I sat beside her, determined to stay awake for days on end if I had to. Raindrops began pattering against the top of the tent. Every so often, water soaked through the canvas and dripped onto my head or shoulder. I didn’t move. I held Laurel’s cold hand between both of mine and stared at her unmoving face.
As I sat, James pulled a thick sheaf of papers from his satchel. Many had clearly been crumpled and smoothed again. I recognized Prince John’s signature on the topmost page.
“Where did you get those?” I asked.
“From Laurel,” James responded. “It’s what she went there for, remember?”
I did remember. Suddenly I wanted to snatch the papers from his hands and fling them into a fire. Laurel was actively dying, and it was all because of those flimsy sheets of parchment. They were the reason she lay comatose on my bedroll, fighting for every shallow breath. Smears of her blood stood out on a several of the pages and my vision turned red.
“How can you think about that right now?” I demanded.
James’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed quiet. “She wouldn’t want her work to go to waste.”
“Well, I don’t want herlifeto go to waste.”
James looked from me to the papers, then back again. “I think a walk would do me good,” he said, then tucked the papers into an inside pocket of his cloak, pulled the cowl low over his face, and stepped out into the drizzling rain.
I returned to Laurel. I rubbed her hand for what felt like an age. The only promising sign was the faintest touch of color that eventually appeared in her cheeks. I told myself it meant she was improving and kept staring at her face, desperately hoping. I didn’t think I would ever fall asleep with how anxious I was but eventually, exhaustion from the day overcame me and my head began to nod.
“Baron?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but I snapped upright at once, fully alert.
“Laurel.” I could not contain the relief in my voice. “You’re alive.”
Her eyes opened only halfway. They looked unfocused and clouded with pain, but they were open. I leaned closer. “How areyou feeling? What happened? Who did this? What went wrong? Can I get you anything? What do you need?”
The questions spilled out before I could stop them. It had been nearly a full day since James brought the news. A full day of waiting, fearing, pressing bandages, forcing water past her lips, and trying to stop myself from imagining the worst case scenario.
“Slow down there, you,” she murmured. She began to smile, but it turned into a grimace.
I wanted to gather her up and never let anything touch her again. I wanted to shake her for scaring me this badly. I wanted to apologize for how I’d handled our last conversation and for pulling away when she’d finally been trying to come back to me.
But instead, I swallowed hard. “How are you feeling?”
“Fantastic.”
A breath of laughter escaped me. “Liar.”
Her mouth curved faintly. “Okay. A little lousy,” She admitted. Her voice was barely audible, and even that small effort drained what little color had returned to her cheeks. What I wouldn’t give to have her at full health, complete with her impossible attitude.
“Rest,” I told her. “Just rest.”
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” she breathed.
“There’s this girl I know who needed bandages, and that was the closest I had,” I told her. “You really need to stop bleeding before I run out of clothes entirely.”
She smiled briefly then squeezed her eyes shut as I went to check her bandages. I worked as gently as I could, cleaning only what I had to and binding the wounds firmly again. At least the bleeding had mostly stopped.
“The papers…” Laurel whispered when I finished, already straining as if she meant to sit up.
I placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her still. “James has them. Don’t worry about anything.”
“But…”
“You did enough.” I didn’t remove my hand. “It’s your turn to take it easy. Do you want water?”
She shook her head. Her lips were dry and cracked.
“Too bad. Drink some anyway. You need it.”
