Harbor (On the Wind #3)

35. Orestes

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ORESTES

I barely caught Tybalt as he slumped toward the floor. He was breathing shallowly, pale and clammy, and my heart plummeted as I swept him up into my arms, ignoring the pain in my side as stiches strained and possibly tore.

One of the people behind me scoffed aloud. “Afraid he won’t be king someday anymore.”

“So melodramatic,” someone else whispered.

Was there a fucking rule that everyone in Urial had to be an asshole?

Besides, I knew what the problem was. I’d given him Avianitis. He wasn’t being dramatic. It was all my fault. He didn’t feel terribly feverish, but maybe it was only just coming on. Also?—

I turned to glare at the crowd. “Did none of you hear that someone attempted to stab him a few days ago, and we’ve been trapped out in the mountains in the snow? He’s sick, you mannerless heathens.”

A few people shrank away from me as I glared, but there was a gasp as well. Lady—or Queen, now, I supposed—Penelope pushed forward, across from me, laying a hand on Tybalt’s forehead. “There’s a bit of a fever, though it’s not too bad. He’s terribly clammy, though. Poor dear obviously needs to be abed.” She grabbed the skirts of her beautiful wedding gown in one hand and took her daughter’s hand with the other. “If you could carry him back to his quarters, Lord Orestes, I would appreciate it. I’ll set the servants to preparing his quarters and getting some soup made.” She turned to the king with a look that was meant to be apologetic, but somehow struck me as false. It was... too sweet? It was a little reminiscent of Clio trying to convince father to give her something. “I am so sorry to cut the festivities short, husband, but I’m sure you’d rather your wife be appropriately dutiful and look after your heir, rather than indulge in a feast. Everyone else, please enjoy the festivities my dear husband has arranged. They’re wonderful. Thank you all for being here. Now I have to go take care of my adopted son.”

With alacrity, she shoved me toward the door, an impressive amount of strength in her spindly arms. Mothers usually had stronger arms than one might expect.

The king didn’t get another word in edgewise, though he looked positively murderous.

No surprise there, since I was mostly convinced he had been the one to send the assassin to begin with. I gave him the same glare in return.

What was he going to do, stab me himself?

No, I had the measure of King Albany. He was a coward, through and through. How he had given life to someone like Tybalt, I hadn’t the slightest idea.

Penelope led Olive and me through the castle, unerringly to Tybalt’s quarters, and somehow, the servants had known and beaten us there. The young woman was already there working on the fire, and the boys were filling the tub one steaming bucket at a time.

The queen motioned Olive to a chair, a wordless order the girl immediately followed, looking happy just to be in her mother’s presence, even as she tugged uncomfortably at the ridiculous ruffled white dress they’d forced her into for the wedding.

I lay Tybalt across his bed and checked his head again. Still cool, to me. So maybe I also had a fever? It didn’t matter. What mattered was taking care of him.

Groggily, he opened his eyes and rubbed at them, using one arm to brace on the bed and try to push himself up. “Did I?—”

“Hush, love,” I told him. “You fainted, so we’ve taken you to your room. You... you’re sick.”

He let out a little grunt, failing to press up and falling heavily against the mattress. “’M not. Feel fine, just tired.”

Lady Penelope came over, laying a hand to his neck in a familiar way. Was she a healer? “You are most certainly sick, young man,” she told him, clinically. It was a little funny, because she couldn’t be more than a handful of years older than him. Ten at most. But still, the way she moved and spoke, I had no urge to argue with her.

She looked up at me. “Can you strip him down and get him into the bath? I’ll make sure they bring the proper herbs to make certain his breathing isn’t hampered.”

His breathing? Had I missed something?

“It’s the common ailment of the season. Particularly when one stresses the body with prolonged time in the snow or not eating healthy meals, which I presume you haven’t in the last few days.”

I winced, thinking of oats upon oats. “We’ve... tried? There was little in the lodge but oats.”

She nodded at that. “That’s not as bad as I expected, but we’ll make sure he gets some vegetables and meat now. I’m sure they have a proper soup on in the kitchen. You get cleaned up, and I’ll make sure they bring food for both of you. You might be as strong as an ox, but you can get sick too.”

And with that, she grabbed Olive’s hand and marched off.

I couldn’t stifle the feeling that somehow, this was... well, not exactly what she wanted, but not far off her desires. She’d shown no animosity for Tybalt, and seemed genuinely bothered at his illness. But she hadn’t seemed the least bit hesitant to walk away from her own wedding.

That was strange, wasn’t it?

One of the boys stopped. “Bath’s all full, sir. Did you need help with him?”

I blinked down at him, and it took me a moment to realize they were offering to help me bathe Tybalt. “No. No I can handle it just fine, thank you. Could someone set out new clothes for him, though?”

“Of course,” he agreed, turning immediately to head for Tybalt’s wardrobe.

I turned to Tybalt, hesitating a moment myself. Was I truly supposed to strip him naked in front of all the servants? It was for a bath, because he couldn’t do it himself, not sexual. But still, the people of Urial were quite touchy about the subjects of sex and nudity, so I worried.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” the girl who was handling the fire asked, but there was a smile playing about her lips. “I’d have thought you knew well how to slide him out of his clothes by now.”

I scoffed at her. “Naturally. I’m just not used to doing it with an audience.”

She turned and winked at me. “I promise not to stop and applaud when you manage the task, Lord Orestes. But don’t let the bath get cold. He spent too much time in the cold already.”

I nodded and turned to the work. They all had a very clear idea what they thought was wrong with him. Some common ailment in the cold of Urial. It made sense.

Was that... possible? Could Tybalt not have Avianitis? It seemed suspicious timing, but also, we hadn’t had proper sex since I’d been stabbed. Since I had realized I was in love with him. So maybe it wasn’t Avianitis.

Still, I needed to take all precautions. As soon as all the work was done and Tybalt abed and resting, I’d write Brett and ask him how he had nursed Paris through the illness. He would be able to help.

I stripped Tybalt, dropping his clothes into a neat pile on the floor. When I picked him up, I turned to the girl who’d laid the fire, who was now picking up the filthy clothing I’d just dropped. “Can you bring me pen and paper when you’re finished? I need to write a letter.”

She ducked into a little curtsey, without dropping a single stocking from the pile. “Of course. I’ll be back in a few moments.” She gave a tiny, subtle sniff as she took a step back, a small smile on her lips. “But Lord Orestes, perhaps you should join the prince in his bath. You could use it. Just leave your clothes outside the divider.”

Then she turned and bounced out of the room like she hadn’t just suggested something I was sure was horribly scandalous in Urial.

Troublemaker.

Still... I’d be able to take care of Tybalt better if I was in the bath with him. So I did as she suggested—stripping down, leaving my clothes outside the room divider, and getting into the steaming bath with him. The bandages, I also removed and left next to the tub. The wound looked rather good, considering, but I would have to ask the servants for more bandages, because it wasn’t properly closed, and the long walk had irritated it, as expected. Fortunately, the stitching had held through me catching Tybalt and carrying him back to his quarters, so it wouldn’t need to be redone.

Tybalt roused a few times as I bathed him, mumbling something about my cock and the hot water, but it was clear he was utterly exhausted, because he immediately drifted back out of consciousness. Perfunctorily, I scrubbed us both clean, then sat him next to the tub and dried him off with the towels the servants had left. When I returned, my dirty clothes had been replaced with clean ones, clean pajamas laid out for Tybalt on the bed, and pen, ink, and paper were sitting on the table in the middle of the room.

It was only a few more minutes until Lady Penelope returned with an enormous tray covered in food. The bread in Urial left much to be desired, but at that moment, I’d have been willing to gnaw on tree bark, so it was fucking delicious. The soup was even better.

Penelope roused Tybalt enough to eat, and spoon fed him the soup herself. He stared at her in confusion as he followed her orders, but he didn’t hesitate to do as she commanded. He did, however, fall instantly asleep again once he’d finished his soup.

She tested his forehead again, nodding, and then pulled up the blankets over his prone form. She didn’t look up at me, but her daughter and I were the only ones in the room, so she had to be speaking to me when she said, “He should be fine. His fever isn’t bad. But it will take a few days to pass.”

Then she settled herself into a chair next to the bed, clearly intending to stay and take care of him.

What an incredible woman.

I tried not to think about where I was going to sleep over the next few days, and instead started writing a letter to Brett about the care of Avianitis. If it came out a little panicky and contained the phrase “I think perhaps I’ve killed the prince of Urial,” well... Brett wouldn’t hold it against me.