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He hadn’t been awake for it. Small mercy.
The burn marks, the cuts, his jaw that had been set back into place—none of that worried her now.
No, what worried her was the green white pus that continued to leak out of his leg. An infection set so deep to his bone, it was sucking the life out of him minute by minute, second by second. The fever that raged from it, never letting the sweat on his brow ease, never ceasing the delirium that had seized him.
Sometimes his words were here, in their time. Sometimes they were from his youth, when it was he and Logan and Sienna.
She was never sure from where or when his words would mutter.
The ship pitched to the side and she lurched over him, grasping onto the wooden rails of the bed to hold both her and Roe in place.
He roused under her and she waited until the ship regained equilibrium before she pulled up, settling back into the spot on the side of the bed where she’d worn an indentation into it during the last seven days.
They’d left the Port of Bilbao that same night, the glowing wreckage of the warehouse a distant speck she could see for the longest time through the stern windows in the captain’s quarters. It was one of the few times she’d looked up from this bed in the last week.
Roe’s body moved, jerking, and she grabbed his hand, clutching it between her palms. “Shhh, Roe. Shhhh. ‘Tis nothing. Just a storm tossing the ship about.” She doubted he knew they were on a ship—theSoteria, part of a fleet owned by Reiner—but she was also convinced Roe was going to come back to her, so she was only talking to him as she normally would.
He stilled for a moment and she held her breath, wondering if her words were enough to ease him back to sleep or if he would wake up in the current time or in the past.
“Tor?” His lips parted, his words croaking through his raw throat. His eyes opened, his look blank, unfocused. “Where—where are you? I can’t see you.”
She swallowed a gasp. He could see her hours ago—he wasn’t lucid, but he could still see her, recognize her.
Her fingers tightened around his hand. “Roe, I’m here. I’m here, next to you.”
His head shook slightly, his eyes seeing nothing. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”
She choked back a sob, silencing the wail that threatened behind it. He wouldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t hear the horror in her breath, in her voice.
He would only hear strength. He would only hear her unyielding belief in him.
Her left hand reached up and she smoothed strands of his dark hair away from his temple. “I’m here, but you can’t see me right now because you’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to be fighting, not searching for me.”
His eyes closed and he stilled. For a moment that lasted an eternity, he looked to stop breathing. His next breath came in a quivering gasp. “Fighting what?”
“Fighting for the next breath.” She suffocated another gasp in her throat. “I need you to do that—it’s the only thing I need you to do. Just keep breathing. Breath after breath after breath.” Her hand went flat along his forehead, his skin burning her palm. She held it in place, trying to take the heat from him. Her hands were always so damn cold, so why did they fail her now?
She leaned in, her voice next to his ear. “I know you can do that for me, Roe. Keep breathing. Do that, and I will take care of the rest.”
“Tor?” A question, as though he hadn’t heard her.
“I’m here. Right here, Roe. Feel my hand on your forehead. My hand grasping yours. Feel it.”
His head shook, his eyes opening, wild. “It’s not there, Tor. Where are you? Where—don’t let me go. Stay with me. Stay with me, Tor. Stay.”
She squeezed hard on his hand, so hard he would have to feel it through the pain of the fever. “I’m not leaving. I’m here. I’m always here. I believe in you. You can do this. Just keep breathing, Roe. Keep breathing.”
His eyes closed, his body exhausted, and he sank into the blessed relief that only came with unconsciousness.
His hand went limp in hers, the last link to him holding on. Holding onto her. Holding onto life.
~~~
Roe cracked his eyes open.
Mauve. A mauve canopy above him. Mauve chintz fabric with black lace trim running in a diamond pattern along the outer edges of it.
Vague snippets flashed in his mind. The wood ceiling of a ship. The black of a carriage roof. A bright yellow concoction draped over a four-post bed. And now this. Mauve.
