Page 40 of Pretense

“Stable and comfortable.” Macha bustled to the sideboard, picked up the pitcher of water, and poured a glass. She returned to Farrendel’s side, holding out the glass. “You need to keep your strength up.”

Farrendel rested Essie’s hand on his chest, then reached for the glass. His hand trembled so much that Essie’s mother didn’t fully let go of the glass, steadying it for him as he sipped the water.

He managed three sips before his stomach threatened to rebel. He pushed the glass away. “Linshi, Macha.”

“You’re welcome.” Macha set the glass on the coffee table, then frowned. She pressed her surprisingly cold hand against Farrendel’s forehead. “You’re feverish.”

That would explain why the room felt far too warm, yet chills shivered down his back. He shrugged and rested his head on the pillows behind him. “I am fine. It is simply the strain.”

Her forehead scrunched, her eyes filled with concern. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Farrendel shook his head, then regretted it when the movement caused the train car to spin. “Do not worry. I will keep her alive.”

Macha perched on the chair across from him, holding his gaze. “I know you will. But I am not only worried about her.”

“You do not have to worry about me.” He would be all right, as long as Essie was. Farrendel drew in another breath. A thick, liquid feeling filled his lungs, and he resisted the urge to cough, knowing Essie would cough as well.

Macha frowned, as if she did not believe him. “We have another hour or so to the border.”

Farrendel pressed his cheek against Essie’s hair. Another hour. Surely he could keep breathing—and keep Essie alive—for another hour. “Could you…please keep talking?”

He needed to keep his mind focused and awake. He could not allow himself to drift into a stupor. That could prove deadly to Essie, if he did not consciously hold tight to her through the heart bond.

“Did Essie ever tell you about the time she smuggled one of the stable cats into her bedroom and it had kittens under her bed?” Essie’s macha smiled and launched into the story.

Farrendel held Essie close as he listened to Macha talk. He drew in a deep breath, taking as much of Essie’s pain as he could. He exhaled, giving Essie his strength.

Time bled into the rhythm of the wheels against the tracks, the gentle swaying of the train, Macha’s voice rising and falling in pitch as she became more animated in her storytelling.

His fingertips were growing tingly, his head light, stomach woozy.

Was that the train stopping? His chest squeezed, his breath catching. It took him several tries to draw in his next breath.

Then the door to the train car was opening, and Weylind was there. He did not say anything. He simply helped Farrendel to his feet and kept him upright as they disembarked from the train. Farrendel hugged Essie’s limp form to him, her head lolling against his shoulder. If not for Weylind’s steadying hand, his legs would have buckled.

Farrendel barely registered anything from the walk up the slight rise from the train station to the army outpost beside the Hydalla River. The same outpost where he and Essie had been married in a human ceremony nearly a year ago now.

The next thing he knew, he was ushered into the infirmary. He laid Essie on the surgical table, bracing himself against it as his knees gave out.

Weylind’s grip on his shoulders tightened, keeping Farrendel from collapsing entirely.

Something in him broke, seeing Essie laid out on the table like that. It should be him, bloody and unconscious on the table. He could handle that.

He could not handle this.

An elf healer and a human surgeon approached, with assistants carrying trays of supplies. Rheva was there as well, joining Essie’s mother and directing those carrying Iyrinder’s stretcher to a second table.

“Amir.” The elf healer’s hand hoovered just above Essie’s wound. “This will hurt you through the heart bond. Do you—”

“Just heal her.” Farrendel spat the words between gritted teeth. All this talking was delaying help for Essie. “I can take it. Just do what you need to do to save her.”

The healer gave a nod, then he and the surgeon started a discussion in a low tone, their hands moving quickly.

Farrendel turned away, focusing on Essie’s face. He still gripped her hand, keeping them linked deep in the heart bond. With his other hand, he brushed the flyaway strands of her red hair from her pale face. She was so wan, so still, so unresponsive even as he could sense the healer filling her with healing magic.

Farrendel pressed his forehead against Essie’s, squeezed his eyes shut, and simply breathed.

“She will be fine, shashon.” Weylind held Farrendel upright, his voice soft.

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