Chapter 12
Twelve
When I woke in the morning, there was something wrong. I could feel it before it made sense to me, and I sat up on my elbow, listening. My heart was already thumping in my chest.
Lidi slept next to me, her arm thrown up over her face. Her breathing was soft and even, her lips parted.
There was a moaning whine down below. Tay, in his sleep. He would’ve held that mewl back if he’d been awake.
I eased out from under the blanket, moving as carefully as I could when I felt so panicky, and climbed down the ladder.
He’d managed to kick his blanket half off. His skin was ash-pale, blue veins sharp, sweat darkening the hair at his temples and the base of his throat. His breaths were uneven, each one a long desperate draw.
“Hey, Tay.” I tried to make my voice light as I touched his forehead. He was hot to the touch, his skin damp. “Good morning.”
His eyes opened, narrow and bloodshot. He tried to smile. “Is it morning?”
His voice was thin and reedy. It was hard sometimes now to remember how he used to sound.
“I think we’re heading to the healer,” I told him quietly. “I’m going to run down the road and see about borrowing the Wheelers’ horse and cart.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Cara. I can walk.” He raised his head from the pillow, wincing with effort, which suggested I wasn’t being dramatic at all. “Tea, anyway? Before you ask me to face that terrible healer.”
“She’s not so bad. But fine. Tea.”
Our mother’s coat was gone from the hook, same as always. The window was framed by greenery, and I opened it to let in the morning air and drive out the reek of his sick sweat.
Outside, the usual shapes: the silent slope of the chicken run, the low stack of wood, the heavy blue of sky with no sign of rain.
I could hear the neighbor’s girl already out in her yard, shrieking at a piglet that had gotten loose.
It felt like an everyday morning outside, but inside, the air felt heavy and close in the cottage.
I sensed life taking another turn down the wrong path.
In the kitchen I got the kettle going and checked the stock that Mother had left to simmer the night before. The scent of basil and lemongrass carried through the house from the pots swaying in front of the window.
Tay coughed, tried to smother it with his hand, but couldn’t. It sounded like something was tearing loose in his chest. Lidi came down the ladder and climbed into bed beside him.
When the kettle was just starting to complain and I was almost done making breakfast, Lidi came to me. Her hair had tangled into knots overnight, and she was blinking the way she did when she struggled not to cry. She didn’t say good morning or ask after Mam; she just pointed at Tay.
I swallowed the lump in my own throat, both of us struggling now, as I set the bread down to slice it. “Go sit with him. I’ll bring tea and honey. It’ll help. You’ll help.”
She stared at me, rubbing her snotty nose, which betrayed her tearfulness even as she blinked them away. “He’s not getting better. You said he’d get better. Do you still think he’s gonna?”
“I did, and I do. He’s going to be fine. But you have to sit with him and not let him talk himself to death.”
I regretted my attempt to sound lighthearted as soon as I heard my own words. Lidi’s face pinched tighter.
I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my chin into the top of her head, holding her there until her shoulders stopped shaking. When she calmed, I let her go.
After she went to Tay, for a moment I stood in the kitchen with my hands on the countertop, just breathing. Tay’s sickness hurt like a splinter under my own skin.
I had to fix it. I couldn’t let my family fall apart. My fingers tightened on the edge of the countertop until they ached, and the pain woke me from my panic. I shook them out and went on making breakfast.
When the tea was ready, I carried it to the table by the bed. Tay had managed to prop himself up, but his eyes were sunken, and his lips were cracked. Lidi was perched on the cot next to him, all knees and elbows, holding his hand with both of hers. Our cat was curled up at the foot of the bed.
The love between the two of them was warmer than the reflected heat from the fire.
She could save him. If we gave her the choice, she would. I’d been so stupid to try to delay his healing in a dream of having both. The wave of hatred I felt for myself was so strong it stole my breath.
“There’s my favorite big sister,” Tay smiled.
“You only say that when I’m fetching and carrying for you. Eat some bread.”
Tay tried to nod, but a cough took him, hard. When it passed, his skin looked gray. He caught me looking. “I’m fine,” he said, but the words slurred. “Maybe a bit cold.”
Lidi wrapped the blanket up around his shoulders and tucked it behind his neck. She kissed his cheek, then stopped, staring at him, like she was memorizing the shape of his bones. His sharp cheekbones and pointed jaw were more evident every day.
I grabbed my shawl and the coin pouch from the drawer. “Lidi, put on your shoes.”
I ran down the road to the neighbor’s. He was already out, cutting wood, and he stopped and wiped his forehead when he saw me coming down the path.
“I wanted to ask if I could borrow your horse for the morning,” I said, waving the coin purse. “I need to get Tay to—”
“I don’t need your money, girl,” he interrupted. “Just get him back by nightfall, all right? And don’t let him eat the poppies on the road to town.”
Getting Tay out of bed was the worst part. He tried to protest, but I didn’t listen. “I’m not going to let you rot in here.”
He was so light it took almost nothing to get him out of bed, but every movement made him wince. I knelt to put his boots on, but his feet had swollen, so I threw them aside. The two of us used to run barefoot unless there was snow on the ground anyway, when we were two feral little best friends.
He shuffled out of the house, leaning on me. My arm circled his waist too easily. I could’ve carried him if I had to.
“But really, Cara. I’m not dying,” he said, as if he were picking up a thread of a conversation we’d dropped earlier.
“I know.”
I helped Tay into the cart, and Lidi climbed in next to him, her hands gripping the side rail so hard her knuckles whitened.
I got up front, took the reins, and flicked the horse to a slow start, trying to keep the movement steady. As the cart creaked down the lane, Lidi started to sing, soft and tuneless, the same lullaby our mother used to sing when she was too tired to remember the words.
Tay put his arm around her, and I tried not to look back, tried to keep my eyes on the road ahead, even as the sun rose and the sky got brighter and the whole world seemed determined to go on like nothing was ending.
The healer’s place used to be a temple. All that was left of the original was the bell and the tall curved windows. Once the Fae came, we hadn’t needed our old gods anymore.
Inside, the benches were crowded: a kid with a fever, an old woman coughing into a scarf, a man holding his left hand in a blood-soaked rag.
Lidi curled into my side. She’d stopped crying, but every few seconds she made a sound—almost a hiccup—like life was giving her little jolts of panic. I knew the feeling.
Tay sank into one of the benches, then stared at the ceiling. He shifted uncomfortably. “Should have let me die at home in comfort,” he muttered, then, when he saw me glare, “I’m joking. Can’t I joke?”
“You’re not funny,” I said.
“He is,” Lidi defended him loyally, and Tay winked.
“You’re the favorite,” I said to both of them, really. They adored each other, and I adored them. They loved me, too, but I was prickly and mean and single-minded in a way that neither of my sunshine siblings were.
If we could just get through this, if Tay was all right, I would take Lidi to the Fae myself. I’d be by her side while they hollowed out her magic, and if she regretted it later, she could blame me, as I blamed my parents. But Tay needed to live. I hadn’t expected such a bad turn so fast.
When we were called, I hauled Tay up. Lidi tried to help, but mostly she got underfoot.
They already knew us, and I worried when the healer had us limp past the examination rooms into the infirmary in the back.
It smelled clean and soapy, and she gestured to us to help Tay to one of the beds in the row.
The healer, Ana, looked us over with a flick of her eyes as Tay sat heavily on the side of the bed.
“It’s the same thing?” she asked, not unkind but already tired.
“Yes.”
She sighed. Then she uncorked a bottle, poured a measure into a tin cup, and handed it to Tay. “This is to make you sleep. To get some good rest. You’ll stay here where we can keep an eye on you.”
Tay’s hands shook as he raised the mug to his lips and drank. My stomach dropped as if I were falling as I reached out to steady it. He lowered the mug and gave me a withering look, or rather, a fraction of one—as if he were too weak to even be annoyed by me fully.
Ana inclined her head toward the hall. I followed her out, where she hesitated.
“Just be honest,” I said, my voice rough. “Say it plainly.”
She leaned in, voice low so they couldn’t hear. “He’s got weeks, if that, Cara. You need magic. You need to take him to the Fae, and you need to do it while he can survive the trip. It might already be too late. He can’t sit a horse—”
“I know.” My voice was raw, and she didn’t meet my eyes.
“You know I can’t do much. I can make him comfortable. Maybe a little better, for a while. But—” She didn’t finish. I felt Lidi before I saw her, and knew why Ana had stopped before Lidi slipped her hand into mine.
She must’ve sensed I needed her even more than Tay.
“We’ll get him to the Fae,” I promised. “Just keep him comfortable, and I’ll make a plan.”