“Once in a lifetime will be enough, Warprize.” Gils heaved a deep sigh, then adjusted the strap of his satchel. He looked me up and down with concern. “See that you eat and rest, Warprize.”

Prest snorted and I laughed out loud at the gangly lad with his red curls, freckles and oh-so-serious face who stood before me, looking offended. It seemed he was trying to sound like Marcus. My apprentice, who learned so much so fast in the short time we’d been together. He’d grown before my eyes, older suddenly, with an air of confidence that he hadn’t had before. “I will, Gils.”

“See that you do.” He huffed.

“I promise.”

He grinned then, like the boy he was.

“Prest, I want you to help Gils. Be sure to check on Rafe.”

Prest frowned at me.

“You’ll do more good among the sick. Isdra and Marcus will aid me.”

Prest gave one of his shrugs in response. “Very well, Warprize. Call if you need aid.”

Marcus and I had our work cut out for us. With Keir, the fever took hold, built and then broke, each time worse than the last. We knew the time was coming when he’d have to be restrained, but we both put off the moment, delaying it as much for our sakes as for his. Isdra said nothing, but I saw that she’d prepared leather straps, setting them out of Keir’s sight, but where she could get to them quickly.

The sweat poured off Keir. I gave up changing the linens, and concentrated on wiping down his chest and limbs, trying to keep the fever down as much as I could.

Instead of rose oil, I used my precious vanilla. More for myself than for Keir’s comfort. The rose oil brought back too many memories of my father’s illness and death. The vanilla offered better comfort, and as rare as it was, I could think of no better use.

“I first saw you in the garden.” His voice whispered into my ear.

“What?” I started and looked up into those blue eyes, sane for the first time in days. He stared at me for a moment, then let his eyelids drift down. His hand tried to lift from the bed, and I snatched it up and clung to it. “Keir?”

“The night you helped Simus.” His faint voice cracked, but his eyes fluttered back open. I knelt next to the bed, bringing his cold hand to my cheek. He focused on my face with effort. “I was in the castle garden.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You were?” I sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought we first met in the marketplace.”

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. As sick as he was, he was proud of himself. “Knew Simus had been hurt. Tried to find him.” He turned his hand in mine to rub his fingers on my cheek.

“You took a terrible risk.”

“Skies favor the bold.” But there was a spark in his eye, the look of a little boy who’d gotten away with something. I couldn’t help but smile in response, and reached out to run my fingers through his hair. The thick hair was oily with sweat, and I moved the clinging strands off his damp forehead.

Keir looked up at me, his eyes glittering and bright. “You walked down the path, with that basket and jug. The next thing I know you’re bossing everyone around and taking care of Simus.” Keir chuckled weakly, leaving him breathless. I placed my fingers on his lips to stop his speech, but he pulled his head away. “I was glad that you had warned the guards as to what you were doing. Else I might have rushed the tent at the sounds of Simus’s cries. It sounded like he was being killed.”

I smiled at the memory. “It took a lot of men to hold him down.” I frowned slightly, thinking back. “I didn’t see you.”

His face took on such a smug look that I laughed out loud. Marcus walked in, his eye wide at the sight. But Keir was focused on me. “When Joden threatened you, I decided to kill you when you came out.”

I blinked. Marcus let out a bark of a laugh as he put a bucket of clean water at my side. Keir ignored us, his eyes focused on something beyond us. “I stalked you as you moved down that path.” He moved his hand slightly, and touched my hair. “You stopped on the path by the roses, like some air spirit, standing in the shadows and starlight, looking around. And when you reached up and fixed your hair…” Keir’s fingers gently tugged one of my curls. “I wanted you then and there.”

My eyes filled as I looked at him. Marcus moved off, giving us some privacy. I leaned down, and brushed his lips with mine.

He smiled weakly, then closed his eyes. “Tired.”

“Sleep, my Keir.” I placed his hand on his chest, and rinsed my cloth with the fresh water. He nodded slightly, and sighed as I wiped him down.

“Isdra?”

Marcus had left us for the moment, muttering something about making broth. Keir was asleep, curled in the center of the bed. Isdra and I were keeping watch from the corner, scooping fever’s foe into smaller jars as busy work. Warriors were still boiling the medicine down, under Gils’s watchful eye.

Isdra looked at me with a raised eyebrow, waiting for my question.

I kept my voice low. “What did it mean, earlier? When Gils said that he understood more than Keir knew.”

Isdra focused her eyes on the fever’s foe, as if it were critical that her work was performed to an exacting standard.

“I knew what you meant, when you said that you would see me safe before going to the snows. But why did Marcus and Gils say what they said?”

I didn’t think she was going to speak, and for a long moment she didn’t. But I just out-silenced her, waiting for my answer.

Finally she sighed. “Lara, if Keir dies, the next death will be Marcus’s.”

I sat for a bit, scooping up the thick fever’s foe. “Because of his scars?”

“In the Plains, to be so crippled is to be considered afflicted and useless. An offense to the elements. Normally, such a one would end his or her life.” Isdra set the full jar aside and reached for another. We no longer bothered to seal them.

“He’s not useless or an offense.” I snapped. “That is so stupid, to think that way.”

“I would not have agreed with you before this campaign.” Isdra responded. “But knowing Marcus, having seen his worth, well…” She shrugged.

“But Gils is whole. Why—”

“Gils proclaimed his desire to learn the healing ways publicly, for all the warleaders to see, rejecting our ways.”

Isdra reminded me, giving me a sharp look. “I wasn’t sure he understood what he’d done, but apparently he does. A bold stroke, in its own way.”

“So he’d suffer, if Keir…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought.

Isdra was content to work in silence, but I had to say something. “Isdra. Meara, how is she?”

She stopped. “Well, Warprize.” Her voice was steady, but the spoon in her hand smeared fever’s foe on the side of the jar. Isdra looked over at Keir, pain in her eyes. “She’s more theas than she needs. Worry more for your Warlord.” She reached for a rag. “I will finish this. Get some sleep.” Her voice was gruff.

“The last of the dried ehat.” Marcus said. “I’ve hoarded it ’til now. Do not waste it.” His voice was stern, but Marcus gently supported Keir in his arms and helped him with the bowl of broth, patiently waiting as Keir took small sips. It took awhile, but Keir managed to drink the whole bowl.

At the end, Keir closed his eyes and licked his lips. “That was a good hunt.”

“One of the best.” Marcus agreed softly. “More?”

Keir shook his head and shivered. Marcus pulled the bedding up around his shoulders then turned to me. “Warprize? Can I tempt you with a bowl? Can’t have the young ’un upset with me, eh?”

Curious, I accepted a bowl, and recognized the taste right away. It was the same broth he’d fed me the night Keir had claimed me in the throne room. “Marcus, what is this?”

“Ehat.”

“What is an ehat?” I asked, taking another drink.

Keir chuckled weakly from the bedding. Marcus gave me a small smile. “An animal of the Plains, Warprize. A fierce one whose horns are as large as its meat is sweet. Taller than a mounted man, and dangerous to hunt. His-self is known for his skill in planning ehat hunts.”