Page 43 of When the Sky Breaks

“Sadly not, my love,” I admitted, smiling, kissing her one more time. “Because as much as I love you and as much as I want to take all your clothes off and kiss you until you melt? You do smell like fever, and Ansel will be back soon. Reality beckons.”

“Reality’s overrated,” Sorcha muttered.

“Reality’s overrated,” Milkweed repeated, thumping his back paw on the windowsill.

“So you ignore it for a while. Undress. Lay down. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Make sure you take care of yourself too,” Sorcha urged. “I don’t want to occupy all of your attention.”

“It’s no trouble, love,” I said gently. “But don’t worry, I’ll clean up too. I can’t imagine you like how I smell at the moment.”

“I did still kiss you.”

I pulled over the washstand and grabbed a rag, discarding my own dusty clothes and donning a pair of clean trousers before I sat down on the bed beside her.

“That feels good,” Sorcha murmured as I smoothed the damp rag over her face, her back. She fell asleep in moments, and I’d gotten her clean, into a nightgown, and moved on to combing out and braiding her curls by the time Ansel returned.

“Look at my lovebirds,” Ansel chuckled. “And to think a few weeks ago you insisted you didn’t have feelings for that girl.”

“I was clearly lying,” I said, “and I am man enough to admit that.”

“Once she’s settled come get some dinner,” Ansel said, setting a plate of food down for me.

“She should eat something,” I said, tying off Sorcha’s braid. “Keeps telling me she wants a big healthy baby. But at this rate . . .”

“Eat first,” Ansel instructed. “Wake her once you’re done. We’ll see if she can keep something down.”

“Thank you, Ansel,” I said. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Ansel said.

Once we’d eaten, I gently shook Sorcha awake.

“I’ve got food for you, love,” I said, kissing her forehead as she sat up.

“Where are we again?” Sorcha muttered, rubbing her eyes.

“Hotel in Austin,” I reminded her, handing her a plate of bread and a bowl of chicken stew the innkeeper’s wife had made up for us.

“And why are there weird people in cloaks outside?” Sorcha mumbled, looking out the window. I froze.

“Love.” I coaxed Sorcha’s chin around so she’d look at me. “You really awake?”

Had she somehow spiked a fever again? Was she delirious? Her skin was cool and damp under my skin. Her pupils were even and responsive. So what the hell was she talking about?

“I’m awake,” Sorcha insisted, batting at me. “Give me my food. Stop touching my face. Why are there people in cloaks outside?”

Ansel got up and went to the window.

“She’s right,” he said, voice tight and strained.

“So what do we do now . . .” Sorcha trailed off.

“You still need to eat something,” Ansel said. “And I don’t want whoever’s out there to realize we caught sight of them. So we carry on. Just, weapons in hand. You both get the idea.”

“Are they from Iksura?” I asked, throat tightening as images of the body staked into the church floor sprang unbidden to the front of my mind.

Ansel shook his head. “Not her style.”