I wrote that down, my mind already working through possibilities. “And environmental factors? Is there anything that seems to help or make it worse?”
“She sleeps better when the wind dies down outside,” the mother said. “We’ve started keeping the window closed even though it gets too hot inside.”
My pen paused over the page. Wind making it worse. That was interesting.
I glanced at Raoul and found him already looking at me. Our eyes met, and understanding passed between us without words. A clue. Maybe.
He carefully returned the baby to her mother. “Thank you for letting us visit. My wife is brilliant. If anyone can figure this out, it’s her.”
The mother’s expression softened further. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” He said it with such certainty, such complete faith, that warmth flooded me.
We visited more homes over the rest of the morning, and the pattern held. Every baby sneezing, every parent exhausted and desperate. Each home showed the same timing, worse in the mornings through midday, then better by dusk, though not completely gone. They all sneezed worse when it was windy.
As we walked between homes, Raoul fell into step beside me, his hand finding mine.
“It’s sexy watching your brain work,” he said quietly. His fingertip stroked across my knuckles. “The way your eyes get distant when you’re processing information. How you chew your lip when you’re connecting pieces. I find it incredibly attractive.”
I stumbled, heat rushing to my face. “You can’t say things like that while I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Can’t I?” His smile held pure mischief. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Put a spell on you. Definitelybespell you.”
“Looking forward to it.”
At the fifth stop, a nursery with many sneezing children, I knelt beside a cradle while Raoul spoke with the parents hovering nearby. The baby inside was older than the others we’d seen, maybe six months. Between sneezes, she made soft sounds, somewhere between coos and tiny growls.
“What’s she saying?” I asked Raoul.
He crouched beside me, listening. “She wants to know why the lady with the pretty eyes is staring at her.”
“I do not have—” I stopped. “Wait, do you really know what she’s saying?”
“I don’t.” His grin held no shame. “I’m making it up. But you smiled, and that mother over there stopped looking like she wanted to throw us out, so that’s success.”
The parents had thawed considerably, watching us work together. Watching him defer to my expertise, asking intelligent questions but letting me lead. Watching how naturally we moved around each other, how his hand would find my back when I leaned forward to examine a baby, plus how I’d touch his arm when I wanted his attention.
We looked like partners. We looked like we belonged together.
The realization should’ve scared me. Instead, it felt inevitable and right.
“I need to check the air quality at different elevations,” I said as we left the nursery, my mind churning through the data. “The wind direction suggests it’s not a magical contamination. That would saturate regardless of air movement. But if there’s a particulate or some kind of irritant that settles at certain altitudes, that could be the problem.”
“We should test the air at different heights.”
“Can we do that safely?”
His expression turned serious. “The air will be thin at the highest elevations. Dangerous for you. But yes, I can get you there if you’re up for it.”
“I am. It won’t be much different than it was at Brightmore, will it?”
“No.”
“You cannot do this,” Queen Mortiven said, crossing her arms on her chest, her expression carved from the same stone as the cliffs around us. “The peaks are sacred ground. Outsiders aren’t permitted.”
“Then we won’t have all the information we need,” Raoul said. “And your babies may keep suffering.”
