If she didn’t get sick, he still might not forgive him. Still, Cyrus couldn’t do it. He moved to leave, but Everan caught him.
“You could have given the third tether to so many others,” Everan told him. “Others who you need.” He swallowed. “I know you tethered Visa for me, and I’m eternally grateful, brother.”
“Let’s pray it works.” Cyrus squeezed his shoulder, then headed back to Teron’s chamber.
Cyrus stayed with Teron, leaving only to give Essandra blood to portion out with wine. He drained himself until he felt faint and had to sit before he lost his balance.
“That’s enough,” Essandra said, stopping him before he made another cut across his forearm.
“How many people can we cover with this?” He nodded to the two large bowls of blood on the table. He moved to stand.
“No—stay sitting,” she told him. Then she looked at the bowls. “Maybe a hundred per bowl.”
“That’s all?” That seemed like hardly anything.
“I’m afraid to dilute it too much, which would render it ineffective and make this all for nothing.” Her voice dropped lower. “We don’t even know if this is going to work.”
“How soon before I can give more?”
“A couple days at least,” she said as she pulled some linen strips from a side cabinet.
It had to be sooner than that. “It could be too late by then.”
“There’s only so much you can do,” she told him. She moved a stool in front of him and sat, holding out her hand for his arm. He complied, giving it to her.
“We also don’t know how serious this is yet. It could pass over fairly graciously.” Taking her time, she wrapped the linen around his arm, covering the cuts, and bound it securely.
He knew she was trying to keep him positive, especially in light of Teron. But the reality was that every report that came in to him told of more and more struck by the fever. There had been only a handful of deaths, and Cyrus prayed to the gods it wouldn’t get worse.
“I have to get back to Teron,” he said.
“Wait a moment.” She stood and took a chalice from the cabinet, pouring an herb mixture from another bowl and then stirring in some water. She brought it to him. “Here. Drink this.”
He took the chalice and eyed the green pulpy sludge. “What is it?”
“I know you’re not eating, and your body needs sustenance,” she said. “This will help.”
It smelled something foul, and tasted even fouler, but Cyrus forced it down. If he hadn’t been feeling well before, he certainly wasn’t feeling well now.
She wrinkled up her face. “I know it doesn’t taste that good. It has an earthiness to it.”
“An earthiness?” He balked. “Is that how you describe shit?”
She tried to cover her smile by pursing her lips. “It’s not that bad.”
“No, it’s worse.” But enough play. “I need to get back to Teron.”
She nodded. “I’ll get the wine mixed and off to Everan to distribute, then I’ll come by. I need to give Teron some more medicine for his fever.”
He was glad Essandra didn’t walk with him. Twice he needed to stop and just hold on to the wall until his lightheadedness passed enough for him to keep going.
When he reached Teron’s chamber, he groaned in relief. He would pull up the chair beside Teron’s bed and maybe just rest for a little while. Just until Essandra came by.
But as he stepped into the room, a gurgle caught his ear. Cyrus bolted to the bed to find Teron twitching and struggling for breath.
“Teron!” He quickly slipped an arm underneath the old man, pulling him up and leaning him forward, and hit his back with an open palm.
Teron’s body shook as he coughed, and it wasn’t just a little blood that tinged his lips this time. A thick rush spilled down his chin.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cyrus said, panicked. He clambered onto the bed behind Teron, wrapping an arm around his front for a better hold, and struck his back a few more times. Teron heaved again, spilling more blood down his chin and chest and over Cyrus’s arm.
Finally, the old man sucked in a breath. His body relaxed, and his tremble faded.
Cyrus didn’t dare lay him back down. He gave himself a moment to let his own panic ebb. If he had come in a few moments later…
He wasn’t leaving Teron again.
The door to the chamber opened. Essandra stepped in. “All right, I brought some more—”
She stopped abruptly when she saw Cyrus, and her eyes widened. Then she scrambled to him, shoving her jars onto the side table as she ran to the bed.
“What happened?” She gaped at the blood covering Teron’s front.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I think blood’s building in his lungs. He’s getting worse.”
“Keep him upright,” she said. “Let me get him a new tunic.” She shuffled into the side bath chamber and came back out with a clean linen top.
Cyrus held Teron as she navigated the removal of the soiled top and redressed him.
Then she brought a wet cloth and cleaned the old healer’s face.
When she was finished, she put her hand against his forehead.
“He’s still burning up,” she said.
Cyrus hadn’t even noticed, but Teron did still feel like a fire.
Suddenly, a flood of chaos filled his mind, and he realized—the blood wine was being distributed. The blood bonds pulled at him all at once. He closed his eyes and tried to settle himself.
But one bond in particular thrummed in his mind. One of purpose. A stronger pull—a direct touch, not from the blood wine.
Bash.
Cyrus took a moment and closed his eyes, letting himself find his friend who was across the sea in Pryam.
“ Cyrus! I’ve been trying to reach you all day. ”
That surprised him. He’d been so caught up in everything he hadn’t even felt it. “ I’m sorry. There’s a lot going on here. ”
“ Same here ,” Bash said. “ Cyrus, Pryam’s wrecked with fever. It might be headed your way. You have to close the ports. ”
Cyrus’s heart stopped. He dropped his head against Teron and just tried to breathe.
“ Cyrus? ” Bash called.
“ It’s already here ,” he answered finally. He straightened. “ I’m going to send you some blood wine. Essandra’s warded me against the fever, and we think it will help keep others safe as well. It will be on a ship today. Have everyone take it: Miriel and Brant and— ”
“ Cyrus. ” Bash gave a heavy pause. “ Miriel’s sick. ”
Cyrus’s breath caught. “ How sick? ”
“ Bad. ”
His heart seized, and his chest tightened. Miriel was sick. Miriel was sick.
“ Cyrus? ”
His attention snapped back. “ You have to sit with her, hold her up. ” Even in his mind, Cyrus could hear his own voice shaking.
“ I am. I’m doing that now. ”
Fuck the gods.
“ I’m scared, Cyrus ,” Bash said.
Cyrus was scared too. “ Don’t be. Keep holding her. Help her breathe. I’m still sending you the blood wine. Have everyone take it, do you hear me? ”
“ Yeah. ”
“ Keep holding her ,” he said again. “ Talk to me again tonight, all right? ”
“ All right ,” Bash said quietly.
Cyrus opened his eyes back to Teron’s chamber, where Essandra sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him.
“The fever’s hit Pryam,” he told her.
“Oh gods,” she breathed.
“Miriel’s sick.”
She covered her mouth, and her eyes welled.
“Bash is with her.”
She nodded.
“I need you to take some more blood,” he told her. “Don’t cut it with wine—ward it and send it straight.”
“Cyrus, you can’t give any more blood. Not yet. And if the fever’s already hit there—”
“Take it,” he demanded. “I want it on a ship within the hour.” He held an open palm for her.
Reluctantly, Essandra drew another small bowl of blood, not as much as the previous ones, but enough to give to as many men as they could. Then she left to coordinate sending it.
Cyrus stayed sitting with Teron. He lost count of how many times he had to lean forward to help the old man purge the blood from his lungs. Each time, Teron grew weaker and weaker, struggling more and more to breathe. Cyrus held him tightly.
“Stay with me,” he told him.
The chaos in his mind was nearly overwhelming now. And the more people who drank the blood wine, the more intense it became.
Teron’s breathing grew more and more labored. A few times after he exhaled, he didn’t draw in another breath. Cyrus leaned him forward and hit him on the back.
“Breathe, old man,” he told him.
Blood already covered the front of his new linen tunic, and Cyrus’s arms, and the bed. Cyrus ignored it. He knew he just had to keep him upright. He just had to keep sitting.
He could do that.
But his head hurt.
It throbbed with chaos.
He was getting better at shutting people out, but it took effort, and he was already physically and mentally exhausted. He just needed to stay awake and keep Teron upright.
Cyrus let his head fall back slightly.
He was so tired.
He just needed to keep Teron up.
He tried to keep his eyes open, but the chaos of his blood and his mind blended together, erasing the boundaries of reality and dream. His vision blurred as his eyes grew heavier, until even Teron’s breathing seemed like a distant tide.