Page 27 of The Crown of Moonlight
“Not yet, darling.”I touch a hand to her shoulder.“Rowan is sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed until the fever breaks.Do you remember that she’s mute?Imagine what a strain it must have been for her to travel this far.”
“Oh, the poor child.”My mother peers at me, then her smile brightens, and she pats the seat beside her.“In that case, you must stay and entertain me after getting my hopes up like that.What other news do you have to share?It’s so dull here, day after day, with nothing and no one new.”
I stoop to kiss the top of her head and let her down as gently as I can.“There’s no time for a visit today, I’m afraid.But I’ll make it up to you soon, and Catriona and Morag will stop to see you whenever they can.”
She makes a show of pouting and doesn’t answer, but as I begin to turn away, she clasps the hand I placed on her shoulder and squeezes hard before letting go.I turn back and fling my arms around her, as I haven’t done since I was a child.
Her bones are sharp and fragile beneath the fine wool of her dress and the shawl she wears against the morning chill.I whisper that I love her, because the important things can never be said too often.
As bleak as things seem, I’ll cling to any small ray of hope.
Chapter 13
Draw the Fever
Flora
I
stop to check on the Ever, and the willow-bark tea isn’t doing enough.Sweat runs off him in rivulets, and the linens and his clothes are soaked.
With an ordinary infection, I’d let the fever run its course.But Chyr still has celestial iron inside him, and with so much dead flesh removed, any more strain could overwhelm him.
The cloth cools my own hot fingers as I wring it out.I have to leave with the livestock, but that means I’ll be gone late into the night.He could be dead before I return.
Trying to think what else I can do for him, I dip the cloth back into the basin and place it across his forehead.
His eyes open, and his fingers close around my wrist.“Flora—”
Whatever he was going to say, he doesn’t continue.Still, the way he says my name—his voice a dry, velvet whisper—and the way he looks at me…
My pulse quickens.I should pull away, but I don’t.
“Why are you frowning?”he asks.
“I need to leave, but your fever is too high.Is there any sort of remedy specific to Siorai that could help us break it?”
“Where do you have to go?The truth, please,” he rasps, as though he’s read my mind.His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to say he won’t let me dodge the truth.
“Tell me about the Butcher.What do you know about him?”
Chyr struggles to sit up, and I press my hands into his shoulders.“Stay still unless you want to undo all the hard work I put into stitching you together.”
“Why are you asking about the Butcher?”
“My uncle warned us he was moving against the Highland clans.”
“General Cumarann.”Chyr spits the name like poison, his fever-bright eyes hardening.“The Black Knife of Alba.Did your uncle say he was coming here?”
“Nothing more than speculation.Is he as bad as they say?”
“Worse.He’s human, but he thrives on Vheara’s cruelty.After we lost at Culodur, he wasted no time destroying nearby towns and villages.He locked women and children in a church and burned it down while forcing the men to watch.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I taste blood from biting my cheek.I’m not naïve—cruelty isn’t confined to one species.But the evil Chyr describes?Knowing someone like that walks the earth in human skin chills me to my bones.
Chyr releases my wrist and slides his hand down to lace his fingers into mine.His eyes are sharp with anguish.
“This is why Vheara must be stopped,” he says.“She has a gift for evil.She finds the smallest seed of wickedness in others and makes it bloom.”
