His breathing changed. Not dramatically. Not the sudden recovery that people always hoped for and healers learned to stop promising.
But a small easing. The pause between breaths lengthening slightly, the catch at the top smoothing a fraction, the effort in his small chest decreasing by the measure of something that would be invisible to an untrained eye.
She heard Anthony exhale from the wall behind her. Slow, almost imperceptible. But she heard it.
She stayed where she was for another full minute, watching the rise and fall, counting the rhythm.
Then she sat back and looked at the boy's face properly for the first time. The relaxed features of a child in sleep, the slight furrow between his brows even now, the long eyelashes that cast small shadows on his cheeks in the firelight.
Stubborn,Ye've been fightin' this yer whole life, haven't ye?
She looked up at Anthony.
He was watching her. Not the boy, her.
Arms still folded, expression still closed, but whatever lived behind that composure had shifted in the last ten minutes and she could see the edges of it. Something raw and barely managed.
"He's strong," she said. "Stronger than ye think."
He looked at James. Then back at her. Inclined his head once.
No gratitude spoken. She didn't need it spoken.
She'd been doing this long enough to know what it looked like in people who didn't have the words for it. The exhale, the shift, the careful way they looked at something they'd been afraid to hope for.
She turned back to her work.
"I'll need to ken his full history," she said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. "Every remedy that's been tried. Every herb, every compound, every physician's instruction and in what order."
She began sorting through what remained in her satchel, taking stock. "And I'll need lungwort. Ye willnae have it in the stores, it's nae common this far east. I'll need to find it."
"I'll send someone."
"I'll go meself. I need to see what else is growin' nearby." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Before ye say nay, I'm nae fleein'. I cannae treat him with what I daenae have and I cannae trust someone else to identify what I need. Half of what grows in Highland soil looks the same to an untrained eye."
He considered her. "Ye'll have an escort."
"I daenae need one."
"Ye'll have one." The tone closed the subject without raising in volume. "What else?"
She faced forward again, irritation noted and set aside.
"Steam twice a day, mornin' and evenin'. The compound I've mixed goes into the water, a pinch only, nay more. The windows stay cracked at all times regardless of temperature."
She paused. "And the blankets. He only needs two. The warmth is well-intentioned but it's pressin' on his chest and makin' him work harder."
A long pause from the wall behind her.
She could feel him absorbing it, the particular resistance of a person realizing that something done with love has been doing harm.
"Aye," he said finally. Quiet.
She packed her satchel and rose from the edge of the bed. Fox emerged from beneath the frame, stretched with extravagant slowness, and fell in beside her feet.
She looked at James once more, the small chest rising and falling, calmer now, the room cooler and cleaner around him.
"I'll be back later," she said. "Daenae close the window."
