Page 50 of Heart of Winter
“That’s enough,” he snapped. “I will hear no more of it. If the boy survives, we’ll ship him back to his people in Drakewell as soon as he can manage the journey.”
She sighed loudly, to show her displeasure. The pig-headed idiot! “Listen, I know that you’re worried about propriety, about looking strong in front of–”
“Revna.”
She bit back the rest of her sentence. There was no reasoning with him when he got like this, at least not in her experience.
He sipped his wine, and brooded, and, even if he would never say so, she knew that he ached.
Please, gods, let that boy live. I desperately need him to kiss my idiot brother.
~*~
Oliver was gripped by fever for five days.
“Do you think he can hear us?” Rune whispered, leaning in close enough that his hair tickled at Tessa’s ear.
She suppressed a pleasant shiver. “Maybe. I’m not sure. If so, I don’t know that he can understand us all that well. Fever delirium, and all.”
“Ah.”
It was midday, and the two of them sat in chairs by the hearth, eating the simple lunch of late harvest apples and cheese that Rune had brought her. Leif had been visiting, helping to keep quiet, solemn vigil over Oliver as he tossed, and fretted, and murmured in his fever sleep. He laid a comforting hand on Tessa’s shoulder, and offered gentle smiles, and words of encouragement.
Rune, though, brought an infectious cheer with him. He fussed over Oliver, worrying, asking if there was anything he could do, his expression marked with true concern. But then he would find wide smiles for her, and tell her ridiculous stories until she laughed, despite her own worry and tiredness. He brought her things, too: a scone, an apple, a cup of wine. A lap blanket stitched with snowflakes and wolves that he’d said had been his own, once, when he was smaller. And small, crudely-whittled wooden animals – a reindeer, a wolf, a bear, a horse – that she suspected he’d made himself. Those she’d lined up in the window ledge, and her glaze flitted to them often, in the dark hours of night when Oliver was at his worst. Astrid helped where she could, and Thyra had been a blessing, around forty, sturdy, strong enough to lift Oliver up so they could change his sweat-soaked nightshirts, unshy about bathing him with damp sponges, and resolute in her efforts to spoon broth and honey into his mouth.
Tessa spent most of those five days in his room, applying fresh compresses to his flushed skin, helping Thyra, save for the moments when she was shooed out on the grounds of her virginity, which was justdumb. She cat-napped in the armchair when she could, though Revna was constantly coming to spell her, urging her to seek her own bed next door. She did a few times, but guilt and love pulled her back before too long.
It was the fifth day, today, and she was sore, and exhausted to the point of tears. Rune’s visit had lifted her spirits, for a time, but as the light faded beyond the window, so too did the last of her strength.
Something warm splashed onto her hand, and she realized she was crying. Silent, though insistent tears; they’d snuck up on her, but once they’d started, she couldn’t stop them, dashing at her cheeks fruitlessly with the backs of her hands.
“Do you – Tessa?” Rune’s tone shifted to alarm as he turned toward her. “Oh no. I’m sorry. Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No, no.” Her voice was clogged and awful-sounding. She reached into her sleeve for a handkerchief, but didn’t have one there. She’d worn this dress for two days solid. “No, I’m only being silly. It’s just – I’m so worried. And he’s still so – so–” She pointed at Oliver, helpless and flushed, his hair dark with sweat. “I don’t know what else to do for him,” she whispered. His cheeks looked hollow, shadowed with obvious weight loss. His head turned restlessly on the pillow, and the movement gapped his nightshirt, showing collarbones gone blade-sharp.
A heavy weight settled across her shoulders, and she realized that it was Rune’s arm. He pulled her into his side, and the heat and solidity of him was such unspeakable relief. She let herself sag; lowered her head onto his shoulder.
“It’ll be all right.” His breath stirred her hair; she swore she felt his lips at the crown of her head. “I promise you, Tessa. He’ll get better.”
She knew he was only trying to comfort her, but it felt nice all the same.
~*~
“I’ve talked with all the maids,” Revna said over a late cup of wine in Erik’s study. “Covertly, of course. None have noticed anything missing, or anything out of place.”
Birger nodded, as if he’d expected as much. “I think we need to consider that it wasn’t an intruder at all. Just one of the lads sneaking out late one night, for his own reasons, and not wanting to fess up to it.”
“Meeting a mistress, maybe,” Revna said, and Birger nodded.
“The tracks led into the woods and crossed a stream,” Bjorn said, frowning. “What sort of tryst is that?”
Revna shot him a wink over the rim of her cup. “Use your imagination.”
Birger chuckled, and Bjorn turned a delightful shade of pink beneath his beard.
When she glanced toward Erik, though, she saw that he wasn’t listening, hands folded on top of his desk, staring into the middle distance. She bit back a sigh.
For five days, Oliver had lain abed, stricken with fever. Revna had done her share of tending to him, spelling Tessa when the girl would allow herself to be steered to bed. Conferring with Olaf and asking if there was anything they might do. He kept saying the fever had to run its course, but this morning, she’d detected a note of more-than-normal concern in his voice. Five days was a long time for a body to burn like that.
