40 You Wonst Leave Me (2/2)

”You're burning up. Will you always be this much trouble, my dearest?” the voice, low and gentle against her.

That's what he called me in his letters, she thought, clutching his jacket, that's what my love called me.

”You did well, protecting her, Ilun,” he said, ”But next time, please try to stay closer. I am nearly at the limit of my strength.”

”Arren,” her own voice weak, her throat on fire. A violent cough shook her body for a moment.

He held her tighter as the soft touch of his shadows moved them back to the castle, to her rooms.

Her body shook, half from the shiver that raced through it, half from the coughs that erupted from her throat as she sat her on the bed. He released her, letting her sit on on her own, the effort of it almost too much for her to handle. Arren frowned down at her, plucking the flower from her hair.

I lost my book, she thought. I can't explain.

The flower disappeared in a breath of smoke, just as the ones that fell on her bed had before. Arren touched her face, smiling, ”We can talk when you're feeling better, my little bird.”

Did I hear him wrong before, she thought as he helped her out of her dress, leaving her in the thin shift. She shivered and he pushed her down to the pillows gently, pulling the covers over her.

”You need rest. Close your eyes, the doctor will be here soon,” the sound of his voice soothing. Ilun climbed into the bed, laying beside her.

He moved to leave and she grabbed his hand. 'Stay,' she wrote in his palm with her finger.

He sat on the bed, brushing hair from her face. ”I won't leave you.”

Isilla closed her eyes, tumbling back into the Veil. The feeling in her chest throbbed. Again, she thought, it will happen again. The part of her that was more dream than waking reached forward, her power moving on its own to preserve her.

I'm ill, she realized even as the thick threads of dreaming rose under her fingers, but this breaking is not that. This is something else. This is because I denied it what it wanted, needed.

Her thoughts came rapid fire as she moved, the world blurring and turning gold. She found her thread, the one she searched for and pulled, bringing a streak of darkness to her. There were no words exchanged, the other knew its purpose as well as Isilla did and began to devour the excess energy, changing it and forcing it back to the Veil as nightmares and discord.

Not enough, Isilla thought as he reached for the threads again, more steady, focused shifting through the dreamers to find more that were like the girl, the taste of her familiar now. Her actions, clumsy and violent, shifted the Veil, spilling over into dreams as she tracked and searched.

”There,” she said and attacked as Ilun had before. Her threads reached, snatching the first one she found and dragging them back to her. Just as with the first, they began to convert and redistribute the energy around her.

She reached again, finding a third, a forth, a fifth, pulling them all back to her, their work done on instinct until finally she could breathe, the thing in her stilled, suppressed by their drawing.

She looked down at her hands, the numb sensation of waking coming quickly.

”Stop,” she said, hoping the order was enough as she came back to wakefulness.

Haribit stared at her concerned, ”You're awake, good.”

Isilla coughed again, her body shaking with the force of it. Haribit picked up a dark, glass bottle and poured its contents on a spoon. ”The doctor said you were to have this four times a day. And that it would make you sleepy.”

Isilla glanced around the empty room before turning back to Haribit, her question clear.

”He'll be back soon. There's some sort of uproar in the castle. He told me to tell you that everything was fine and that you shouldn't worry about it.”

Isilla nodded and opened her mouth for the spoon. The thick liquid made her grimace as it slid down her throat.

Haribit smiled, ”Sorry, it smells awful so I can't imagine it tastes any better.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted a bowl. ”Some broth, you need to eat,” she explained lifting the spoon to her mouth.

Isilla sipped on the offered food, warm, it helped wash away the taste of the medicine. After few bites she shook her head, full and tired.

The door creaked open and Julen poked his head in. ”Haribit, is Isilla alright?”

”She's very sick but the doctor said with rest she will be fine,” Harbit explained as she stood taking the bowl with her.

Julen entered the room timidly, a stuffed bird, soft and hand stitched in his hands. It had clearly been well loved, the fabric of it thin. ”I brought this for you, to help you get better. It helps me when I'm sick and Arren said you were really sick so I wanted you to feel better,” the boy blushed.

Isilla smiled weakly and took the offered toy, holding it in her lap.

He smiled back at her before blurting out, ”You're going to be fine right? You won't leave like my mom?”

She touched his head with a hot hand and nodded. I'm fine, she signed to him.

”That means she's fine,” Haribit explained, pulling the boy away. ”But she needs to rest.”

Julen nodded waving goodbye as Haribit pushed him out of the room.

”We've only been back together for a day and already you're making me work so hard! This cold, I knew it wasn't good for you!”

Isilla giggled weakly before she was overcome with the cough again. Dizzy from the work of it she laid down, feeling sleepy, her body heavy.

Haribit crossed the room and pulled the blanket up, over her shoulder. Isilla tucked the bird into her arm and fell back to sleep.