Page 82

OPHELIA

The ceiling beams bow lower above me, the oak bending, while the plaster between them swells and splits in wet yellow seams that creep down the walls.

Three days. I've been burning for three bloody days, and every time I think the fever cannot possibly get worse, something else begins moving that ought to be still.

“No,” I mutter, kicking blindly at the sheets. “No, no, no.”

I twist towards the edge of the bed, and pain locks through my groin so fiercely that my whole body clenches around it, the swelling sending fire through the inside of my thigh and up into my belly. My breath catches, and I brace one hand against the mattress, staring at the floor as the darkness beneath the bed crawls towards me, spilling slowly between the boards and curling around the legs of the furniture.

No.

I have to get out before it reaches me.

I just need to stand up.

If I stand up, the heat will break.

If I can just walk out of this room, I will be fine.

I manage to get my bare feet onto the freezing floorboards, but the moment I try to stand, my left leg buckles beneath me and I lurch towards the bedpost, grabbing desperately for something to hold on to, but my fingers catch nothing but air.

Hands—or talons disguised as them—close beneath my arms, catching me without pressing into the tender buboes there, pulling me back against a chest that feels like solid muscle and black feathers.

“…He shall cover thee with His feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust…”

“Ophelia,” the giant bird rumbles. “Stop.”

“Let me go!” I wrench against him, my feet skidding over the boards, but the creature only tightens its hold, a vast, wing-like arm coming around my waist before my leg can buckle again. “I can’t do this. Please. I have to get out!”

“You cannot walk; you can barely stand.” The voice is Iscairn’s, but when I look up, a great black carrion bird looms over me, its long beak pointed towards my face.

“Just let me try.” I shove against the chest, desperate for enough room to breathe. “It burns. Everything burns.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” My hands fist in the front of his cloak. “I can feel it inside me. I’m rotting. I can feel it happening.”

His arm stays firm around my middle while my feet scrape and scramble over the boards.

“Just let me walk for a minute. Let me go downstairs. Let me into the garden so I can feed the hens. Carry me there if you have to, I don’t care, I just⁠—”

I try to swallow the cry that rises in my throat, but it breaks into a sob instead, and when I finally manage another breath, tears are running down my cheeks.

“Make it stop,” I choke out. “Please. Just make it stop.”

“I have you.”

The bird slips one arm beneath my knees and lifts me before I can fight again, carrying me back towards the bed. The mattress dips beneath my weight as he lowers me onto it, and the moment the damp sheets touch my back, I try to push myself upright again, but the creature catches both my shoulders and traps me beneath its sprawling shadow.

“Ophelia, look at me.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You can. Your breathing is too fast, but your lungs are working.” He keeps one hand firm on my shoulder, while the other brushes wet hair from my face. “The fever is high, and your thoughts are running with it. You are three days into this, and everything your body is doing feels worse because you are frightened.”

“It is worse.” I twist my face away from the pale beak hovering over me, another sob dragging through my chest. “It hurts too much. The room is shrinking.”

“I know.”