Chapter 9 #2
Tarek crouched next to her and pulled another fur over her small body. The gesture was so gentle that she felt her throat tighten.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, even though the words felt inadequate. “For all of this. For helping us.”
He didn’t look at her. “You needed help.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Silence stretched between them, filled by the crackle of the fire and the distant rumble of thunder. She sipped her second cup of broth and tried to organize her scattered thoughts into something coherent.
We fled. We’re in a Vultor’s den. Dani is sick and exhausted and I have no idea what comes next.
The guilt that had been lurking at the edges of her awareness surged forward, sharp and accusing. She looked at her sleeping sister, so small and fragile beneath the furs, and her eyes burned with unshed tears.
“I shouldn’t have brought her out tonight. We were in a hurry to leave, but I didn’t expect the storm.”
The words emerged before she could stop them, raw and aching.
“It came faster than anyone expected,” he said in that measured tone, neither accusation nor absolution.
“That’s not an excuse.” Her hands tightened around her cup. “She’s sick. She needs rest and warmth and proper care, not—” Her voice broke. “Not fleeing up a mountainside in a storm because her sister was too stupid to have a better plan.”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice sounded oddly clinical.
“How long has she been ill?”
“Almost two years now. It started as a cough that wouldn’t go away, and then…” She gestured vaguely. “It comes and goes. Some weeks are better than others.”
“Does she have trouble breathing at night?”
“Sometimes. Especially when it’s cold, or when she’s been exerting herself.”
“Fever?”
“Low-grade, most of the time. It’s higher when she has a bad spell.”
He nodded slowly, frowning. “And her appetite?”
“Poor. She eats, but not enough. She’s lost weight this past year.”
“Does she cough blood?”
Her heart stuttered. “No. Not… not yet. Is that… Should I be worried about that?”
“Not necessarily.” His eyes met hers, green and steady in the firelight. “It’s a sign of progression, but many with her symptoms never develop it. The medicine you obtained should help. But she needs rest. Real rest, not just sleep snatched between crises.”
The precision of his questions struck her. “You know about healing.”
Something flickered across his face too quickly for her to read. “I was trained. Before.”
Before exile, she filled in silently. Before whatever happened to bring you here.
“She’ll be all right,” he continued, and his voice had gentled again. “Tonight was hard on her, but she’s stronger than she looks. I can see it in the way she breathes. Her body is fighting.”
The reassurance shouldn’t have meant so much. It shouldn’t have loosened the tight knot of fear in her chest quite so effectively, but it did.
“How do you know?” she asked. “About illnesses like hers?”
He rose and moved to the fire, adding another log and avoiding her gaze. “I told you. I was trained.”
“As a healer?”
“Among other things.” He didn’t elaborate.
She wanted to press—wanted to understand how an exiled Vultor warrior had come to know so much about human illness—but exhaustion was pulling at her, her thoughts dissolving into the fog clouding her mind. She swayed where she sat, and he turned his head quickly.
“You need sleep.”
“I know.” She glanced at Dani. “But she…”
“I’ll watch her.” He crossed back to her and crouched at her level, his face serious. “If anything changes, I’ll wake you. But right now, you’re no good to her half-dead on your feet.”
He was right. She knew he was right. But the thought of closing her eyes, of letting go even for a moment, sent panic skittering through her.
“I don’t—”
“Jessa.” His voice was low, rough and strangely tender. “I give you my word. No harm will come to her while you rest.”
She met his eyes and saw the truth there. Not just competence, but commitment. A promise made with the same gravity he’d shown when agreeing to help her find the vines.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
He nodded and rose, then bent to gather Dani carefully into his arms. The girl didn’t stir—lost too deeply in exhausted sleep to notice the movement.
“There’s a bed in the next room,” he said. “You’ll both be more comfortable there.”
She followed him through the archway into the sleeping chamber. It was smaller than the main room, but still larger than she’d expected, carved deep into the cliff, the walls smoothed to a gentle curve. The raised platform covered in furs was easily large enough for two.
He laid Dani down with a gentleness that made her chest ache. He arranged the furs around her small form, tucking them close, and then stepped back.
“Sleep,” he said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Tarek—”
He paused at the archway, half-turning.
“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate again, but she didn’t have any others. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
Something shifted in his expression. The firelight caught his eyes and made them glow, as green as spring leaves, and for just a moment she saw something vulnerable beneath the careful control.
“Sleep,” he said again, softer this time. “The debt can wait.”
He disappeared through the archway, and she heard him settle somewhere in the main room. Standing guard, she realized. Watching over them while they slept.
She crawled into the bed beside her sister and pulled the furs close. They smelled like him—herbs and woodsmoke and that warm, wild scent she’d come to associate with safety. With comfort.
We’ll talk in the morning, she thought, her eyes already closing. We’ll figure out what comes next.
But for now, wrapped in borrowed furs in an exile’s den, with her sister breathing steady beside her and a Vultor warrior keeping watch through the storm… For now, she slept.