Chapter Forty-Five
Aren
Dietan’s head falls limply against my chest, and I curse under my breath.
He’s passed out again.
The poor man is burning up with fever, and I can’t leave him to find medicine or go to the safehouse to let the others know we’re here. It’s too dangerous.
Guards are patrolling the streets. Their boots echo against the cobblestones as they pass our hiding place.
Farther off, bells at the castle ring loudly in the night, undoubtedly announcing our escape.
I hadn’t expected to be discovered missing until the morning, when we’d all be far away from here—all but Bing. But so much for that plan.
I gently lift Dietan’s head from my chest, lay him down in the hay, and push myself to my feet, stifling a groan. Every muscle in my body aches from lugging this heavy prince around.
I hope the others all made it to the appointed meeting place. At least Dietan and I are safe for now, hidden in this quiet stable. The horses don’t seem to mind our company, and they watch with interest as I scoop my hands into their water barrel and take a drink.
I tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of my shirt, dipping the torn scrap into the barrel to wet it.
With the soaked rag in hand, I slide Dietan out of the tattered beggar’s cloak and peel away his filthy shirt.
It reeks of blood and grime, and I toss it to the far side of the stable.
Tears well in my eyes at the sight of his naked chest, bruised and battered, with open wounds along his exposed ribs.
No one tended to them, so they’re angry and infected.
It’s no wonder he has a fever. It’s lucky he isn’t in worse shape.
That familiar ache returns to my chest. I know now that losing him for real would devastate me, and if I don’t get his fever down, it might happen tonight. If we’re caught and he’s forced to face Namreth again, it most certainly will.
No, I can’t think that way. I have to be strong for both of us now.
I place the cool rag on Dietan’s forehead. He shifts restlessly, his moans barely audible over the relentless clanging of the castle bells.
He needs a healer and probably to sleep for a week, but we don’t have that luxury. We can’t stay in this barn, or we’ll be captured. We have to join the others at the meeting point, if they’re even still waiting for us, but I can’t move him now. They’ll just have to go on without us.
But if I can’t get Dietan back on his feet, I’ll have to walk the length of the desert with him slung over my back. I know it’s sturdy, but not that sturdy.
“Aren…” he moans.
“It’s okay, just rest,” I say, placing the wet cloth back on his forehead.
He makes no effort to reply, so I assume he must be dreaming.
It brings back memories of when I had the red fever as a child and I couldn’t leave my bed for a week.
I don’t remember much, just the burning in my chest and forehead.
I cried, afraid the fever would take me.
Instead, it took Mother. Father sat at my bedside and told me everything was going to be fine. But when I woke up, Mother was dead.
I want to say something reassuring to Dietan but seeing him this way makes my eyes sting.
I’m sad and angry at the same time. After everything we did to get here, everything we’ve shared, I can’t lose him now. “Don’t die on me,” I whisper. “Not here, not like this.”
The night grows colder, and the minutes turn to hours.
I soak the rag in the barrel again and again, placing it on his burning forehead, cheeks, and neck, trying to break the fever.
He barely moves, lying against the hay bale like he’s already dead.
I try to clean his wounds, as best I can, but all I can do is wait for the fever to break and hope we’re not discovered.
Every creak, every unexpected sound makes me jump, thinking we’ve been caught.
Dietan shivers terribly, and I drape the beggar’s cloak over him, only for him to start sweating and crying out again, forcing me to throw it aside.
In the darkness, in my exhaustion, I lose all track of time.
Dietan’s teeth chatter, the fever threatening to overtake him.
“Aren?” he rasps.
“Yes, I’m still here.”
“Not a dream,” he sighs.
I stare at him in the dark. My body aches for sleep. Maybe just a small nap, just long enough to rest my eyes.
No.
What if I fall asleep and wake up and Dietan’s dead?
Just like Mother.
I won’t. Indignant anger bubbles up within me.
“We’ve come too far for you to die now, you bastard. Don’t even think of dying. I broke my bloody back to get you out of that damned prison, and I never once complained. I think you can handle a little thing like a fever—right?”
He moans, and I tell myself he can hear me. “That’s right, you lazy ass. It’s time for you to share in the work. Fight the fever so we can get out of this hellhole.”
He groans again, his chest rising and falling. Each breath he takes is another small victory, and I need all the victories I can get.
Gently, so as not to disturb him, I curl up against his side, making sure I’m not pressing on any of his wounds. I don’t mean to fall asleep. I’ve been fighting it all night, but my eyelids are so heavy that, once I close them, there isn’t a force in the world powerful enough to open them.
…
The sound of the door banging open wakes me with a start. An old man in a cotton cap and a dirty tunic stands framed in the doorway by the morning sunlight behind him. “What are you— Who are you—?”
I leap to my feet before I’m even fully awake, hands up, ready to fight. But the man isn’t dressed like a guard. He’s a groom, or just some old man who has come to muck the stalls or feed the horses.
When I step back, I ram right into something solid and warm. To my surprise, Dietan is on his feet as well, though a bit unsteady. Thank the goddess, he’s survived the night. I touch his forehead and find his fever is gone.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Alive,” he croaks, his face pale and his eyes distant.
The man hesitates at the door. He is old and feeble and looks just as frightened of us as we are of him. He cautiously backs away.
But Dietan pushes forward and holds out a hand in greeting.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir. Obviously, we wandered into the wrong stable. Won’t happen again,” he says, voice radiating charm.
Despite his broken nose and black eyes, his demeanor is regal, his voice filled with confidence and warmth.
He tries to smile but winces at the effort.
The groom shakes his head. “Ye can’t be here, y’know. And I don’t wan’ to know why y’are. So off you go. Get out of here’n don’t come back. I’ve work to do. Leave, and if I find you’ve stolen anything, I’ll call the guards.”
My heart jumps at the mention of the guards, but Dietan takes it in stride. “Of course. We’ll be on our way, thank you. No need to call anyone,” he says as he picks up our things.
“We’ll be going now,” says Dietan, saluting as he passes the man. “Got turned around. Sorry. You won’t see us again.”
The groom just keeps shaking his head, and the two of us break into a run the moment we’re out the door. But we don’t make it far. When we turn the corner into a narrow alley, Dietan groans and slows to a limp, bending over and clutching his sides.
“Take it easy,” I tell him, laying a gentle hand on his back.
“Any sign of guards?” he asks.
“Not yet. I don’t think that man will call them. Knowing the guards here, they’d probably beat him for his trouble,” I say.
But even if the old man doesn’t report us, moving in daylight will be risky.
At least the damn bells have stopped. I peek around the corner at the street and find it clear.
We need another place to hide until I can figure out what to do next.
We could be discovered any second, and I expect to hear the thunder of heavy boots running after us soon.
Dietan doesn’t look like he can walk, let alone run. His color has briefly returned to his face, but it’s already fading. He looks pale again, and sick. He gasps for breath and groans, holding his ribcage and wincing. “Don’t mind me,” he pants.
“Let’s find another place where you can rest for a minute.”
He waves me off, still breathless, dismissing me as usual. I roll my eyes and scan the street once again for soldiers.
“Where are we going, exactly?” he asks when he can talk again.
“Figuring that out,” I say. “You had a fever, and you had to rest, so we couldn’t meet the rest of the group in the meeting place on time.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” He sighs. “How truly inconvenient of me.”
“Messing things up does seem to be your talent.”
“I am the very best at that.” He catches my eye and grins. Even with the grim situation we’ve found ourselves in, he still manages to keep his sense of humor.
I’m still worried for him. “You feeling any better?”
He coughs. “Not at all, but as you can see, my wit has returned.”
“Darn. Was hoping you’d lose it.”
“No such luck.”
“Luck? We haven’t had much of that.”
“I don’t know. I think we’re doing quite well,” he quips, looking like a carriage rolled over him, with his black eyes, bruised face, and limp.
“Shut up and put on your cloak,” I say, throwing it over his shoulders, then pulling the hood forward to hide his bruised face.
There’s no sign of the guards, but that doesn’t mean trouble isn’t just around a corner. We can’t stay in the alley any longer. I support Dietan as he limps along like the drunken husband I claimed he was, barely able to match my pace.