Page 86 of Alliance Bride
“You should get some sleep,” she said gently. “I will sit with him tonight.”
Inga hesitated, but after a long look at Aevar, she relented. “Just for a few hours. If there’s any change—”
“I’ll wake you.” Ranvi stepped aside to let her pass, and Inga offered Eadlyn a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder before she slipped out.
Then Ranvi turned to her. “You too. You need rest.”
Eadlyn wanted to refuse, but Ranvi was right, just like Kian earlier with the food. She could not tend Aevar if she collapsed from hunger or exhaustion.
Still, the idea of sleeping terrified her. Her mother had died while she slept. One moment she had gone to bed, and the next morning, everything had changed. She still remembered the cold press of her governess’s hands and the hush in the room when she was told.
Please, God. Not like that again. Don’t let him slip away while I rest.
She drew in a breath that stung. “All right.”
Her limbs dragged as if being pulled down by invisible chains as she stepped away from the bed. She peered at the corner where Aevar had made his place each night since they married. Always a respectful distance. But tonight, that distance felt unbearable. He was her husband. Her home. She did not have to leave his side.
Quietly and decisively, she turned back and climbed into bed. The blankets shifted beneath her as she lay down beside him. Searing heat pulsed from his skin like a forge. She rested her hand on his chest. His heart beat beneath her palm, faint but there, and she prayed for it to keep beating.
Chapter Thirty-two
Eadlyncranedherheadto each side, a dull pop sounding in her neck as she tried to loosen the ache that had settled deep into her muscles. Four days of sitting at Aevar’s bedside had left her stiff and wrung out in body and soul. Her fingers, raw and reddened from the endless wringing of wet cloth, trembled in her lap. A yawn threatened to escape her, but she swallowed it down and rubbed at her burning eyes.
The breakfast Inga had brought sat mostly untouched on the table beside her—the bread had gone tough, and the fish curled at the edges. But she couldn’t summon the will to eat. Not while Aevar still lay unmoving.
She stared at him, and a chill spread through her limbs. The fever had cooled in the last two days, no longer burning as it once had, but it still clung to him with greedy fingers. His skin had taken on a pallid tone, and his face, usually so full of fierce life, had gone slack. Even when she laid the damp cloth on his brow, he didn’t stir.
He looked like he was slipping away.
She reached for her spindle to distract herself. The familiar sensation of wool and wood steadied her—somewhat. Inga had taught her to spin not long ago, and in these quiet moments it had become a small mercy. The rhythm. The control. But now, the fibers caught and tangled between her fingers. Her vision wavered again. She blinked furiously, dragging her sleeve across her cheeks.
From out in the hall, Trygg laughed, young and blissfully unaware. A blade of longing twisted inside her. The sound was like a memory from a life she’d once lived. The sound of a world before this waiting and fear. She bowed her head. Another prayer. Another plea. Her voice remained silent, but her soul ached for God to move.
Footsteps neared, and she lifted her head to find Braan in the doorway. He looked first at Aevar, and worry pulled at the corners of his mouth. When he turned to her, something gentler touched his face.
“You need fresh air.” It wasn’t a suggestion. More like an order cloaked in concern. “Come. Just a short walk. You’ve been in this room too long.”
Eadlyn hesitated, tightening her grip on the twisted yarn. Of all people, Braan wasn’t the one she expected such insistence from. Perhaps that’s why it worked. After a pause, she set the spindle down in resignation.
She stared at Aevar once more. Was it foolish to leave, even for a moment? But she knew she needed to breathe something other than fever-stale air. She rose, though her legs protested, stiff and unwilling. With one last look, she followed Braan out of the longhouse.
The sun struck her like a blow, bright and startling. She winced, squinting. The heat on her skin seared after the dim chill of the sickroom, and the world outside seemed too alive. Around them, the village bustled. People worked, tended to animals, and hung fresh herbs to dry. Life hadn’t stopped. Her chest tightened at the contrast, but she clung to the hope that she might find renewed strength to endure in this respite.
Neither she nor Braan said much as they passed through the village, though she found comfort in his presence. When they reached the beach, she stood at the water’s edge and drew in the fjord air as if she had not fully breathed since the attack. Letting it refresh her mind, she closed her eyes and prayed for Aevar’s healing and for a return to the normalcy she had come to love so much. It was as though both rested right on the edge of a steep cliff, and only God had the power to keep them from toppling over and falling away from her. Her world had been shattered once before. Her heart ached at the possibility of it happening again, weighing on her chest.
She drew a hard breath as memories seeped into her mind. “I was very young when she died, but I still remember sitting on my mother’s bed when she was sick, asking God to heal her.” She wiped the tears that had run down her face. “I never thought I’d have to relive that with Aevar.”
Braan’s eyes met hers with shared concern, but resolve sparked within them. “Don’t lose hope yet. He is stubborn, and he has something to live for.”
Darkness wrapped around Aevar like sea-fog, dense and suffocating. His mind drifted beneath it, thoughts scattered and half-formed. Somewhere in the murk, hazy memories surfaced. An attack. Injury. Pain. He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t respond. Was this death? Had he been denied the warrior’s end?
However, after some time of drifting, sounds crept in, very faint at first. A faraway voice. A rooster. A giggle. Each one pulled him closer to consciousness, like a wayward boat drawn to shore. Sensation followed. His body seemed distant. Weak. But still his.
Finally, he pried his eyelids open, blinking to bring his surroundings into focus. Morning light spilled from the window above him. The door out into the hall stood open, but he couldn’t lift his head to see beyond it. His limbs ached under their own weight, but he could still feel them. That counted for something.
Air brushed his shoulder, and he caught the whisper of a quiet breath. Gathering what strength he could scrape together, he turned his head to find Eadlyn curled up beside him. Her hand wrapped around his arm, her breath warm on his skin. The sight of her lying there chased away the last remnants of the fog. Not only did it show how deeply she cared, but it also revealed her level of concern. Just how close had he come to death? Considering the weakness clinging to him, he’d been on the brink.
For a long few moments, he studied her face—every curve, each scar. The shadows beneath her eyes told him she hadn’t rested well in days. He wanted to reach out, brush her hair back, and draw her near, but he had no strength for even that.
