Chapter 4: Fever

Linden woke up being carried down a staircase he'd never seen.

It was cut into the rock, and it went down and down in a spiral.

The air got warmer with every step.

Ivor had him against his chest, one arm under his knees.

"Put me down," Linden said.

"No."

"I can walk."

"You fainted on my floor. You bled on my rug." Ivor ducked under a low arch. "That rug was four hundred years old."

"I'm sorry about your rug."

"You should be."

The stairs ended in a cave full of steam.

There was a pool in the middle of it, green and clear, with a thin mist lying on top.

"Hot spring," Ivor said. "It comes up from the mountain's heart. It'll take the fever down."

He set Linden on the rock at the edge.

Linden's knees folded at once.

Ivor caught him before he hit the water.

"Shirt," Ivor said.

"What?"

"It's soaked in blood. Take it off, or I will."

Linden fumbled with the laces.

His fingers wouldn't work.

Ivor made an impatient sound and pulled the shirt over his head himself.

The cold air hit Linden's back, and then Ivor's hands were on his shoulders, turning him so he could see his neck.

Ivor went very still.

"It's bad," Linden said. "I know. I'm a healer."

"How long, normally?"

"Weeks before it breaks. A month or two before the end."

"And yours took a day."

"Osric bit hard," Linden said. "He never did anything halfway."

Ivor didn't laugh.

He stepped down into the pool in his trousers and held out his arms.

"In," he said.

Linden went in.

The water was so hot it hurt, and then it didn't.

Ivor sat on a rock shelf under the surface and pulled Linden down in front of him, Linden's back against his chest.

His skin was hotter than the water.

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