I rush him through our apartment, kicking open the door to the bedroom, and lay him on the mattress. He curls onto his side, then fumbles around with one of his hands until he pulls a large, gray bit of fabric from the nightstand.
It’s attached to a long, white cord, and he hits a button that turns green, then yellow, then red.
“Hellllp. I wannnn to help,” I manage.
Dante cracks one eye open. “The zitha isn’t working. I don’t know what to do.” Tears gather in the corners of his eyes and then begin to fall.
This is agony—his pain and my inability to do anything about it. I can feel it, the stab of agony knocking against my mind. If we were on Erethar, I could find him more herbs. There are so many. And with my Tarek contacts, I know one of them would have some solution to this.
But I am banished. I have no way.
I have…
Oh.
I have Everest.
The thought hits me almost violently, and my hands begin to shake. Everest. Dante told me he has a secret way into Erethar, a portal to the Outerlands he and Rathyn often use to enjoy the singing caves and the underground oceans without the scrutinizing gaze of the Vyastil from the capital.
And that is exactly where I need to go.
“Waaaait,” I tell him.
He grabs at me as I start to stand up, and I take his hand, pressing his palm to my lips. “Don’t leave me,” he whispers.
“Never. My Dante,” I tell him. “Never.”
He lets me go, and I hurry through the apartment, searching desperately for my phone. I do not know how much more pain my Dante can take, and if it means I am found out and killed over this, it is worth the risk.
He will always be worth it.
By nature, Vyastil do not believe in what humans call miracles. We understand the concept of fate, but we are taught that everything can be within our control. But for a moment, I think I understand what fate is because as Dante is shaking, crying, and sweating, Everest appears with Rathyn at his side.
“Where is he?” Everest asks.
I lead him to the bedroom where Dante is lying in the dark with the heated cloth pressed against his skin. The lights are out, save for the one from the bathroom, and it illuminates the sheen on my Dante’s face, the grimace on his lips.
I wish for him to be the man writhing in pleasure, taking what he wants from my body. Not this.
“Did you give him zitha?”
I nod, making a distressed hum deep in my chest.
“It didn’t help at all?”
“No,” Dante says, his voice tattered and raspy. “Nothing’s helping. I don’t understand.”
Everest brushes past me and drops to his knees, pressing the inside of his wrist to Dante’s forehead. “No fever, but you feel clammy.”
“It…it should pass,” Dante murmurs.
“How long? I mean, is it normally this bad?”
Dante squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “No. Never. Not…not like this.”
Perhaps it was me. Perhaps I have broken him.
“No, baby,”Dante sends to me. “It wasn’t you. I’m just sick.”
