Chapter 8 #2
“Defending her is one thing, but what you did…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “You didn’t just kill those dissenters, Jack. You tore them apart. That was—” He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure how to put into words what he’d seen. Or maybe he was afraid of my answer.
I strode to the liquor table and poured myself a drink. The burn of eldbrann seared my throat, but it didn’t drown the truth. “They were vermin,” I said flatly. “They needed extermination.”
“They were common fae folk, Jack. The Warrens will claim they were completely defenseless against you and your magic.”
“They were monsters.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue as they slipped from my lips.
Ravin ran a hand down his face. “Fine. But—”
Before he could finish, Sylvi’s weak, trembling voice drifted from my chambers.
I was already moving before Ravin could react, the sound of his boots echoing behind me. A pang of fear twisted through my chest as I crossed the room and took in the sight before me.
Sylvi lay tangled in the sheets, her brow damp with sweat, her nightgown soaked through, chest rising and falling unevenly, breath ragged.
Strands of dark hair clung to her temples, her skin pallid and waxen beneath the cruel grip of a sudden fever spike.
Her lips trembled, her lashes fluttering as she forced her bloodshot eyes open.
They glistened, unfocused, glazed with exhaustion.
“Get the healer,” I ordered Ravin, my voice clipped.
He hesitated, only for a second, but nodded and slipped out the door.
I turned back to Sylvi, shoving the sleeves of my shirt up as I pressed the back of my hand to her cheek. Gods, her skin felt like hot coals.
Her fever had climbed too fast. Panic dug its claws into my flesh, threatening to steal my breath, but I swallowed it down.
I knew how dangerous a fever from a blade wound could be—lethal if not broken in time.
I had seen it happen before: soldiers writhing in their death throes, the sickness turning their blood into poison. But now was not the time to panic.
Sylvi whimpered, her fingers clutching weakly at the sheets. “Jack…” she moaned, “I…don’t feel so good…” Her voice sounded hoarse, barely a whisper, but it cleaved straight through me.
I sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped my hand around hers. “The healer is coming. Just hold on for me, alright?”
A small, pained noise escaped her, and she turned her face toward me, seeking comfort even in her fevered haze. “I…can’t stop…shivering…” she mumbled, sweat dripping at her brow. “Why is it so cold?”
I clenched my jaw. “You’re pitching a fever.
” Stripping off my shirt, I slid into bed beside her, pressing my chest to her back.
I let my ice magic seep through my skin, the frostfire cooling my body, the chill radiating into her overheated flesh.
She whimpered softly, but after a few seconds, the tension in her limbs melted, her breath evening slightly as she unconsciously curled closer to me.
Ravin pushed through the door abruptly, the healer right behind him, clutching her medicinal satchel. By the time the healer knelt beside the bed, Sylvi’s body still felt too hot, but at least it no longer felt as though she was on the verge of combustion.
Forcing myself away from Sylvi, I tried slipping from the bed to give the healer room to work, but Sylvi let out a low, distressed sound at the loss of the cooling sensation from my body, shifting restlessly against the pillows as she reached for my arm. “Jack…no. Stay with me. Please.”
My gut twisted. “I’m not leaving you, elskan. But the healer needs to examine you.”
The healer clicked her tongue as she peeled back the bloodied bandages across Sylvi’s wound.
Sylvi’s body trembled violently again. I didn’t miss the way the healer’s brows knit together in concern.
The gash was swollen, with angry red streaks creeping outward from the stitches and yellow fluid leaking from the inflamed edges.
Gods damn it. I knew letting her use the privy had probably caused her to rip a stitch, only making matters worse. I should’ve listened to my instincts and called for a chamber pot.
“The blade that cut her was either extremely rusted or filthy with something exceptionally foul,” the healer muttered under her breath, her hands moving swiftly, inspecting the inflamed skin around the stitches. “Whatever sickness it carried, it’s making her flesh turn against itself.”
I flexed my fingers. “Tell me what you need. How can I help?”
“Bring me a basin with clean water and fresh linens so I can clean the site.”
I don’t think I ever moved as fast as I did in that moment. Thankfully, the chambermaids kept my washroom stocked with pitchers of fresh water and clean rags.
The healer didn’t waste time. As soon as I brought her the supplies, she unstrapped the satchel from her shoulder and pulled out dried herbs and vials of powdered roots.
She used the basin to mix the water with some tincture she pulled from her satchel, soaking the rags in the liquid and using them to clean the wound site.
She crushed herbs and root powders inside a ceramic container, her hands moving like they had a mind of their own.
Ravin stood at the foot of the bed, crossing his arms. “What is that?”
The healer barely spared him a glance as she ground the ingredients together. “A poultice of yarrow, comfrey, snowroot, and honey. We applied it earlier, but she needs multiple applications to draw out the sickness.”
She worked quickly, spreading the paste across the wound before carefully wrapping her abdomen with fresh bandages. “We need to change her out of this damp and soiled nightgown.”
“I…don’t have any of her things here. That’s the gown you and the other healers changed her into.”
She eyed the shirt I’d stripped off and thrown at the foot of the bed. “That will do.”
I quickly helped the healer dress Sylvi in my shirt. Ravin had the good sense to turn his gaze away, though thankfully, Sylvi’s breasts were already covered in a linen wrap.
The shirt was several sizes too big for her, swallowing up her frame, but at least it was clean and dry.
Reaching for another vial inside her satchel, the healer handed me what looked like a tonic. “Help her drink this.”
I took the small bottle, tilting it toward the candlelight. A dark, thick amber liquid clung to the glass.
“What’s in it?” Ravin asked, watching the healer with the same eyes he used when scrutinizing someone. I shot him a glance, wondering why he was suddenly so interested in medicinal practices.