Page 67 of Courting War
Toxic, burning air, but air, nonetheless.
Silently, she let him attend to her without a complaint. Her body was limp, her eyes fogged and glittering, dripping with an emotion he couldn’t decipher.
In an awkward display of trying to maintain propriety, he cleaned first the bodice of her Nefesian-inspired dress and then the big hoop skirt.
A Theoden priestess dressing in Nefesian fashion was strange. Each country had distinctive fashion based on its patron god. Nefesians dressed in elaborate crinoline hoop skirts, and Andromadens wore impractical panniers, the styles reflecting the gods’ personalities. Nefeli and Andromache preferred dramatic, over-the-top silhouettes that displayed extravagance and riches. But War was practical, so Theodenites favored tartans, the soft-bustles, and A-line skirts that were easier to manipulate. Functionality was essential in Theoden culture, its currency, sports, and activity.
But the gods decided the champion’s and priests’ outfits. So clearly, Nefeli was clothing Morrigan. But why? Especially when it was clear that Morrigan was an important human in the War Court’s servant ranks.
Everything about this girl was odd.
Kellyn’s ministrations moved to her skin.
Nothing was spared from the violent sickness, and Morrigan’s forehead was damp and dripping with sweat, her body coursing with shivers.
The girl would live, but her battle to rid herself of the poison was beginning, and it would become much worse.
Chapter Twenty
THEODRA
Extremely Enraged Ex-God
INFIRMARY, CITY OF THE GODS
Shivers danced through Theo’s bones, and everything ached. Her head lolled to the side, and her breaths were stilted—painful and wheezing.
Her mouth burned like she’d eaten the world’s hottest pepper. Fire clawed at her eye sockets, and a regimental drum filled her skull. Chills coursed through her veins, her body shaking with cold and death’s stalking presence.
A fever killed far more people than any weapons of war. Infection from a cut. Sickness. A too-high fever was a death knell.
“So cold,” Theo croaked. She was freezing. Her limbs convulsed from it. She needed to warm up. “More, I need more.” Theo clawed at the blankets covering her body. She was far too cold.
Strong hands caught her and pinned her arms in place. “Shhh, you’re okay.”
“So cold.” But the big muscular body beside her made her feel slightly warmer.
“You’re burning up, Morrigan.”
“No. Not Mor . . .” Theo trailed off. There was something important she wanted to say, but she couldn’t quite find it.
The world twirled on pointe like a sweet ballerina dancing her final show. The artistry of it haunting and coated with delirium. Theo knew she was delirious. She felt her consciousness going in and out. She felt strong hands at her back and a velvet whisky-like voice whispering comforting words into her ear.
Ice coated her forehead, and she tried to bat it away.
“Why did I think you would be more biddable while sick?” The velvety voice was amused.
“You’re a pretty human man.” Her speech was slurred, delirium sinking its teeth in and not letting go. “I think I like you . . . I don’t like human men. But you’re—”
The fever came on fast and unyielding like the off-key strokes of a violin. Theo clung to the sounds. The cadence of his breaths and the sweet harmony of his deep voice tended to her. The feel of his arms around her, rocking her and comforting her through it all. The smell of him was magic. Musk, sandalwood, and a hint of leather.
Masculine and warm.
He told her stories of the time he had a fever as a child and funny tales of his adventures in the Agoge. He did all he could to distract her from the agony clinging to her body.
He was gentle, kind, and patient.
Three things she didn’t know men could be. Kellyn held her and cared for her. It was the first time anyone had ever done such a thing. Theo didn’t know how to feel, but luckily, she was too incoherent to figure it out.
