“Sorry about that,” I mumble, my thoughts fuzzy as the fever takes hold.
I reach for the softness of her cheek, but my arms won’t cooperate. They scream with pain when I try to lift them. Maybe they’re truly broken this time.
I can’t help but steal another glance at her. She’s beautiful, a vision from the dreams that kept me sane in the dungeon. With thick, dark hair, smooth skin, and shining eyes… I would do anything for that smile.
I’m still grinning as the world fades to black.
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 notthatsturdy.
“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.
