“Your problem is that you’re a good man,” she said. “You don’t think like they do.”
“Then perhaps I should learn to,” I said.
“No. It’s better that you don’t think like them,” she said. Our son nuzzled into her breast. “You can’t really be hungry,” she told him, “It’s just comfort you want, isn’t it?” She kissed his head and held him close, resting her head next to his and stroking his hair.
I shrugged, making my side twinge again. “I’m not sure any more. This is getting out of hand. People are dying because of us — because of what we’re doing.”
“And if we do nothing?” she asked. “How will that be better? Should we stand by as the courts select who will live and who will die from the few gifted humans that come forward?
“I don’t know,” I said. “Why can’t they just let them be?”
“Like they let Eve be? Or should we wait until the next angry teenager gets hold of something they shouldn’t “ she said. “It’s got beyond that, Niall, and we both know it.”
“Then what?” I asked.
“A sanctuary,” she said. “We need somewhere that the gifted can be, away from humanity and away from the Feyre. We need to find our own way,” she looked down at our son, “and come to terms with what we are. When we have the Eighth Court, Niall, I want you to think about retiring.”
“What?”
“I want you to think about resigning from your post as a Warder. I think Garvin would let you go, and if you have a court of your own then you don’t need to be a Warder to receive the protection of the courts.”
“You forget, at the moment, as far as the Eighth Court is concerned, I am the protection of the courts.”
“Garvin places you in harm’s way. One mistake and… I don’t want to think about it, Niall. We’ve come so far together. I can do this alone if I have to, but I don’t want to.”
I stood, making it as confident a move as I could, and wrapped my arms around her and my son, kissing him, and her. “You won’t have to,” I said.
She rested her head against me. “I wish I was as confident.”
After a moment, she stirred. “Let’s put this one to bed. You need to rest or you’ll be good for nothing tomorrow. Your body needs rest or you won’t heal.”
“I feel better than I did,” I said.
She gave me a look that implied that wasn’t saying much. Taking our son through to the adjoining room, she settled him down while I crawled into bed. I felt wrung out and literally drained. I wondered whether I should drink some more water before I slept, but I was too exhausted to get up and get some. I lay in bed until she turned out the light and crawled in beside me, nestling into the crook of my arm.
I heard her breathing slow, but now that I had the chance to rest, my body resisted. I shifted under her until she turned onto her side away from me. In moments I was too warm and pushed the covers down to get cooler, but seconds later I was shivering. I found myself hunkering down, trying to get warm. I was shaking and my mouth felt dry. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and my throat felt sore. Thinking I would wake Blackbird and ask her to get me some water, I tried to turn over, but the bed was huge and empty. I called for her. My hand twitched with the effort of reaching for her, but wouldn’t move. My entire body felt like it was being slowly pressed into the bed, layered in lead, leached of life.
“Why didn’t you call me earlier?” It was Garvin’s voice and he sounded close. I couldn’t see anyone.
“He wasn’t like this earlier, ask Amber,” said Blackbird. He was injured, yes, and tired, but nothing like this. It must have started after he came to bed. It can’t be infection, and he’s not being drawn away by someone else. He keeps mumbling things but I can’t make them out. Did Amber say anything?”
“Nothing conclusive. She said he’d been shot, and that once she showed him what to do, he healed himself. The injury was purely physical. This is not Sam Veldon’s doing — there’s something else at work.”
“The Seventh Court?” Blackbird asked.
“Not within the wardings of the High Court. They would bring reprisals back on themselves and they know it. No, this isn’t magic. Poison?” he suggested.
“It’s possible, but his glamour should protect him. One moment he’s burning up, the next he’s deathly cold. I’m at a loss, Garvin. His wounds were healing, but this…?”
Her voice faded and the dark became a comforting blackness holding me suspended. I drifted between consciousness and oblivion.
After a while I felt something tug at my attention and I found myself being drawn upwards. It was a house — I recognised the style of the study as being from the same sort of era as the High Courts. Was it Georgian, or before that? I wasn’t sure. Two men were there, one standing and one kneeling on the floor before him. You could immediately see why, as the standing man had a pistol aimed at the kneeling man’s head. The kneeling man was begging for his life. The big desk had been overturned, and the chairs were strewn about as if there’d been a fight.
“Please, Your Lordship, you’re not well. We can call a doctor. They’ll give you something to calm your nerves.”
“You’re one of them, aren’t you? Admit it!”
“One of whom, Your Lordship? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man on the ground was older, dressed in plain clothes with mud on his boots.
“You’ve been telling them everything!” the standing man accused. The hand with the revolver was trembling.
“I don’t know what you mean, Your Lordship. I’ve served you faithfully, I swear.” His voice trembled as he stared up at the pistol pointing down at him.
“Then lie to me properly, dammit. Prove you’re not one of them.” There was sweat, beaded on his forehead.
“I… don’t know what to say. I’m not lying, I’m telling the truth. What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me who you really are,” said the standing man.
“I’m Johnson. I collect the rents for you. You know who I am.” He reached up suddenly towards the gun and there was a sharp crack. His head snapped backwards, and he toppled sideways onto the ground. The standing man watched him for some time while a coil of smoke rose from the gun to hang in the air before him. “Disappear, dammit!” he shouted at the body. “Vanish! Go wherever you go!” The body remained resolutely present.
After a few moments, the man staggered to a chair and fell heavily into it. He stared at the gun. “My God,” he whispered. “What have I done?”
He held the pistol and turned it slowly until it pointed at himself. Opening his mouth, he inserted the muzzle, closing his eyes. His hand was trembling and sweat ran down his face, dripping from his nose. After a while he withdrew the gun and placed it on the floor beside him.
“Oh God, Johnson,” he said. “They’ll hang me for this.”
He sat staring at the body for a long while. It was only then that I noticed the crest on the notepaper scattered across the floor.
On it was a shield, and on the shield were six horseshoes, and underneath them were the words, De Ferrers.
Blackbird’s voice was full of concern. “It’s getting worse. I’ve tried bathing him, but these snap fevers are extreme. He was raving about being shot a moment ago. I’ve sent Alex for some ice and plain towels. If we can wrap him in them, maybe we can hold his temperature down.”
“Should I ask Yonna or Kimlesh to come?” asked Garvin. “As a Warder he’s entitled to the protection of the Lords and Ladies.”
“Will it do any good?” asked Blackbird.
Garvin sighed. “I’ve no idea. I’d know more if I knew what was wrong.”
“Do the wardings for the courts prevent dowsing?” she asked.
“It depends what you’re dowsing for,” said Garvin. “If you’re using it to pry into court business, then yes.”