He doesn’t say it, but he’s thinking the same thing we all are. The Call—that internal compass that gives us frustrating glimpses into her well-being—is screaming at us that her fever is approaching. If she’s not in the temple cloister when it hits…
She will be. If the worst should come to pass, Lore can blink us there.
And when we arrive, I have to choose. Which is worse: to be locked up in a cell and conscious, or to be unconscious and at the mercy of anyone?
My hands brush over my side, calling Naris forth with a grim sigh. The decision should’ve been made by now. If it were a question of trusting the rest of Rose’s Guard to protect me, I’d take the potion without a second thought, but they’ll be otherwise occupied.
Which means I’ll be in the care of the priests of the temple. Strangers.
“It looks like rain,” Jaro says, as I leap up onto my cat-sìth’s back, dusting fur from my clothes as I go—damn feline is shedding again. “You might want to find a cloak.”
He’s right. Though the courts are stuck experiencing their namesake season year-round, there are microscopic changes. Tomorrow is the first day of Snow’s Glow, the second coldest month of the Faerie calendar. In the Winter Court, that brings harsher snows and blizzards. Autumn will suffer a dusting of frost in the mornings, and even the Summer Court experiences a subtle drop in temperature.
For the Spring Court, the turn of the year heralds rain. Lots of it. So we might as well get used to it.
We can only hope that the falling temperatures in Elfhame stall the Fomorians’ siege.
My spine stiffens as the date’s significance finally hits home.
How did a little over a month of freedom pass without my noticing?
Jaro is carefully covering every inch of himself, unwilling to let the shimmer on his hands and face be washed away. He’s still staring at me while he does it, and I grimace as I realise I’ve spaced out instead of answering him. Tugging the hood of my slashed coat over my head, I fiddle with it until my ears poke through the holes I made for them.
“I don’t wear cloaks.”
All of that fabric is too easy to get caught up in. A little rain never hurt anyone. Being defenceless did.
Yet I’m supposed to voluntarily take that leap.
I’ve made it a month. The longest period of freedom I’ve had in two hundred years. I’m not going to fuck it up now. There has to be a better way.
That line of thought is futile, and I know it. Once again, I drift back to staring at Rose. I should do something for her. Come up with something to say thank you for what she’s done. But what?
My hands strum over the fiddle on my collarbone thoughtfully as the others saddle up. Jaro leads us south, back towards the Renfraw.
I don’t deserve her. Neither does Caed. Perhaps it’s fitting that neither of us will be there to—
But what if he is there?My nails cut tiny half-moons into my palms as the invasive thought plants itself firmly in the front of my mind. What if Kitarni’s plan to sneak him the potion doesn’t work, and the inevitable happens, and he’s drawn to her side? The only other member of her Guard who isn’t charmed against harming him is the redcap, and the last time they fought, Rose died. Goddess only knows what dying in the middle of her fever would do to her.
Fevers make fae so vulnerable. Scars from her first have the potential to ruin the experience for her forever.
She deserves to enjoy it. Elatha has already taken the joy of having her wings played with. If I wake and Rose wears the same haunted look because of something the Fomorian did…
If we reach Pavellen and Caed tries to get anywhere near her, I silently vow to deal with him before he can do anything to destroy what should be an amazing experience for her.
I may not trust myself to see her through her fever as I should, but Iwillkeep her safe.
Thirteen
Rhoswyn
There are days when waking up is the most difficult task in the world. Today is one of them. Cosiness envelops me completely, and I snuggle deeper into the warm, reassuring scent of horses and saddle polish mixed with leather and woodsmoke. It’s probably a dream, but it feels almost like I’m being rocked.
“You should wake,” Drystan—why is italwaysDrystan—murmurs in my ear.
Blinking my eyes open, I grimace at the harsh sunlight and bury my face deeper into his chest without thinking.
He stiffens, and that’s what finally wakes me up enough to realise what I’m doing.
