Page 135

Stepping into the corridors of the castle, it feels warmer than yesterday. The heat is working better now that the castle is fully occupied. The farther we walk into the castle, the more my stomach flutters. Kylian had ordered his men to take Arlo to the infirmary, surely he is still there. He has to be because the alternative . . .

My steps quicken when I see the infirmary at the end of the corridor, but Eagan is faster. He pushes open the doors and steps aside for me to enter, and the smell is even worse here than in the ballroom that housed the infirmary overflow. Fever sweat and the stale air of sick bodies. The caretakers have opened the high windows along one wall. A cross breeze moves through the room, cutting through the sickness enough that I can breathe without my stomach turning.

Beds line the walls, full of children beneath blankets, some sleeping, some staring at the ceiling with the glassy unfocused eyes of fever. A woman sits beside one bed holding a boy’s hand. An elderly man sleeps propped against pillows, his breathing audible from across the room.

I scan every bed, every face, every body lying in a heap of blankets. Eagan watches me too closely.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?” he asks.

My head snaps up, and I catch his red gaze, assessing as always.

I shake my head and carefully take the crate from Eagan. “Just evaluating patients,” I say softly, but it’s hard to hide the disappointment in my voice.

I was sure Arlo would still be here. Could I have missed him in the ballroom? Would they have taken him to a prison cell or cage?

Setting the crate on a table near the entrance, I get to work pulling things out. “I need clean clothes,” I say to the caretaker as she approaches. “Strips, not full sheets. And warm water. As warm as you can get it.”

She nods and disappears without question, and I let my eyes wander through the room a second time, feeling hopeful—desperate. Eagan’s hand lands on my shoulder, making me jump. “Are you okay? You seem . . .” His brows crease in the middle.

I force a smile. “Just eager to finally be able to help,” I reply. I head for the closest bed. A boy, maybe nine, has flushed cheeks from fever and his matted hair is stuck to his forehead. I press my palm to his skin, and the heat of him radiates into my hand, far too high.

“Feverfew tonic,” I tell the caretaker when she returns with the cloth. I pour a measure from the first bowl into a cup and tilt it to his lips. “A spoonful every four hours. Not more. His fever serves a purpose, but if it climbs too high, it can be dangerous. Keep him drinking water, and if he sweats through the sheets, that’s good. It means it’s breaking.”

“I understand,” she says quietly, taking the cup from me.

When I lift the boy’s blanket from his feet, they are bare. “I need socks,” I say, peering up at Eagan.

His brows furrow, yet I am already turning back for potatoes and onions that are cut in thin slices. Eagan sighs before removing his boots and pulling off his own and handing them to me. He stands awkwardly rocking on his bare feet.

“Are we running out of socks?”

“No, but with all the newcomers, the castle laundry has been horrendous,” he mutters.

More vampires are moving in front of me, barefoot, dropping their socks into my basket. “Thank you,” I tell them, and they nod, wandering back to their tasks.

As I grab a few slices of onion and potato, I notice Eagan watching me with furrowed brows. I hold them to the bottom of the boy’s foot and slide the sock over to hold them in place.

“Onion will help draw out the illness,” I say before he can ask, then I reach into my crate and grab a handful of garlic cloves and another of onion before directing Eagan to help.

After a while of working quietly around the room, the infirmary door swings open, and the warm, rich smell of tomato soup wafts in. Servants with bowls and trays enter, and the smell rouses even the sickest patients. They’re sitting up higher in their beds, bleary eyes focusing on the food.

My eyes move to the windows where the sun is already beginning to lower, signaling the end of another day. I move down the rows checking each bed. The room settles around me as I work. The frantic energy that filled the room when I arrived gives way to something quieter as everyone eats.

We prop people up, cleaning, treating, and checking everyone over, but the more people I help, the more anxious I get.

“We’ll need to work through the ballroom as well,” I tell the nearest caretaker. She nods and begins gathering supplies. “Are there sick or . . . injured being held anywhere else?” I ask, refusing to look up at Eagan.

I need to tend to Arlo’s back, but if Kylian finds out who he is to me, the consequences may be more dangerous for Arlo than the slow infection he’s likely fighting.

Eagan appears at my shoulder, and the timing of it tells me he’s been watching me longer than I realized.

“Who are you looking for?”

My spine straightens, my hands finding sudden interest in straightening a cloth beside the nearest bed.

“No one,” I answer, still not looking up.

Eagan’s gaze stays on me for longer than what’s comfortable. He has a particular talent of silence that functions as interrogation.