What if I fall asleep and wake up and Dietan’s dead?
Just like Mother.
I won’t. Indignant anger bubbles up within me.
“We’ve come too far for you to die now, you bastard. Don’t even think of dying. I broke my bloody back to get you out of that damned prison, and I never once complained. I think you can handle a little thing like a fever—right?”
He moans, and I tell myself he can hear me. “That’s right, you lazy ass. It’s time for you to share in the work. Fight the fever so we can get out of this hellhole.”
He groans again, his chest rising and falling. Each breath he takes is another small victory, and I need all the victories I can get.
Gently, so as not to disturb him, I curl up against his side, making sure I’m not pressing on any of his wounds. I don’t mean to fall asleep. I’ve been fighting it all night, but my eyelids are so heavy that, once I close them, there isn’t a force in the world powerful enough to open them.
…
The sound of the door banging open wakes me with a start. An old man in a cotton cap and a dirty tunic stands framed in the doorway by the morning sunlight behind him. “What are you— Who are you—?”
I leap to my feet before I’m even fully awake, hands up, ready to fight. But the man isn’t dressed like a guard. He’s a groom, or just some old man who has come to muck the stalls or feed the horses.
When I step back, I ram right into something solid and warm. To my surprise, Dietan is on his feet as well, though a bit unsteady. Thank the goddess, he’s survived the night. I touch his forehead and find his fever is gone.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Alive,” he croaks, his face pale and his eyes distant.
The man hesitates at the door. He is old and feeble and looks just as frightened of us as we are of him. He cautiously backs away.
But Dietan pushes forward and holds out a hand in greeting. “Sorry to disturb you, sir. Obviously, we wandered into the wrong stable. Won’t happen again,” he says, voice radiating charm. Despite his broken nose and black eyes, his demeanor is regal, his voice filled with confidence and warmth. He tries to smile but winces at the effort.
The groom shakes his head. “Ye can’t be here, y’know. And I don’t wan’ to know why y’are. So off you go. Get out of here’n don’t come back. I’ve work to do. Leave, and if I find you’ve stolen anything, I’ll call the guards.”
My heart jumps at the mention of the guards, but Dietan takes it in stride. “Of course. We’ll be on our way, thank you. No need to call anyone,” he says as he picks up our things.
“We’ll be going now,” says Dietan, saluting as he passes the man. “Got turned around. Sorry. You won’t see us again.”
The groom just keeps shaking his head, and the two of us break into a run the moment we’re out the door. But we don’t make it far. When we turn the corner into a narrow alley, Dietan groans and slows to a limp, bending over and clutching his sides.
“Take it easy,” I tell him, laying a gentle hand on his back.
“Any sign of guards?” he asks.
“Not yet. I don’t think that man will call them. Knowing the guards here, they’d probably beat him for his trouble,” I say.
But even if the old man doesn’t report us, moving in daylight will be risky. At least the damn bells have stopped. I peek around the corner at the street and find it clear. We need another place to hide until I can figure out what to do next. We could be discovered any second, and I expect to hear the thunder of heavy boots running after us soon.
Dietan doesn’t look like he can walk, let alone run. His color has briefly returned to his face, but it’s already fading. He looks pale again, and sick. He gasps for breath and groans, holding his ribcage and wincing. “Don’t mind me,” he pants.
“Let’s find another place where you can rest for a minute.”
He waves me off, still breathless, dismissing me as usual. I roll my eyes and scan the street once again for soldiers.
“Where are we going, exactly?” he asks when he can talk again.
“Figuring that out,” I say. “You had a fever, and you had to rest, so we couldn’t meet the rest of the group in the meeting place on time.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” He sighs. “How truly inconvenient of me.”
“Messing things up does seem to be your talent.”
