“Where are you going?” Theodoric asked.
“There’s nothing in here that’ll help me cure him. I need supplies.” Amaris’s gaze shifted to Esaias, who was now having a coughing fit.
“What you need,” he gasped, “is the mystique’s—”
“The what?”
“The—” Esaias tried again, but his cough overtook him.
Theodoric sighed. “The old mystique kept a journal of everything he encountered. When he was stationed with us during the war, he would’ve recorded the cases of scrying fever.”
“Alright, where’s this journal then?”
“I’m assuming with all his belongings.”
Amaris cringed at the remembrance of the stacks of crates and chests she’d dreaded touching. “I might know someone who can help.” She removed the cloth from her face and headed back to the library. “I expect privileges if I’m going to be curing this deadly disease.”
Theodoric lowered his makeshift mask. “What sort of privileges?”
She stumbled forward, having thought he was going to flat-out deny her. Now she had to think of something, but what kind of privileges could he even offer? It wasn’t like she could ask for free time when he wasn’t there breathing the same air.
“First, I want an apology.”
“An apology?”
“Yes.” Amaris shifted her focus forward, turning her nose up. “You owe me.”
He stopped, but his gaze swept to an open window, his thumb swirling along the hilt of his dagger.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?” he asked, pulling from his trance, his eyes narrowing after their moment of glassiness.
“You hold your knife and rub your thumb along the edge of it.”
“A habit,” he whispered, resuming the trek toward the library.
Amaris ran past him, stopping as his chest slammed into her. He clenched his teeth, flaring his nostrils.
“As you said, we’re stuck with each other, so how about, instead of you being—”
“Will you quit insulting me?” he grumbled, and Amaris pulled back. “You have done nothing but spew hate at me, calling me all sorts of horrendous names.”
“You…” she stammered. “You kidnapped me! What am I supposed to call you, Mr. Ray of Sunshine?”
He turned away. “I’m sorry! Is that what you want to hear?” he shouted. “You have no idea what it’s like having to deal with all of this!” He stepped over and leaned into the wall, pinching his nose as his eyes squeezed together.
“Are you still dealing with headaches?”
“Yes,” he said, hunching forward.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she scolded, cocking a hip and folding her arms. “I could have given you something.” She was surprised he was still dealing with the concussion, but it wasn’t uncommon for symptoms to persist, especially with the severity he had.
“I can handle it myself.”
“Obviously not,” she scoffed. “You should be resting. All this stress is making it worse.”
He let out a small bit of laughter, but it wasn’t the happy kind, more like a creepy laugh that pricked the hairs on her arms. “There is a murderer within Luana’s borders, and you’re telling me I need to rest?”
