Chapter Six - Feverish Confessions

Gary was sitting up in bed, his back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the door opposite. He hadn't slept at all the night before - Aunt Lianne had taken ill, and he was not allowed to go to her. His father had promised to bring him news of any change, whether it was good or bad, and so he waited, not daring to sleep or to even close his eyes until he was reassured.

Finally, somebody rapped three times. Gary leapt to his feet and almost flew across the room, tearing open the door. It was not Duke Gareth.

It was Roxanne.

Her eyes were puffy from crying, and she broke into fresh tears upon seeing him. Gingerly - because he needed the comfort as well - he took her in his arms.

"Cythera's caught the fever," Roxanne said tearfully. "She's delirious. I - I don't know what to do. All the spare healers are taken up attending the queen."

Gary felt surprisingly numb at this news. It was almost as though he had stopped thinking entirely. "How bad is she?" he asked finally.

Roxanne pulled away from him, wiping her eyes. Her mouth trembled at the edges, and he swallowed tightly, a part of him wanting to protect her. "Very bad. I know she's none of your concern, but I thought - you were the only person I could think of who might help. And then Martin recalled that it was Squire Alan who had helped Sir Myles bring the Prince back from the Realms of the Dead..."

Gary considered this. Alan would be happy to help. He would make Alan happy to help. "Where is she?"

"The Elden rooms, they're in the South Wing."

"Cythera's ill, you have to help."

Alan stared at him. Gary was beginning to get frustrated. He repeated it, again, more slowly. "Sithzilluhavetohep."

"Could you run that past me again?"

"Sith-era has fee-ver, you have to hel-puh, no-bod-ee el-se," Gary said, pausing for what seemed like an age between each syllable.

Alan's face had become guarded. "Isn't there anybody else?"

Did he ever listen? Gary made a mental note to box the wax out of Alan's ears at a later date. "No," he replied shortly. "Otherwise I would have gone to somebody more intelligent."

Alan's cheeks pinkened, making Gary regret snapping. "It's just - I was... saving my magic - if they asked me to help again."

Now Gary understood. Alan wanted to preserve his strength in case they called on him to help the queen. Wordlessly, he reached out and gripped Alan's shoulder.

Alan's eyes filled with shame at this show of weakness, and he tugged free, his whole face turning a not-so-fetching shade of crimson. His voice was overly gruff as he requested, "Don't tell Jon."

Gary merely nodded, still looking at Alan and trying not to blink in case tears spilled over. That would never do. As it would happen, he would come to forget his promise, and he would tell Jon, just as Alanna and her horse vanished from sight, off to their desert adventures. Jon's mouth would be pinched together, white around the edges, and he would open it, as though he would speak, before carefully shutting it again and giving a nod of thanks. His eyes would look like Gary's eyes now, as though they were overbright, overwhelmed and struggling not to show it.

"It's not like last time, Alan. It doesn't drain in - in that way. But Cythera needs somebody now, and all the trained healers are occupied. Just make her... comfortable, that's all I'm asking, until there's time for a proper healer to tend to her."

Perhaps Alan had taken offense at the implication that he was not a proper healer, although Gary had not intended it to be a jibe. He strode off, his steps ridiculously big for his small frame, then stopped and turned to Gary. "Where is she?" he asked, somewhat sheepishly.

"Squire Alan!"

The redheaded boy's pace picked up and he disappeared around the corner. Cythera let out a sigh, holding her side which was beginning to ache from all the running she had been doing. She could almost hear her mother's voice as she leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily, telling her she had brought shame on the family for chasing after boys.

Maybe he hadn't heard her? But no, he had definitely started running after he had seen her. Was he shy then? He rarely spoke to women, after all. No, because he had been asking her to dance every night for two months. Perhaps he was unwilling to take credit for his actions. But again, no, because she saw the pleasure that filled his face after somebody complimented him on having beaten the Tusaine knight, or having such a prestigious knight-master. Then what?

Cythera decided mournfully that boys were far too confusing. Roxanne would have cornered him and forced him to accept her gratitude - but then, Roxanne was charming and a clever speaker.

But when Cythera asked her for advice, Roxanne simply threw her a knowing look. She wouldn't reply, either. Roxanne could be so infuriating sometimes.

Gwynnen suggested that Alan was most likely infatuated with her, but he couldn't bring himself to talk to her, because of the interest the Prince and Squire Douglass of Veldine were showing.

Initially, Cythera had scoffed at the suggestion, but it had flowered in her mind until she had become convinced of its truth. That would explain why he wanted no thanks for his heroic actions, taking her renewed health as thanks enough.

Finally, she resorted to waiting outside Alan's room for him - a demeaning resort, true, but effective. First the Prince came out, and offered her an amused sort of smile. She felt herself blush to the roots of her hair, and could not offer any explanation. Soon afterwards, Alan himself appeared.

She got to her feet, brushing down her skirts. "Squire Alan, I-"

He was looking at her with those wide purple eyes, and she entirely forgot what she was supposed to say. He unnerved her. "Lady Cythera. I'm afraid you just missed his Highness-"

"I came to see you, actually, Squire Alan," Cythera interrupted, having found her voice again. "You haven't let me say thank you for healing me."

Alan stared at her, an eyebrow raised.

She lifted a hand to her hair self-consciously. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," he answered, adding, "my lady," belatedly. "I was just letting you speak."

Cythera blushed again. "Well, thank you. I - I really did appreciate it, and I just wondered..." His eyes seemed to swallow her words away, and she stopped, frowning slightly.

"Wondered what?" Alan asked. She was sure he didn't mean to be so sharp, but she did wish he wouldn't look at her so hard. It made her feel awkward and bumbling. She wished she hadn't started this, but she couldn't stop, not quite yet.

"Well, what your reasons were for doing it, if you don't mind me asking, Squire Alan. And if, well, if there was something you were looking for in return."

Disgust crossed Alan's face. "No," he said shortly. "I didn't want to do it. I wouldn't have done it if Gary hadn't asked me. So no, I don't want anything in return, and now are you satisfied?"

Her eyes widened slightly, as though he had struck her and she couldn't quite work out why. "Gary - Sir Gareth?"

"Yes!" said Alan impatiently. "Sir Gareth, the charming poet, the brave, brave knight who's making me sick to the stomach with all the talking he's doing about you and how much he regrets that stupid dare. So good day to you, Lady Cythera, and may I be the first to say-" His violet eyes rounded as his brain caught up with what he was saying, and his mouth fell open. He gave her a sickly smile. "Any chance you could be persuaded to forget all of that?"