5. Jonah
Jonah
Kieran slept badly. Every few minutes his breathing caught and started again. Astra sat against the headboard with his weight resting into her side, one arm still around him beneath the blanket. She had fallen asleep sometime after Marrow left, though her hand remained closed around Kieran’s wrist.
Caspian sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. His head rested against the frame, eyes shut, but I knew he was awake. Each time Kieran shifted, Caspian’s attention moved toward him before the sound had finished.
I stayed in the chair.
The fresh water in the washbowl had begun to cloud. Green gathered along the folds of the cloth at Kieran’s neck, dim in the low light. I changed it again and checked his pulse.
Faster.
His fever had climbed too. The Tower had given us broth, water, and a cord to pull if he worsened. It had not given us anyone willing to treat him.
Caspian opened his eyes. “How bad?”
“Worse than when Marrow was here.”
He pushed himself up and looked toward the black cord beside the door. I was already crossing the room.
The cord went slack when I pulled it. No bell sounded, and nothing moved inside the wall.
We waited. The corridor remained empty.
Caspian took the cup from the table and held it out to me. I drank because arguing would waste time. The water tasted faintly of stone and whatever metal lined the pipes inside the walls.
“Did the reader say why intervention required the panel?”
“No. She asked whether the Mark had changed. She never asked what the change was doing to him.”
“They asked me about the cuffs.”
“They asked Astra about the third line.”
His gaze moved to her sleeping against the headboard. A strand of hair had fallen across her face. He moved it carefully away, and I drew the blanket higher over her shoulder.
My sleeve was still rolled above my elbow, leaving the Mark visible.
The transfer order Linden had read before they took us underground forbade suppression until Tower review, and without the pressure I had kept against it since childhood, the lines lay darker along my forearm than I was accustomed to seeing them.
Astra’s rain-dark line lay hidden beneath her sleeve. I could feel its direction without seeing it. The Pull had sharpened when she entered Kieran’s room, quiet beneath the more immediate work of keeping him conscious, cooling the fever, and making sure every breath was followed by another.
I did not force it down.
Kieran stirred.
His hand jerked in Astra’s grip, and his shoulder drew tight under the open collar of his shirt. Silver-green light spread beneath the fabric, following the line of his Mark. His breath stopped halfway in.
I was out of the chair before Caspian could move.
“Kieran.” I put one hand against his chest. “Breathe.”
His eyes opened without focusing. He released the breath in a thin rush but could not draw the next one.
Astra woke at once. “What’s happening?”
“Sit him forward.”
She moved behind him and pulled him against her. Caspian took his other shoulder while I kept my hand against Kieran’s chest.
Kieran dragged in a breath. It came shallow, followed by another that was barely better.
“Again,” I told him. “Slowly.”
His fingers closed around my forearm. The grip had little strength. Silver-green light flared beneath his shirt, and the muscles in his face tightened with pain.
Footsteps entered the corridor.
Marrow appeared first. The woman who had read Kieran followed him with a narrow leather case in one hand.
“We pulled the cord when his fever rose,” I said. “While we waited, his breathing seized.”
The reader came to the bed and put two fingers against Kieran’s throat. Her hand was cold enough that he flinched. She watched the green light move beneath his shirt, then opened the case and removed a dark glass vial.
“What is that?” I asked.
“For the fever.” She tipped a small measure beneath Kieran’s tongue. “It should ease the spasm.”
The liquid smelled bitter and medicinal. Kieran coughed once, swallowed, and drew a deeper breath. The green beneath his shirt faded without disappearing.
“He needs a healer,” I said.
Astra’s arm tightened around Kieran. “We asked for treatment.”
“The panel will determine the appropriate intervention.”
“That draught is treatment,” I said.
“It was a temporary measure. He can be moved now.”
Caspian stood between her and the door. “Enter that we pulled the cord when his fever rose, waited while his breathing seized, and requested further treatment after you arrived.”
Astra lifted her head. Her face had gone pale, but her voice was clear. “Under all four names.”
Marrow looked from her to Caspian. “It will be entered in the review record.”
The reader closed the leather case. “Keep him upright until the bell.”
She left with Marrow. The sharp smell of the draught remained after the door closed.
I returned my attention to Kieran. His breathing had steadied, but his grip remained around my forearm.
“Jonah,” he said. His voice was little more than air.
“I’m here.”
His eyes found mine at last. His grip eased, though he did not let go.
Astra lowered her cheek to his hair. Caspian stayed beside the door, watching the corridor. I kept my attention on Kieran.
The bell rang inside the walls.
Kieran flinched. I kept my arm beneath his hand and waited for the stewards to come.