>>Enya
Einar's hand gently let go of mine. I didn't hesitate now. I rushed to Ahin's side and dropped to my knees in the blood-soaked gravel.
"Ahin—" I whispered, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. His skin was burning. His lashes fluttered faintly.
He didn't open his eyes, but his lips moved, breath faint against my wrist.
I don't know what he said. It was too soft to hear.
But my chest ached from the force of the feeling rising in it.
"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm here, Ahin."
And this time, I didn't try to stop the tears.
***
The fever came that night.
By dusk, Ahin was shivering beneath the blankets, his skin hot to the touch, breath shallow, and lashes trembling like a boy lost in dreams. His injuries had been cleaned and wrapped, salves and healing wards applied by the maids, but none of that stopped the way his body shook. By the time we did all the cleaning, his wound had gotten infected enough to give him a fever.
