Page 68 of Foundling

“Attalus,” she whimpered, “Attalus, what’s wrong?”

Clutching at his outstretched arm, where her head had lain just a moment ago, she followed the length of it to see his open hand convulsing in spasms. Not far away, an empty water skein lay, along with half-eaten fish and a few other carcasses.

A desperate sound escaped her lips, and Leita renewed her search, pushing back his damp hair from his face, tracing his neck to feel a fluttering pulse, and lifting his upper lip to find his gums pale.

The pain below her heart clutched at her tight, throbbing as she looked upon him in growing horror.

“Attalus!”

The pain—their bond—it drew tight, the threadbare strands ready to snap.

But that could only mean—that only could happen if—

No.

Absolutely not.

“Attalus!” she cried, framing his face in her hands. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

His brows flinched as though to frown, and his lips moved infinitesimally.

“What?” She threw herself down, pressing her ear to his mouth.

“Venom,” he murmured, barely more than a breath.

Leita’s heart dropped from her chest. “No.” No. He’d said it was gone. That it wasn’t anything to worry over.

Had he lied to her? It hadn’t occurred to Leita that he would. Fae couldn’t lie. He wasn’t fae, but he was her mate.

Her devastation and anger seethed inside her, a horrible mixture that burned the back of her throat.

Clutching his hair in her fists, Leita rested her forehead on his. Her skin burned where they touched.

This was merely a dream, right? The musings of her overwrought patience and frustrated mind. That’s all this was. He was feverishly warm, yes, but better warm than cold. He was alive, just as she dreamed him to be, surely.

He bared his teeth in a grimace of pain, and Leita felt their bond weaken by another strand.

She called his name, but no sound came. For a horrible moment, all Leita saw or felt was nothing.

She woke suddenly with a start, tangled up in her blanket. Leita sat up straight, her heart thundering in her ears. What…did this mean?

Leita had never been so affected by a dream, her skin left clammy and her hands trembling.

What if it wasn’t…?

Her heart jumped to her throat. No, no, she couldn’t bear to think it.

Leita sat up, her stomach threatening to rebel as the pain in her chest throbbed. It was only as she began to struggle out of the blanket that she realized Ondra stood at her bedside.

Ondra looked just as startled to see Leita awake, but she quickly regained her composure and helped Leita to her feet.

The early morning air was cool, and so Leita drew her blanket around her before beginning to pace. Her worries wouldn’t let her stand still.

“I just came to check on you, my Queen,” Ondra was saying, her voice sounding far away. “Are you all right?”

Leita didn’t have an answer, not one that would satisfy her attendant anyway, and so didn’t bother. She worried that if she opened her mouth, far more than sick would spew forth. All she could do was pace back and forth, trying to stay a step ahead of her roiling stomach and aching heart.

Fuck, that dream had been too real. Were her worries manifesting to torment her in sleep, too, or worse, was there another explanation? She knew bonded mates could communicate with each other; fae azai could even speak telepathically once the bond grew strong enough. From speaking with Allarion and Molly, she knew they sensed the other’s state and wellbeing, and their shared bond with Bellarand allowed them to speak in their minds, too.