The door to the cottage slammed open, and Pascal and another man carried North inside the room. The doctor fussed beside them, red in the face and panting hard as they set North’s unresponsive body down on the bed. I searched his face for any signs of life or changes in his condition; the moment my hand touched his pale, dirty skin, he let out a horrible moan.
“Away—just—go—no one—!” His voice broke off in a tortured groan. “I don’t want you—”
“North,” I said. “Can you hear me? Can I get you anything?”
“No!” he yelled. “Nothing—alone!”
“Don’t be a fool,” Pascal said. “I’ll get you a pain and slumber elixir. This is the curse, not just your wound, Wayland! You need to take them!”
“No!” North thundered. “I won’t…I won’t take it…Make Syd…Make her leave!”
“Not on your life, Wayland North,” I said sternly. “I’ll get you the elixir myself. You’re too out of sorts to make a decision like that.”
“I SAID NO!”
I stood there helplessly as he turned and buried his face in the bed.
“Just go…Just go…,” he whispered brokenly. “No one…”
I felt Aphra’s hands on my shoulders, but I shrugged them off.
“All of you,” I said, my voice surprisingly clear. “All of you, get out.”
“Let me help,” Pascal pleaded. North shook his head as if stuck in some fever dream. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, not even his magister.
“I’ll need my bag,” I said. “I have my own elixirs he might be willing to take.”
“I have it,” Lady Aphra said, her face pale in the candlelight. “Pascal, come with me.”
“And what gives her the right to stay?” he demanded. “She’s known him for two months—I’ve known this boy his entire life!” I had a sudden vision of Pascal’s younger self, putting a small, dark-haired boy to bed and staying beside him through long nights of pain. This had been his role. His were the hands that had soothed away the ache and the vulnerability in North.
I took his hands in mine.
“I’ll take care of him.”
Pascal shook his head. “No, it’s not your place.”
“It is now,” I said firmly.
Aphra took his arm and began to lead him from the room. The door closed gently behind them.
I sat back down on the bed. My lips pressed lightly against the pallid skin of his forehead, brushing his hair back away from his face.
“Syd…” His voice shook. “I don’t want…” It looked as though he would rip the pillow between his hands in two.
“I made more of the pain elixir. Remember how much better you felt after you took it last time? I have some sleeping draft, too.” I rubbed my hand along the length of his arm. I nodded to Aphra as she left my bag just inside the door.
“No,” he grunted. “I don’t want—!” He took in a great breath, holding it in. “You’re not allowed to see…” A barely contained cry. “Please, please just leave me….”
I felt his body shaking against mine; he was deathly pale, and a thin sheen of sweat spread across his face. He brought his hands up to clench his hair, pulling as hard as he could. A guttural scream escaped his lips.
“North!” I said. “Look at me. I’m right here.”
His tortured breathing slowed long enough for me to seize the moment. I pulled him up and slid beneath him. With his head and shoulders resting in my lap, I had better leverage on his arms.
Unfortunately, not his legs. A new flash of pain overcame him, and he kicked wildly. I pulled him farther up against me, wrapping my arms around him. He groped blindly for my hands, squeezing until I thought every bone in them would break.
“Hush…shhh…”
He turned in my embrace, pressing his face against my shoulder. “Gods,” he cried. “Gods, it hurts…please…” He pressed himself even harder against me, as if struggling to hold on against a bone-crushing current.
I kept talking, stroking his back, running my hands through his hair. I kept a careful eye on the bandage, watching for any new stain of blood. The young man had stitched him up well.
North brought his legs up, curling into a ball. I felt a small dampness seeping through my dress, and I didn’t have to look down to know that he could no longer contain his tears. My hand came down to rest lightly against his cheek, wiping away at his clammy skin until it was smooth and dry.
“It hurts…,” he said, trying to pull away. “I want it to…be over…all of it…”
“No, you don’t,” I said, not moving. “You don’t mean a word of that, and you know it.”
“I feel…I can’t breathe…,” he choked out. “Gods!”
I forced him to sit up again; he was shaking beneath my hands. His breath came out in short punctuated gasps, almost as if he was laughing. But I knew he wasn’t.
I slipped away long enough to retrieve the small bottles inside my bag. Giving him both the pain elixir and the sleeping draft would put him under for days, I realized, but mixing a portion of each and adding a few leaves of lavender might be just enough.
“Syd?” North called weakly.
“Right here,” I said. “Will you take this for me? Please, I promise it’ll help.”
He turned his head, pressing his lips together until they were a thin, white line.
“For me,” I whispered. “Please, take it for me….”
I brought the bottle to his mouth, my hand shaking. Finally, his lips parted, and he swallowed the elixir in slow, steady gulps.
I held him until his tremors ceased and his breathing became slow and heavy. Only then did I untangle myself from his grasp, sliding down to the floor in exhaustion. I leaned against the bedding and finally allowed myself to cry.
Almost as if he had sensed it in his deep slumber, North turned over to face me, our faces so close they were nearly touching.
“Sydelle…,” he breathed out, reaching for me.
I carefully mixed a large batch of the sleeping draft. When I was sure I had the right consistency, I set it aside and went to find the others.
“How is he?” Pascal was sitting outside the door, as if standing guard. Hearing his voice, Aphra appeared from her room and crossed the small hallway.