Shrike forced open his eyes.
And on the threshold stood Wren.
Shrike surged upright—regretting it as his pulse sobbed against his brow with pounding pain that rang in his ears and robbed him of his sight for several heartbeats. By the time his vision cleared, Wren had flown across the cottage to lay his gentle hand on Shrike’s shoulder.
“I’m all right,” Shrike assured him. “What brings you so swift from London?”
“You,” Wren replied bluntly.
Shrike supposed he ought to have known. “But so soon?”
Wren furrowed his brow. “No earlier than usual.”
Shrike blinked at him, then looked past him to Nell, who’d resumed leaning against the hollowed stump. Over her shoulder, the cottage door hung half-open, and through it Shrike glimpsed the golden light of sunset against the briars.
“No wonder you thought me foolish for declaring I’d recover by sundown,” Shrike said to her.
A half-smile curled up her cheek.
“Are you feeling worse?” asked Wren.
“No,” Shrike replied. “Just the same. No trouble between here and London?”
“None at all. It’s just as you said,” Wren added with a note of wonder in his voice. “If one knows the way, the path is very short indeed.”
“Indeed,” Nell echoed with more amusement than Shrike thought warranted. “Now that I know our Butcher is in good hands, I’ll take my leave.”
“Stay a moment,” Wren blurted.
Nell paused in the midst of turning and arched an eyebrow at him. Shrike could hardly blame her as he levelled a similar bewildered look on Wren.
“If you’ve a moment to spare,” Wren added. “I’d like a word or two in confidence.”
Nell glanced between him and Shrike, who had no answer for her evident curiosity. She seemed to realize this and resumed her pose at the hollowed stump with a shrug.
She waited there for some while. Wren wouldn’t be satisfied with Shrike’s assurance of his well-being until he’d lain his hand on his brow to check for fever, brewed a pot of lavender tea with honey and goat’s milk—gathered by Wren himself that morning, between leaving Shrike’s bedside and going off to London—and dosed Shrike’s mug with laudanum.
“Essence of poppies,” Wren explained in response to Nell’s glance of undisguised suspicion as he pressed the mug into Shrike’s hands. “For pain.”
Shrike wrapped his fingers around the warm clay with gratitude. The lavender scent wafting up with the steam worked well upon his brow. The first sip of the medicinal brew did still more.
Nell seemed to accept Wren’s explanation, though she remained wary even as she accepted the mug Wren offered her. Only after Wren drank from his own cup did she taste hers. Judging by the angle her brows assumed afterward, its flavour surprised but did not displease her.
Soon enough, as Shrike sipped his tea, the pounding in his head faded from a sharp stab to a dull thud, and then ebbed to an occasional twinge. It left him far more comfortable yet no less exhausted than before. Wren gently retrieved the empty mug from his grasp and drew the furs up over his shoulder as he laid down to catch the true sleep that had eluded him all day.
Nell’s hardly audible footsteps and Wren’s mortal tread alike retreated across the flagstones. The cottage door creaked open and shut. Voices arose from the garden. Wren had brought her out of human hearing, but Shrike’s keen ears caught almost all.
“Are you certain this is normal?” Wren demanded.
“Aye,” Nell answered. She had much the same ears as Shrike, and therefore must know he could hear them, which gave her no excuse for speaking as loud as Wren. In a tone bespeaking more indignation than concern, she returned, “Does it trouble you if it is?”
Shrike tensed. Nell’s heritage gave her a particular sensitivity towards mortal perceptions of the fae. While he could hardly blame her for that, the implied threat in her voice shot past the ache in his bones, through his ribs to his heart, which burned to defend his Wren. All sense of sleep left him, laudanum or no laudanum, and he lay as one waiting to strike.
Wren matched her ferocious undercurrent as he replied, “It troubles me to see him in such pain. If there’s anything that may alleviate his suffering, I’ll not cease until I see it done.”
A silence fell.
“Glad to hear you say so,” Nell replied at last in a tone much changed. “You’ll forgive me for my suspicion. I seek to protect a dear friend.”
