I call for Gildmar and have her fetch me fresh spider silk cloth so I can change the dressing of his wound. She brings me more honey pyrus too, wine steeped with fae herbs, and an aromatic broth to try and feed Aspen. Each time I examine him, my stomach sinks. The tendrils of black have stopped receding. They aren’t growing, but they no longer seem to be fading away. His skin grows hotter and hotter.
“Is there anything else we can do?” I ask Gildmar. A full day has passed since the surgery, and I’m beginning to lose hope he’ll recover. “Are there any fae methods for reversing iron poisoning?”
She shakes her head. “A wound as bad as his could take months—years even—to fully recover from. It was too close to his heart, and the poisoning spread too fast.”
“How long do you think he’ll be like this? When will he wake?”
“Weeks, possibly.”
My hands clench into fists. I can’t wait weeks. Not after what he told me yesterday. I’ll go out of my mind wondering if what he said about my sister is true.
“At least he has your care,” she says. “I never thought much about human-fae pairings, aside from being a necessary function to maintain the treaty. But seeing you care for him like this…it makes me think I’ve been wrong about humans. Perhaps you aren’t all greedy invaders. Perhaps this peace we have is worth keeping.”
Guilt fills my stomach with lead. She has no idea I’m only caring for him in a purely professional manner. Has no idea my main motivation for bringing him back to health is to bleed answers from him. But if perpetuating the lie is what keeps humans and fae at peace…
“He’s very important to me,” I say with a pleasant smile.
She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m sure he feels the same about you. Now, I’ll leave you to rest. I’m sure you haven’t slept much.”
I watch her shuffle out the doors, suddenly curious how old she is. She seems ancient compared to Aspen, and Aspen is a thousand years old. It’s possible her age is unrelated to her appearance. Other Earthen fae might be like her, for all I know, considering the only other I’ve seen was the Earthen Court ambassador.
I return to Aspen’s side, then press the back of my hand to his forehead. Still burning. I push his robe aside and check the black veins, trying to find evidence that they are fading. His torso is hot to the touch, even warmer than his forehead. I take a seat on the bed next to him, my fingers skating across his skin until they reach his wound. I lay my palm over the bandages.
“Come out of this, Aspen.” My whisper sounds more like a hiss. “I’m not done with you yet. If you dare die on me, I will decimate your corpse and cut it into a thousand pieces, then feed you to a kelpie.”
Heat radiates from his skin, warming my palm through the cloth dressing. I grit my teeth, anger seething toward the wound. Even after everything I did to accomplish a successful operation, it still wasn’t enough. He’s still suffering, fighting against a poison I don’t understand. A poison no human antibiotic or fae remedy can help.
I hate feeling this helpless. Useless. Powerless.
I close my eyes, breathing away my anger. “Heal, damn you.”
Aspen makes a noise and my eyes fly open. His face is contorted, twisted with pain, breaths labored. He tries to speak, but his open mouth pulls into a grimace.
I reach for the vial next to the bed and give him half a dropperful of honey pyrus. He doesn’t immediately relax, but the furrows between his brow begin to lessen. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out. His expression still looks pained, but his jaw has unclenched.
My hand moves to his forehead, and I’m startled to find a sheen of sweat over the skin. The fever has broken. That is, if fae process illness like humans do.
He tries to speak again, and I realize he’s asking for something to drink. I reach for the herbed wine. Despite my many protestations in favor of water, Gildmar insisted fae heal better with wine. I put the shallow bowl to his lips, help him incline his head to drink it. After a few swallows, he sighs, then lays back on the pillow.
“Aspen,” I say, “can you hear me?”Please be lucid. Please be lucid.
“Yes.” The word comes out like a croak.
“How do you feel?”
He grimaces. “Awful. Am I dead yet?”
“Not yet.”
His eyelids flutter. “I can’t…open my eyes. The light. It hurts.”
I reach for a clean cloth and immerse it in a bowl of cool water. After I wring it out, I drape it over his eyes. “Better?”
“No. I need more honey pyrus. The pain. It’s too much.”
I return to my seat on the bed, leaning in close. “I’ll give you more honey pyrus, but only after you answer my questions.”
A corner of his lips twitches into a half smile. “Cruel human.”
