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Elara pauses before accepting it. She takes a sip, letting the warmth travel down her throat. A breath escapes her lips as she lowers the cup. “This is nice… very nice.”

Cael steadies her with one hand against her arm before lifting the other to sign. You must eat a meal before medication.

Her gaze drifts to the tray of croissants and her cheeks warm, her desperate hunger evident. A smile touches his lips. He sets the tray on her blanket-covered lap, letting her take as much as she desires. First, she picks one up by the far right of the tray and takes a bite. Cael sits by the edge and takes a bite for his own. Elara fills the silence with a hum.

“Exquisite,” Elara mumbles with her mouth still full.

A few crumbs fall onto the blanket. Cael reaches over and brushes them away with his fingertips before returning to his own croissant. He holds back his chuckle. Sweet memories between him and Elias returns, something that only happens when he eats this certain dessert or when he passes his library occasionally.

As he chews, his head drifts to the time where Elias hugged Cael, where he was frustrated and helpless of how he did not understand Sign Language and took time adjusting to it.

Cael had not been crying, nor had he asked for comfort, but Elias had offered it anyway. As Cael grew older, training, duties, and the mockery surrounding his silence taught him to become more guarded. Physical affection became something he rarely accepted without wondering what had prompted it.

That is why the memory lingers now. Elara’s presence does not feel like something he has to earn through usefulness, and Elias’s kindness had once felt the same. For a moment, Cael wonders whether he should have returned to Elias more often, whether too much time has passed for the gesture to mean what it once did. He pushes the thought aside and reaches for the medicine.

By the time Cael and Elara are done, there are two croissants left, and he plans on giving them to Kaera later. He reaches for the box, removing the bottle of syrup before holding it up for her to see.

Elara understands. She pours the thick syrup into its cap and takes a sip, her eyebrows furrowing at the bitter taste.

Cael watches her. Her eyes remain heavy with sleep, every movement softened by the fever and exhaustion. Tangled strands of hair frame her face, with a few crumbs still resting near her lips. He finds himself lingering on the sight longer than he intends to.

Oh, my beautiful petal, he thinks, warmth rising into his cheeks. If you were only a single petal in an endless garden, I believe I would still find you and admire you above all the rest. His hands begin to move instinctively, but he stops himself before forming the words.

Some things, he decides, are better left within the quiet of his own thoughts.

Elara watches him for a moment before scooting closer. Her right hand reaches toward his leg, pointing to his calf. “Your calf. You kept walking in an improper manner. Are you injured?”

Cael blinks, surprised. He had forgotten about the ache entirely while tending to her, barely noticing the unevenness in his steps. She had noticed. It is only a scratch, he signs.

Concern does not leave her face. “Scratches do not make you limp. You need rest, too.”

Cael lowers his hands. His gaze settles on her instead, taking in the tiredness beneath her eyes and the way she struggles to remain awake even while trying to worry about him. A faint shuffle of footsteps sounds beyond the door, but he pays it no attention. Instead, he reaches for her hands and encloses them within his own.

“Assure me you will take care of yourself too.” Her eyes grow glassy again, tears gathering along her lashes. “I cannot bear the thought of you always caring for everyone else and putting yourself after them.” Her voice weakens as she looks down. “It hurts me far more than I can put into words.”

Cael’s chest tightens. He brings his thumbs to her cheeks, carefully wiping away the tears before they can fall. Elara tilts her head into his touch without hesitation, seeking the warmth of his calloused hands against her skin.

Leaning closer, Cael adjusts the pillows behind her, lifting one before settling it against her back. Once he is satisfied that she is comfortable, he gently guides her head onto them. His fingers remain against her cheek for another moment.

I will, he signs.

XXXII

THE GROWING HEAT

C

Cael opens the door to find Kaera.

Her arms remain folded across her chest, the upper portion of her sleeve pressing against the cool stone wall where the glowing candle flame fails to reach her frame. She wears a long black dress composed of a smooth, fine fabric, a small gray coat accompanying her bare arms to offer a touch of warmth.

“So, this is where you stay now?” Kaera asks with a thin tint of humor, a soft smile gracing her lips.

Cael recognizes the humor for what it is, a shield she reaches for whenever something hurts more than she wishes to reveal. He does not question her state or mention her vulnerability unless she chooses to reveal it herself. Yet the remaining puffiness beneath her eyelids tugs at his heart.

Cael looks down at the silver tray holding the two leftover pastries, extending the offering toward Kaera. Her eyes widen with confusion while she lifts one and eats it, one hand resting beneath her mouth to catch any falling crumbs.

“Is this intended for me? How thoughtful of your mind,” Kaera almost laughs. “Perhaps you missed my company? Do not worry, I missed yours while you stayed away.”