I turn to the sprites.
“Do you know how to read?”
This time, the other one nods and the first shakes its head vehemently.
I frown and cross the room, scoop the key from the table, and toss it into the air.
One of the sprites catches it with both hands, swaying under its unexpected weight.
“I need any books you can find about surviving the cold. Anything at all. Can you do that?”
They answer in a rush of chattering, full, rapid sentences I don’t understand, though that doesn’t seem to bother them in the slightest. A moment later, they zip out the door.
I pace while I wait, unable to sit still. My steps carry me back toward the bed just as Luceran stirs in his sleep, turning onto his side. His hair spills over his eyes.
I hesitate.
Then I reach out, cautious, fingers trembling as I tuck the strands back behind his pointed ear. He’s so cold beneath my touch, but smooth, impossibly so.
He shifts again, the blanket snagging and slipping lower, baring the rippling muscle of his abdomen and the hard line of his hips.
My breath shudders.
I pull my hand back, my fingers grazing his shoulder as I retreat and the sprites return with a clatter.
I jolt upright, snatching my hand back entirely. “What?” I blurt. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
They furrow their tiny brows and exchange distinctly dubious looks before zipping across the room and dropping an armful of books beside my chair. Several spill to the floor.
I sit, crack my knuckles, and get to work.
I read faster than I ever thought possible, skimming, wrestling with words I’ve never encountered before. Anything that might explain what’s happening to him. Anything that might tell me how to help.
But there is nothing.
Nothing about frozen hearts. Nothing about Winter Lords pushed beyond their limits.
Still… one suggestion keeps appearing.
Hypothermia.
I dismiss it at first. Luceran’s condition is magical. Fae. Not something rooted in mortal science. But the more I read, the harder it is to ignore.
Hypothermia is described as the body losing heat faster than it can produce it. The temperature drops. Systems slow. The heart struggles.
I swallow and keep reading.
Keep the patient warm with blankets… or body heat.
My throat tightens.
I glance over the top of the book to where Luceran lies.
No, don’t be ridiculous.
You cannot possibly be considering climbing into bed with him.
But nothing else is working. Not the fire. Not the extra blankets. Not the tonic. He’s still getting colder.
