Page 194 of A King's Oath

“Hmm?”

His pillow was pushed off his forehead and he squinted at her covering the brightest source of light. “Open your mouth.”

He opened his mouth and she pushed a pill in, cupping his head and nudging it up, only to place a glass of water to his lips. He was thirsty. He wanted to drink. But the water tasted like acid. His throat was burning. He swallowed the pill and pushed back.

“Drink more.”

He shook his head.

“You need to keep drinking water.”

“Later…” he croaked. Before he could reach for the pillow again she switched off the lights. He waited for the door to click shut but her hand landed on his forehead. It felt too cold. He began to turn away from it when an icy cloth replaced it.

“I am fine…”

“Then go to sleep.”

33. Rajmata

“It’s dengue, Rajmata, the same strain Kunwar had…”

“Sharan’s fever didn’t go beyond 102 even at its worst. Samarth’s was 104 last night, Haren saheb…”

“Has he been dehydrated?”

“No… Harsh?”

Samarth felt his head. He had never felt his whole brain and skull inside it before. It was like a mountain on his head with those voices pounding at it from the outside.

“He went riding to the school yesterday. Did he drink enough water?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Haren saheb I am not sure about his hydration levels yesterday… but I will make sure he drinks enough now.”

“Please do. Or we will have to hospitalise Rawal.”

Samarth groaned, wanting to say no. Rajmata’s hand landed on his forehead. It did not feel cold to the touch. It was warm. Good kind of warm.

“No hospital, Rajmata…” he mumbled, hoping his voice had reached her.

“No, no hospital,” she repeated, patting his head. “But you have to drink enough water, ok?”

He nodded, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to drink any water.

“Don’t tell Papa…”

“What did you say?” Papa’s voice echoed inside his ears. Samarth managed to push his eyelids open. Papa was standing over him, hands behind his back, Dr. Haren beside him. The sun was out and heavy. How long had he been asleep?

He began to push up but Rajmata held him down.

“Court…”

“Is over,” she settled him back. “Papa went and sat. Here, drink this,” she handed him a glass of water. He half sat up and pulled a reluctant sip of acid that looked like water and held the glass in his hands.

“More, Samarth,” she pestered, pushing the glass back up. He took another sip, hoping that would be enough. His arm felt limp, as if carrying a glass from the bed to his lips was a chore that would need years to recover from.

“Rawal,” Dr. Haren, their family doctor sighed. “You have been detected with dengue. There is no treatment except…”

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