29. Hector

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

HECTOR

I t simply wasn't going to happen. I wasn't going to get sick.

Before Brett and Paris had flown ahead to Hawk lands, I'd spoken to Paris about his condition, how it'd presented, what I should look out for.

He'd been on the brink of death while he'd fought off Avianitis, and I'd been in Urial at the time, completely unaware.

To be fair, he'd also been largely unaware of what he was going through, and if I'd had the chance to talk to Brett before my brother had fallen in love with him, we'd have had words about that. But now, it didn't matter so much. He obviously loved Paris, and as far as I could tell, there were no more lingering secrets. My indignation no longer had a place between them.

I still made Paris explain to me how he'd felt, what it had been like, so I could brace myself for whatever came next. It sounded as if Paris's case was, relatively, mild. Brett's furrowed brow when I broached the topic was enough to say the mere idea of Avianitis shook him enough that Paris waved him off to continue putting up camp while we spoke.

Through sheer stubbornness alone, I intended to forego the entire business.

Paris said his bones had hurt. He'd been feverish, and his memories from the time were hazy.

And, of course, he'd wanted to know why I was so interested.

"Do you think you'll...?" He'd lifted his brows significantly. Despite myself, a smile twitched on my lips. Poking around the subject at hand without addressing it directly was quite familiar to us both from a lifetime spent in Urial's court.

"Killian's convinced that any outsider who has sex with a Nemedan is at risk."

Paris's nose had flared in annoyance. "You're not an outsider."

"You know what I mean. I just want to be prepared."

"Because you want him." Paris had narrowed his eyes at me shrewdly, and there had been no choice but to tell him the truth—or part of it. I was still rooted enough in Urial that I wasn't going to start sharing my sexual exploits with my baby brother. He didn't need to know that I'd acted on my desire already.

"I do."

Paris had nodded tightly. "I get it. Clear eyes. No harm in preparing. Just—" He'd raised his hands, flexed them like he was unsure what to do, and a second later, he was wrapped around me like a python.

"I'll be safe," I promised, petting his back. Letting him go was easier, knowing I'd see him again in less than a week. What happened in the interim? Well, I wasn't going to think about it.

Not only was Paris relying on me to hold it together, but even before we left Vulture lands, Killian was on edge. He wouldn't say precisely why, and I couldn't tell him not to worry, but the source of his anxiety was apparent enough.

He thought he'd doomed me. Now, it was my job to prove to the most dangerous man I'd ever known that he wasn't half so dangerous as he thought, even with his spear. He did look quite nice with a large shaft in hand?—

Wasn't the point.

In the wagon, he sat, pressed against my arm, as we made our slow way through the countryside. The other Cranes would be back before we even made it to the Hawk lands, and Orestes was going the other way.

I . . . hated it.

Orestes was one of my closest friends amongst the Crane. It helped that he didn't fit so perfectly among them, sure, but he was also frank and open in a way so contrary to what I was used to that it rattled my brain around in my skull just to speak with him.

He made me better, and I wished that he hadn't gone.

I didn't think he was in danger in Nemeda. It was one thing for King Albany to try and get rid of his own people when they were inconvenient, but to get rid of a diplomat?

Well, I didn't think he was capable of it, but I hadn't thought him capable of poisoning me either.

The first days on the road with Killian were nice, even if he was nervous and I was exhausted. We had long days together to talk about anything. He told me about his encounters with the southerners, and Carlyle, the southern man he'd met in his youth who'd nearly convinced him that peace was possible.

He told me about his mother and all her men, how Abram had been one of them. And when I'd asked if he preferred a similar arrangement, he'd laughed. His smile was like the sun when he turned it on me and said, "My appetites don't run so ravenous."

Then he'd slid his hand down my leg and taken my hand in his and my heart had ached at how perfect the moment was. Still, I tried to temper my expectations. Just because I took everything in my life too seriously didn't mean that this was... that.

Still, I enjoyed having him all to myself, getting to sleep beside him like we were nothing but the merchants who drifted across Urial when warm summer winds broke up the last of the winter's lingering snows.

We were only a couple hours out from the Hawk village when our conversation sputtered out. It wasn't that we had nothing to talk about, only that I'd woken up with a headache that started right behind my eyes, and throughout the day, had spread until it felt like my whole skull was contracting.

"Are you all right?" Killian asked when he caught me squinting against the setting sun.

I nodded. "Just fine. Road weary. Traveling's getting to me."

Killian's narrowed eyes belied a fresh wave of anxiety, and he fidgeted on the seat beside me. For the rest of the evening, he pressed water on me, handed me pieces of jerky, watched like... I honestly didn't know if hawks or cranes had keener eyes.

"We should stop soon," Killian said.

I nodded, and the movement shook my brain around in my head. Once I pulled the cart beneath a large tree, I hopped down from the front.

"I'll start a fire." We had wood piled up in the back of the wagon. We'd gathered a small store of it as we traveled the countryside, walking around in the evenings to stretch our legs and picking up tinder on the way. Usually, we set the fire behind the open back and slept beneath the tarp. That evening, I wasn't looking forward to the hardness of the wooden slabs under us. My back was aching fiercely.

We'd arrive in my brother's village the next morning, and it'd be nice to have a proper bed to sleep in, good food to fill our bellies. One decent night's sleep, and I'd be fine.

I had to be fine.

Before I'd grabbed the first split log, Killian hopped down and grabbed me by the shoulder. His grip was firm and steady, in contrast to... to what? All of me?

"You don't need to do that," he said. In a sweep of his large hand, he pushed my hair from my forehead and set the backs of his fingers against my skin. "You're warm."

I jerked away from his touch and glared. "I'm not."

I turned to the wood and began pulling it toward me with a heavy scratching sound. It was awfully heavy. Had it always been so heavy?

"Hector," Killian pressed, grabbing my shoulder again and trying to pull me back around. I stumbled. "Be reasonable."

"I am fine ," I insisted, summoning all the heat I could into my glare.

"Clearly not. You should rest. Take it easy. Sit in the back and I'll make you something to eat."

I growled. "Stop trying to coddle me!"

With a frustrated huff, Killian threw up his hands. "I'm not trying to coddle you. I'm trying to take care of you. You're si?—"

"No!" My shout sent a bat screeching into the air overhead.

We stared at each other in shock, both our chests heaving.

When I knocked myself out of it, I shook my head. "I am not. I'm not ill. I'm fine. As fine as I've ever been."

"Hector—"

The way Killian's voice softened had me drawing my shoulders up around my ears. "No," I insisted. It took another deep inhale before I summoned the resolve to meet his eye again. "I will not take up the next place on your list of regrets. I am fine."

Killian's lips fell slack and soft and oh-so-tempting. Then, he closed the distance between us. His palm, blissfully cool, cupped my cheek. His lips brushed over mine gently, fresh and sweet as any water I'd ever tasted.

"Hector," he whispered. His forehead pressed to mine was all that kept the world from tilting. "You'll never—Hector? Hector!"

His startled cry was the last thing I heard before the world gave up, sagged, and listed sideways.