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Toki's arms were wrapped around Skwisgaar's neck. He had pleaded with him, begging him to wake up, until, in a fit of exhaustion, he had dropped his head onto his chest. There was a sound of door opening, a series of judgmental grunts, and the click of a shoe tapping on the wood floor. Muertrevisage. When Toki lifted his head from Skwisgaar's chest to peer up at him, the doctor's mouth was pursed into a scowl. His face went red and his eyes bulged slightly, but he quickly recovered himself.
The doctor pressed a damp cloth in Toki's hand and held out a bowl. "He needsh to keep cool. On hish forehead. Now." The doctor leaned over Skwisgaar, checking his pulse, and when he turned toward Toki, there was a hint of concern in his lime green eyes. It was true what they said. He was a dick, but he was also a good doctor, and Toki almost liked him.
Toki pressed the cool cloth on Skwisgaar's brow. Skwisgaar was still mumbling, mouthing a hoarse and incoherent Swedish. It was similar to his native Norwegian. He could just make out some of the words, and it occurred to him they were related to the guitar. He was speaking of Thunderhorse, to Thunderhorse as though it still existed, as though it had never been broken in two for his sake. Toki shuddered and realized that even now he was jealous. If Thunderhorse were in his grasp he would have broken it again. He felt an intense, greedy desire to have Skwisgaar to himself. Such a babys, he could hear Skwisgaar say, and he desperately wanted to hear his voice. Whether it was berating him or praising him, it didn't matter.
He crouched beside him, noting the various changes in his features, and a red glow that would form and disappear on his cheeks like a translucent rose. He pressed the damp cloth on Skwisgaar's forehead. The Swede ceased murmuring and sighed, as though the cool water had calmed a storm within. Toki smiled in spite of himself. It soothed him to have some power, and he wondered momentarily if the cloth had any effect at all, or if Muertrevisage had given it to him as an act of mercy, to keep him from going mad.
There was the sound of barking, high and sharp, and a rustle of thick skirts, and Marie burst into the room, Cornichon by her side and her herd of small dogs at her feet. Her huge cream-colored gown seemed to dwarf her, and her eyes seemed rounder and sadder than ever as they met Toki's. But she surveyed the situation, and the dogs at her feet, and she seemed to gain control of her features.
"Nathan," she said briskly. "Get them out of here." She said, waving her hand to the hulking man behind her.
Grunting, Nathan scooped up most of them in his arms. This was clearly the duty he liked least. A particularly vicious terrier bit his leg. He kicked to free himself, but Marie frowned at him, her hands on her hips.
"Now, how many times must I warn you, Nathan! Beau is very sensitive- it you upset him, he'll have a fit." She knelt down and stroked the little dog, who began to growl and sunk his teeth deeper into Nathan's calf.
Nathan's shuddered and he let his leg go stiff. His breathing became hoarse and low, and his face contorted into a grimace.
"That's a good man," said Marie, turning away from him. Nathan backed slowly out of the room, the growling dog still attached to his leg.
"Now Count Wartooth," said Marie. "I've heard all these terrible rumors and-" Her eyes darted toward Skwisgaar and she stopped in midsentence, uttering a small cry.
"It can't be!" she said.
"The worst ams over," said Toki, trying to keep his voice steady. His eyes met Muertrevisage's, as though to apologize for stretching the truth.
Yolande trailed in a minute afterwards, her face nearly as pale as Skwisgaar's.
"No," she said, clapping her hands over her mouth and leaning over his comatose body. "I should have been here earlier!"
Marie gritted her teeth. "Her brute of a husband had her locked up all this time," she whispered to Toki. "But I mentioned a few gambling debts"-she snapped her fingers- "and she was free again."
"And yous, your Highness?" asked Toki, a note of bitterness in his eyes. "What helds you back?"
"I don't exactly have free reign of Versailles either. And I thought-" she hesitated. "I thought you might be alone together."
Toki flushed, and Marie shugged. "Nobody can keep a secret from me, least of all my own protégé." Her fingers grazed his arm.
Toki nodded slowly. Cornichon, Yolande, Marie, Muertrevisage- between them, he and Skwisgaar couldn't seem to keep a secret. And he if were going to pay for it- to be subject to the silent judgment of the court- he wanted more. He wanted time, hours and hours alone with Skwisgaar, time to delve into his mind and yes, he blushed to think , his body too. He wanted to explore the the long lithe figure he had only seen in silhouette, to know better the hands that had slipped into his breeches. What could have happened, what should have happened…
As though in an impulse of self preservation, his thoughts collapsed into themselves and his mind went blank. The minutes crept on, and everyone was silent. After so much time nearly alone with Skwisgaar, it seemed strange to have this crowd gathered around him, watching and waiting. He wanted to scream at them, to demand that they leave, and yet it also felt like a heavy burden had fallen from his shoulders.
In a stray moment, he glanced at Marie. She was shivering slightly. He had heard of her various struggles- her troubled marriage, the pressure from her mother in Austria, and the declining reputation- but she always he had presented herself as joyful and charming and careless. He noticed her fingers burrow into Cornichon's sleeve.
Cornichon flushed and squeezed her hand gently. He lifted up his arm, as though to place it around her shoulder, but quickly remembered himself and dropped it. Marie noticed Toki's gaze and her shivering stopped; her face still expressed concern, but it was a stately kind- the proud grief of a Queen.
She's still so young, he thought. Of course he had always known that, but had never really considered it. There had to be enormous pressure on her. Six years married, and still no child, no heir to the throne. Though it had seemed odd to him at first, he now understood her strange interest in Cornichon. He, though simply a peasant, matched her charm but had all the reckless freedom she could never hope to gain.
Night fell and the lanterns were lit all around them. The jewels around Marie's neck and the silver thread of Yolande's bodice glittered. Meurtrevisage's eyes, swamp green and fixed on the body, gave off a strange glow. Toki felt the full weight of exhaustion, the terror and love and anticipation of the day all tumbling in on themselves. He felt his shoulders slump, but he quickly righted himself.
As the hours passed, the party dwindled. Nobody left, but by midnight Yolande, Marie, and Cornichon had nodded off on the sofa. Marie's head had fallen on Cornichon's shoulder and her hand held Yolande's. Only Muertrevisage and Toki kept vigil, one patient and watchful as a snake waiting to strike, the other pacing or talking to Skwisgaar's lifeless body.
Soon it was as though none of them were there, not even Muertrevisage. The doctor's eyes were open, and he emitted a steady whistle from between his teeth as he breathed. But the sound, silly as it was, blended into the background, and it was only Toki and Skwisgaar. With a precision like clockwork, Toki applied the damp cloth, removed it, watched Skwisgaar for every sign of change.
His heart began to beat as a thick film of sweat formed over Skwisgaar's body. The sheets grew damp and the breathing grew hoarse and strained.
No, no, no thought Toki, but he stiffened himself, and continued with the ritual. Tears came to his eyes, but with a swallow he restrained them, twisted the cloth and pressed it firmly on Skwisgaar's neck, just as he had before.
He felt a strange terror as the sweat poured in a steady stream, and he felt to urge to wake the others. Help me. But no, he thought in a selfish impulse, this was his moment, even if it tore through him. He held a cool goblet of water to Skwisgaar's lips. The Swede sputtered and choked, and a stream of water slipped down his jaw to his neck, but some made it down his throat. It was the breathing that frightened him, the deep, strangled, tortured noise.
"You can't take him," he said, steady and soft, though within the words were a scream. He didn't know who he was imploring, the harsh Protestant god of this parents, the ornate Catholic God of the court, the ancient Norse Gods that his nurse Alva had spoken of in whispers, or even Fjosnisse, the barn elf.
He thought of turning to Muertrevisage, who was behind him, who was watching, but resisted the urge. The doctor would come forward if he needed to. And that was a strange relief, that this man who would never condone his love for Skwisgaar at least had the presence of mind to let him alone. Toki was afraid to turn his head and take his eyes from Skwisgaar, but he snuck a glance at Meurtrevisage. The man's sharp eyes met his. There was that momentarily flicker of humanity- worry, concern- before he resumed his professional stiffness and nodded.
Toki returned the nod, and quickly turned back to Skwisgaar. There was some relief in having a doctor who was a dick.
He took Skwisgaar's hands in his, and then trailed up his fingers so that he was gripping him by the wrists and could feel his pulse. As long as the heart is beating. In his exhaustion, in his love and worry, his mind wandered to the first duel, when they had fought so valiantly, when the eyes of court were on them. I rose so high then, he thought. We rose so high together.
He remembered the strange colors and clouds, the chords that wound like briars one over the other, the cry of the falcon. He found his mouth moving, and he was humming and singing the arpeggios, and feeling the electricity soar through him once again. His fingers tingled, and it seemed as though that electricity was transferring into Skwisgaar.
Skwisgaar's fingers stretched out as though his whole body had been shocked. As Toki hummed, his fingers began to tap, moving rapidly, picking out the splendid melody of the duel. Toki felt the tendons of his arms flex, and the force was so intense that he was forced to let go. Skwisgaar's eyes opened but were not aware, and they moved to and fro. Then his head began to move with the rhythm. It almost resembled a seizure and Toki shrunk back.
And then the body went stiff, alarmingly so. Toki reached for his wrists. No pulse. He panicked, feeling the terror rise in his throat.
And then, as though a burst from a geyser, Skwisgaar exhaled, followed by deep inhalation. His eyes blinked several times over, and then fixed on Toki. His lips moved.
Meurtrevisage plunged forward. He checked Skwisgaar's breath, his pulse, and his heart and temperature.
To Toki's surpise, he was grinning ear to ear. "The fever hash broken!" he cried.
And Toki fell to his knees, pressing Skwisgaar's limp hand to his heart.