Her gaze lifts to meet mine.
“It never did,” she says quietly, “until you arrived.”
She brushes her hand along his cheek, and Luceran murmurs faintly in his sleep.
“Yes, you infuriated him,” she continues. “But before you, he felt nothing at all. I would call that an improvement.”
I step closer to the bed, my chest tight.
“What is wrong with him?” I ask.
“It is his heart,” she says. “His Fae gift is frost and ice. He is the Winter Lord, as you already know, but that power is a remnant of a union between houses long ago. It is not natural to us. We are Fae of creation and invention.”
She exhales slowly.
“Only Luceran can wield the cold as he does, and he has no true control over it. The more he used his gift, the sicker he became.” Her gaze darkens. “It worsened after Aluna died.”
She dips her chin. “She was Luceran’s wife.”
I nod, though I’m not sure why the sound of her name makes my hands tremble, fingers picking at the loose threads of my sleeve.
“When he is under great strain or stress, the pain in his chest worsens, and when he sleeps, he loses what little control he has left over his own temperature. That is why he is growing colder.” Her voice lowers. “Until he recovers, he will continue to freeze.”
She turns back to him, and for the first time I see the cracks in her composure. The iron-hard mask slips. She looks like a mother watching her child slip away.
Then, abruptly, she straightens and strides toward the door.
I arch a brow. “Where are you going?”
“To my home. I will bring help back with me.”
I rush forward, reaching out. “Wait!” She pauses, hand on the door. “What do I do?”
“You are already doing it,” she says simply, and it feels like the greatest compliment she has ever given me. “Continue the tonic. Keep him warm. Keep him safe. I will return soon.”
And then she is gone, the door closing softly behind her.
When the room settles into silence again, the sprites cautiously peer out from the wardrobe.
“Are you scared of her?” I ask.
One shakes its head firmly.The other nods with enthusiastic agreement.
I begin to pace, my eyes never leaving Luceran. I do exactly as Atilia instructed. I stoke the fire. I add another blanket. I brew tonic after tonic, but nothing changes.
If anything, he’s colder.
Eventually, my legs give out and I collapse into the chair, thoughts racing. Who knows how long it will take Atilia to return? What if we don’t have that long?
Then my gaze drifts to the bedside table.
To the key Luceran gave me.
Of course.
I may not have all the answers, but I have access to a grand library. One that must holdsomething. Anything.
Still, leaving him, even for a moment, is not an option.
