Chapter 27
The days blurred together.
Nathan drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes crying out, sometimes whimpering. Ava held him the whole while, singing until her voice became hoarse, her tears soaking into his wavy brown hair.
Caden brought water, changed the boy’s clothes, and forced himself to remain calm, even though fear clawed at his throat. Tension grew with every passing day.
Once, in the grey light before dawn, Ava snapped at him for letting the fire burn too hot.
“He’ll burn up even more!” she hissed.
Thalia, who was grinding more yarrow and willowbark, gave her a reproachful look, as if to say, Ye’re nae helping.
Ava clamped her mouth shut.
After three days of no improvement, she still had not slept. Caden had nodded off in his chair on the other side of Nathan’s bed, but she refused to sleep.
He handed her a glass of water and suggested she get some sleep.
“I cannae leave him, even to rest,” she insisted.
“Ye are exhaustin’ yerself!” Caden barked. “Ye are nay use to him when ye cannae even function, Ava!” He tossed his hands up in frustration.
“Daenae tell me what to do, Caden! Ye promised me freedom,” she shot back.
“All right, that’s enough.” Finlay stepped between them, his expression hard. “Save it. He needs ye both to be level-headed.”
“Out, both of ye.” Thalia crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m nae leaving,” they said in unison.
“Ye are doing more harm than good to me patient. I’m the healer here. Now, do ye want the boy to get better or nae?” Thalia bit out.
Ava had never seen her sister so assertive.
“Ye two need sleep and food. Ye are nay good to him or me by staying here. Now, I’m orderin’ ye both to leave this room for four hours.”
Both started to argue, but Thalia held up a hand to shush them.
“Ye will leave. Ye will sleep, eat, bathe, go outside—I daenae care. But ye willnae come back until the four hours are up or I send for ye. Is that understood?” She arched an eyebrow, daring them to defy her.
Finlay’s mouth dropped open in awe.
“Aye,” they muttered.
Ava knelt to kiss Nathan’s brow. “I’ll be back before ye ken it.”
Caden kissed the boy’s head, before following her out of the room. He led her to the kitchens, where he made a meal for her—a peace offering. She said nothing, only ate her food while crying softly.
Their hands rested on the table, close enough to touch but still not touching, each accepting the unspoken support. After falling asleep on the table, Finlay came to wake them. Still no change.
They stopped bickering after that. They worked together from then on, learned each other’s rhythms. Ava knew when he would reach for more water, and he knew when she needed to sit.
Thalia never slept. She brewed, crushed, whispered old remedies under her breath, her hands steady even when her eyes were not.
The third night was the most brutal. Nathan cried in his sleep, fighting unseen terrors. Ava and Caden could do nothing but hold his hands and pray. Cat stayed by his feet the whole time, a comforting and warm presence.
On the fourth morning, the fever finally broke, and Nathan fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. His breathing was even, at last.
Thalia sagged back in her chair after declaring he was out of danger. Tears of relief and exhaustion streaked her face.
“He will live,” she said. “He’s a strong fighter, this one.”
Ava sobbed, pressing her lips to the boy’s cool brow.
Finlay helped Thalia out of the room so she could rest in her own bed. She was too exhausted to think properly.
After they left, Caden sank to his knees beside the bed, his composure finally shattering. He covered his face with his hands.
“I almost lost him,” he croaked. “I almost lost both of ye.”
Ava studied him for the first time in weeks.
“He needs us,” she whispered and looked at Nathan. “Both of us.”
Caden nodded, seeing her in a new light.