Page 54 of Heart of Winter
The light expanded, a flare of jewel-blue, and then white. It burned–
And then nothing.
15
When Oliver woke, he knew that the fever had broken, finally.
He felt like he’d been dragged behind a horse for five miles.
He cracked crusty eyes open and winced against the sunlight streaming in through the window. Even shifting his head fractionally on the pillow had pain firing through every muscle. He ached…everywhere, and his skin felt raw, like he’d baked in the sunlight. But his head was clear, save the lingering fatigue, and he knew that he wasn’t hallucinating when his gaze landed on the large figure slumped down in a chair by his bedside, eyes closed, chin resting on his broad chest.
The king of Aeretoll snored softly, wearing nothing but trousers and an unlaced tunic that clung to the heavy muscles in his arms. For all their size, his bare feet looked strangely vulnerable on the rug.
Oliver rolled his head the other way, and found Tessa standing in the open doorway, one hand on the doorknob, her shocked gaze fixed on the king.
His throat was dry, and his voice hoarse, but he managed to whisper, “What’s he doing in here?”
“I don’t know. I just walked in.” Then she gasped, and turned toward him. “Ollie! You’re awake!”
Her exclamation sent Erik awake with a snort.
She winced. “I’m sorry, your majesty.” She perched on the edge of Oliver’s bed, and he struggled to sit upright; she deftly stacked pillows behind him, so he could lean back against them. “But Oliver’s fever broke!” she said, excitedly. “Look.”
In the moment that his eyes opened, Erik’s gaze flitted back and forth across the room, searching, his body instantly tense and ready for an attack. Then Oliver watched him take in his surroundings, watched the tension ease as Erik realized he wasn’t in the field somewhere under assault. He let out a deep breath, features relaxing – until his gaze landed on the bed, and Oliver in it, and then the strangest thing happened.
Relief bloomed, as quick and bright and surprising as the sun peeking from behind a cloud, his smile wide, and unguarded, eyes crinkling at their corners with it.
Just as quickly, the smile retracted, Erik’s eyes widened, like a child caught in a bit of mischief, and his features smoothed to an expression of only mild interest. “Has it?” he asked, tone bore, and stood.
But Oliver found that he couldn’t be irritated by that indifferent façade, because he’d seen…something. Something true, and joyful, and very much invested.
It didn’t give him hope, exactly – never that, it was too impossible for that – but he felt a little less wretched.
“Yes,” Tessa said, and pressed a hand to his forehead, laughing after. “See? No fever at all.”
Erik stepped up to the bed – and then placed his hand carefully against Oliver’s forehead.
Oliver’s breath caught. He knew those calluses, the texture of those fingertips. Whatever his delirium last night, he hadn’t imagined Erik’s hands on him. On his face, on his neck, on hischest. Raking through his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. He remembered a low, reassuring voice, and blue eyes, and blue light, and being colder than he’d ever been.
Erik’s hand withdrew, slowly, and when Oliver sought his gaze, he found that the indifference had melted into something else entirely. Oliver couldn’t look away.
Neither could Erik, apparently. “Lady Tessa,” he said, without addressing her directly. “Why don’t you go and see about finding Oliver a breakfast tray? Something light, I think.”
“Oh, yes, of course. And shall I send for Olaf?”
“Please.”
“I’ll do it right away. Ollie, I’m so happy.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, and then hurried away, steps light, humming under her breath.
When she was gone, Erik sank down slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. His gaze never wavered.
Oliver wet his lips, grimacing at the acrid aftertaste he found there. “I had…the strangest dream. Not like an ordinary fever dream.”
“What of?” Erik’s voice was still rough from sleep, and Oliver decided that, if asked, he would pass off his little shiver in response as a lingering chill.
“I dreamed that I was very cold – that I was in cold water. But you were there, and you were talking to me, telling me it would be all right. You were – you were touching me.” His voice grew faint, and Erik kept staring at him. “Your hands were very warm. But.” His throat was dry, and it hurt to swallow. “That wasn’t a dream at all, was it?”
Erik swallowed, too; Oliver watched the movement of his strong throat. “Olaf had me put you in a cold bath. Half-water and half-snow to bring your fever down.”
