It felt as if my very lungs were on fire.
I heard a variety of crackling as I breathed, sticky spittle covering my cold and chapped lips as I tried to take as shallow breaths as possible.
I’m not going to make it through the day.
“I know, Lex. I know,” the voice answered.
Had I said that out loud? Am I dreaming?
“You’re not dreaming, but you do need help. Can I touch you?”
I cracked my eyes open enough to see a hulking form squatting in front of me. He was young, probably not much older than me, and his skin was a deep olive. Thick brows so dark they were almost black framed worried emerald-green eyes.
His face was without blemishes or wrinkles, and I could instantly tell he wasn’t from here, or at least not this part of town. My eyes scanned his form—muscular and imposing—and my gaze snagged on the glinting gold on each of his shoulders.
Two thick bars on each.
A general.
Even with my current limited mental capacity and my lack of education growing up in the pleasure house, I still would recognize a ranked Mage in Vespera. Lord d’Refan, the youngest ruler in a century, outfitted all of his Mages in the same garb, no matter their station. Each wore black fitted pants and a matching tunic with black leather boots. The only identifying factor was the denoting of rank on a Mage’s shoulder. No adornments for a low-ranked foot soldier, a singular gold bar for team leads, two bars for his general, and three for Lord d’Refan.
It dawned on me, finally, that I was in the presence of the only general in the Mage army, and he was regarding me withbrows furrowed, something akin to pain and sympathy in his gaze.
Not wanting to dissect that look any further than necessary—letting people care about me was dangerous—I hastily tried to push myself to a seated position, but I found I could barely control my limbs.
My hands and arms flopped uselessly against the cold ground. The rain from last night turned to sleet at some point, which left a slight icy sheen over everything in sight. The temperature felt blissfully cool against my overheated skin, however, and I dropped my head to the ground, moaning slightly at the feeling.
I was hesitantly aware of what was happening around me, but couldn’t find the motivation to care or even understand. There were the typical noises from the adjacent street that indicated early morning on this side of Vespera—the clank of wooden carts and the soft whicker of overworked donkeys accompanied the light chatter of vendors as they set their wares out for the day. The tavern inside was just waking up, a few drunk men stumbling out of the main entrance, catcalling the women in the streets who bit back with just as much vitriol. This area of Vespera made the women just as hardened as the men. I could smell the gruel in the tavern as it mixed with the aroma of weak coffee from the vendor a few feet outside the alley.
Usually, the sounds and smells roused me from sleep, acting as my birdsong to start yet another day of agony and despair. But today they all blended together, and I had difficulty distinguishing one from the other.
I found I couldn’t care.
Through the haze of illness and fever, I heard the low voice of the general as he muttered something just above my head. His large palm never left my shoulder, absently squeezing every few seconds, as if reassuring himself that I was still there.
His tone changed abruptly, however, as he barked something down the alley. I shuddered involuntarily, whether from the tone of his voice or the fever, I wasn’t sure.
“Hold on just a bit longer, Lex. Just a bit longer.”
How did he know my name?
“That’s a story for another time,” the General placated smoothly, an undercurrent of worry in his voice.
Judging by his answer to the question in my head, I was unknowingly talking out loud again. Either that or he was a mind reader.Thatwould be a first.
“Not a mind reader, Lex. You’re just delirious with fever. I’m going to pick you up now. Just hang on,” he cajoled soothingly, and I leaned into his voice.
So much tender care from a man whose legendary status was known and idolized in Vespera. For all his accolades and accomplishments, you’d assume he was a god.
Strong arms wedged underneath my head and bent legs, hoisting me from the cold ground with an efficient ease. The General carefully tucked my body against his own, and I smelled the soap used to launder his clothes mixed with the distinct scent of ash.
What an interesting combination.
How long had it been since I’d smelled soap?
I tried to push myself away from the General, not wanting to infect him with my sickness or the filth that clung to me like a second skin.
Gods, I hope I don’t infest him with the maggots growing in my hair and beard.
