23. Paris

Ifelt cold and miserable and uncomfortable in my own skin. My limbs ached and shivered. Every time my feet touched the bare floor, it was agony, almost like a cold burn working up from my legs.

It wasn't right, and I played back through my mind, hoping to figure out where it'd all gone wrong.

Perhaps I'd tried too hard to keep the fire going, determined to prove my worth and take care of Brett. It was true, that back in Urial, I was rarely relied upon to keep my own fires lit.

Perhaps it was strenuous activity—sweaty, wonderful, strenuous activity—that'd sapped my energy as much as it invigorated me. I simply hadn't noticed because I was focused on other things. Wonderful things.

Things I imagined while I drifted in and out of consciousness. The soft golden hair across Brett's chest, the way his arms felt around me, being taken care of. It was all new. Nice.

Did I want more of it? Was I falling too fast?

Hector had said the same, that I'd gotten pulled into Tybalt's world too soon, without thinking. I'd be wise to hold myself back, to avoid throwing myself from person to person, never feeling like enough on my own.

And yet, even when I opened my eyes, he was there.

It wasn't an apparition of him. We'd made it all the way back to Brett's home. At least, I thought we had.

Distantly, I remembered the journey, nestled down among the blankets, pressed tight against Brett's side. After that, I didn't remember much, but whenever I opened my eyes, I realized that I was somewhere new.

"Where am I?" I croaked when my head stopped throbbing enough to bear the sound.

In a split second, Brett was at my side, pressing a cup of cool, clear water to my lips.

"You're in my room, so I can look after you. You've fallen ill."

Why did he look so stricken when he said that? I scowled up at him, but his eyes were swimming, his brow furrowed seriously.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

"You're . . . not."

As I watched, his throat bobbed. He glanced away, making a show of setting down the glass.

With a huff, I pushed up against the pillows propped behind me. It took more effort than I would ever admit, my arms shuddering before I fell back with a huff.

"I've been sick before. I'm not so dainty that I'll keel over at the first illness."

Gods, what was happening? Brett's lips twisted like my assurances only brought him pain. "You're not dainty."

"And you're not a healer. You're chief of the Hawk Clan. You have better things to do than—" Even as I spoke, he squeezed excess water from a damp cloth and pressed it to my forehead.

I sighed. That was pure bliss.

"—tend to me," I finished, all heat and stubbornness gone as I let my eyelids flutter in relief.

"I assure you, I do not."

Though I spared him one last glare, I didn't have the strength to argue. Already, I'd invaded his space. If he was grateful for the sleigh, or for my willingness to go after Esmerelda, well... fine. It was fair enough, even if I hadn't expected that.

And anyway, when his hand drifted lower, I caught it and pressed it flat against my cheek, and his skin was cool and grounding and the strength of his arm firm enough for me to lean against, and I simply didn't care. I was exhausted, miserable, and yes, just pitiful enough to let him care for me, even if it was an objectively stupid thing to do.

"Is there a reason you're so concerned for me?" I asked. I must've been leaning against his cool hand for a few minutes, but he hadn't moved, hadn't pulled away to go take care of anything more important.

When my eyes fluttered open, Brett was scowling down at me, his jaw working like he was thinking about talking but couldn't quite figure out what to say.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Brett called.

Rosaline poked her head in a second later, biting her lip and glancing anxiously between the two of us. "Oh!" she perked up when she met my eye. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm fine," I said, mustering a smile for her.

She looked to Brett, but I saw the minutest shake of his head before Rosaline set her shoulders back, shedding whatever was bothering her in a fresh mask of seriousness.

"There's another guest. Should I tell them to come back later?"

"Yes," Brett said.

"Don't be silly." I pushed his hand away. "You can see to your people. I'm just—" I pressed my hands to the soft place below my ribs. It felt strange there, twisted, like the pieces of me no longer fit together. I grimaced. "I'm just a little sick. I'm not going to keel over while you say hello."

"Oh, um—" Rosaline was back to chewing on her lip. "They're not here for Brett, actually. They're here to see you."

I blinked. "Really? That's—well, that's nice. I wouldn't mind company."

"Are you sure you're up for it?" Brett asked, his frown never leaving his face.

"If it's all right. I wouldn't want to get anyone ill, but I don't mind saying hello if someone wants to see me..." Though truth told, I couldn't imagine why they would. At the best of times, I had little to offer them. Now? Practically nothing.

When Brett said nothing else, Rosaline rocked onto the balls of her feet, clapping her hands together once. "Great! Lydia brought a meal, so I'll let her bring it up herself then."

Rosaline disappeared, and I scowled up at Brett. "Is this... clan tradition? You bring one another food when ill?"

Brett's mouth went small, his lips pursed tight together. "It's not uncommon."

"It's nice." It certainly wasn't the way things were done in Urial. Whenever one of us got sick, we'd shut ourselves up in our rooms until we felt better, relying only on servants and family. I realized now that I hardly knew how servants handled illness.

Lydia turned out to be a middle-aged woman with a round, brown face and a little boy hanging off her skirts. She carried a tray of food, and Brett helped me sit up to receive it.

I thanked her, and she smiled, blushing like I'd given her the world's greatest compliment. "Congratulations, Paris." She turned, dipping into a tiny bow in Brett's direction. "Congratulations, Hawk."

Brett flinched.

Congratulations? For . . . what? Managing to save Esmerelda?

That didn't seem like the right sentiment, but the Nemedans were strange.

"You're most welcome, and thank you so much for thinking of me." I took a bite of the thick, brothy stew she'd brought. "This is delicious."

She didn't stay long, but she was practically beside herself when she did, grinning and so pleased in a way that made Brett uncomfortable.

I'd wanted to ask him about it, but with a belly full of warm stew and fresh bread, exhaustion crept up on me again, and I listed to the side even as he took the tray from my lap.

I'd simply have to ask him later. If current trends held up, he'd still be there, the strange, silly man.