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Hawthorn’sfeverbrokeafew days later, replaced by equally violent shivering. He was lucid enough to be aware of how awful he looked, to see the swollen rash over his body and the pale clamminess of his body. He dreaded seeing his reflection in the mirror.
He wondered what Juliana thought of his disgusting appearance.
Jules ordered the fires made up, and he was piled high with blankets. They barely seemed to reach him.
“How much longer must this go on for?” he hissed through gritted teeth.
Juliana lurked by the window, open a tiny crack. “You’re telling me.”
“Would it kill you to say something nice for once?”
“Would it kill you to quit complaining?”
He sunk further under the covers.
At lunch time, a servant brought him some broth and a diluted wine. As usual, he didn’t manage to get much down. Juliana conversed with the healer when she came to check on him, too quiet for him to hear. Afterwards, she came to sit on the bed.
“You need to eat more,” she said. “Healer says you should be on the mend by now. You’re as gross and weak as a newborn kitten.”
He turned over in his blankets. “Can’t.”
Juliana ground her teeth. He could practically hear her contemplating. Eventually, a hand pressed against his shoulder. “I told you I’m no good at this,” she said. “I don’t know what to say to make it better or easier, so if you could go back to being your usual self and making unreasonable demands, that would be best.”
He disliked this soft side of Jules almost as much as he hated how wretched he was feeling, and yet a part of him clung to the warmth in her tone.
“Warmth,” he murmured.
“Come again?”
“I can’t… I can’t get warm… I want…”
“Right,” said Juliana, audibly chewing her lip.
A moment later, the sheets rustled, and she pulled herself under the covers.
The sudden warmth was liquifying. He felt worse and better than ever.
“Sharing body heat,” Juliana explained. “Like we did before.”
“Uh-huh…”
“If you tellanyoneabout this—”
“Murder. Unspeakable acts. Entrails for sausages. I understand.”
“As long as we’re clear.”
He started to cough, hard, lung-crunching coughs. He thought Juliana might be glaring at him, but she seized him roughly and propped him into a sitting position, slapping him on the back as if trying to dislodge his spine from his skin.
“Lie down on your side,” she commanded, “here.”
She slid an arm around him and pulled him back against the pillows, cocooning herself around him in an action he was almost certain she hadnotlearnt during her training. The warmth was helping, though, as was the position.
“I’m so glad you’re finally wearing a night-shirt again…” she said.
“Am I that disgusting?”
“Vile.”
