“Vale!”
My voice cracks into the darkness. So pitch-black.
I succumb to it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Mira”—the voice an aching plea as warmth cradles me. I writhe in pain and stiffness, cold tiles beneath my body. Overwhelmingly fragrant, perfumed air fills my lungs as I fight my way to consciousness.
“Mira, my darling”—each word pained with concern.
“Vale.” His name rasps in my throat as I blink my eyes open. Saffron hues color the room. I twist my body, his hold never wavering.
“What… what happened… where…”
I push myself up, my arm giving out beneath me. He catches me as I falter. I flex my fingers, my legs—anything in an attempt to regain control of the moment, of myself.
I barely register the sight of the conservatory as he lifts me, standing with me draped in his arms. Feeling safe in his hold, I give up this futile fight for understanding. I let my head fall heavy against his chest. The sound of his ragged breathing and beating heart gives enough peace for me to surrender and slip back into the darkness that holds me so tightly.
The rise and fall of my chest and distant voices are the first things I register when I stir again. The low, steady rhythm of Vale’s voice, along with others. I am surrounded by warmth all around, but there is a chilldeep within me I can’t quite shake. I can’t even muster his name—only a meager sigh that stops the conversation.
I feel the weight of him next to me. His hand cups my own. Another presses a damp cloth to my forehead. So cold, and so hot. I cannot make heads nor tails of what is happening inside me, around me. The room is too full. Too loud. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
I open my eyes, slight slivers allowing me to see that I am in my chambers. In my bed. Vale seated beside me, more fear and worry etched on his face than I had ever seen.
My head rolls across the pillow, not by any directed movement of my own. The daylight from the window stings my eyes; a figure in silhouette finally comes into view. Soria. She is there, pressing the cloth. Also looking worried. I hear the door shut, but I can’t be bothered to question by whom or to what end.
Deep ache envelops every fiber of my being. I feel as though I might burst out all at once or recoil within myself entirely.
More darkness.
More voices.
I can hear them but not their words. Vale is still there. Soria too. The others—so many others. I cannot name them. A comforting caress across my arm soothes me, and I feel my shoulders sink back into the bed, even as tightly bound as they feel. Something presses to my lips.
“Mira, I need you to drink. Please.”
I part my lips, the flesh pulling apart in an uneasy tear. The dryness in my mouth is now coated with a warm, earthy concoction. If not for Vale’s command and my vow to the man I love, I may have been lost to the darkness. Bitterness follows, and I choke out a cough.
“There, there,” Soria murmurs, still flanking the other side. Still? Again? How much time has passed? I try to gauge the amount of light as my eyes flutter, but even that is too great a task for my weakened state.
In fact, by the time I finally regain any real semblance of awareness, fire’s glow holds the room in quiet surrender.
My head rolls listlessly across the pillow as I awaken. My shift clings damply against my skin. When had I changed?
There by the fire, sitting in the armchair by the hearth—much like he had the night he asked me to stay—elbows perched atop his knees, hecradles his head in his hands, reaching one up to grab at the pain in his neck.
The sight of him makes me want to reach out. The heaviness in my arm as I lift it toward him is slight, yet somehow enough to catch his eye. His posture shifts immediately as he hurriedly moves to my side.
A dry rasp is all that escapes my mouth when I try to speak.
“Soria, water—now!” His voice trembles as much as it resonates. Soria emerges from just beyond my view, passing the glass to him. He cradles my head in one hand, lifting it just enough for the water to cool my throat.
“What happened?” My whisper draws notable relief in them both.
Soria is the first to speak. “A fever, my dear. You’ve been out the whole day and into the night. The healers have never seen one quite so severe. Of course, the healers have not tended to your….”
Kind. The word she delicately avoids. My weak mortal, human kind. I avert my eyes, as if that might hide the human weakness they all so gently pretend not to see.
