Chapter 48: Be Quite

Grasping the edges of the quilt in her tiny hands, she shimmied to the edge of the mattress.

She held her breath, her dark eyes fixed on Kaelus’s face.

If his eyelashes even twitched, she was prepared to throw herself back onto the pillows and pretend to be dead.

He didn’t stir.

His breathing remained deep and even, the exhaustion pulling him under far deeper than his usual light, soldier’s sleep.

Seraphina leaned forward, balancing precariously on the edge of the mattress, and gently draped the quilt over his broad shoulders, tucking the edges slightly around his crossed arms to keep it from slipping.

He looked a bit ridiculous now, a terrifying warlord swaddled in a soft, floral-patterned guest blanket, but Seraphina nodded in satisfaction.

Now, for the escape...

She slid off the tall bed, her bare feet hitting the polished hardwood floor.

The wood was cold, but it felt grounding.

She didn’t walk; she tiptoed her way out.

Her heels never touched the ground.

She moved with the stealth of a highly trained assassin, or at least, the stealth of a child trying to sneak cookies from a kitchen.

She reached the heavy oak door.

The brass handle was high, requiring her to stretch onto the very tips of her toes.

She gripped the cold metal, turned it with agonizing slowness to avoid the click of the latch, and pulled the heavy door open just enough to squeeze her small body through.

She slipped into the hallway and let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Lady Seraphina."

Seraphina jumped nearly a foot in the air, her heart leap frogging into her throat.

Standing directly beside the door, standing guard with the rigid, unyielding posture of a marble statue, was Sir Gallahan.

But the pristine, elegant knight looked entirely wrong.

His usually immaculate white cloak was wrinkled and stained.

His silver armor lacked its mirror shine.

But the most alarming detail was his face.

Sir Gallahan, the prodigy of the sword, the hero of the Crimson Citadel, was staring down at her with eyes that were bloodshot, rimmed with red, and welling with very real, very large tears.

He looked like a man who had just watched his entire family vanish into a sinkhole.

Gallahan’s jaw dropped open.

He took a staggering step forward, dropping his gauntleted hands to his sides.

His chest heaved, and his mouth contorted into a wobbly, desperate shape.

He drew in a massive, ragged breath, fully preparing to let out a howl of relief that would have undoubtedly woken every soul within a five-mile radius.

Seraphina’s eyes widened in panic.

"Shhh!" she hissed urgently.

She lunged forward, throwing her entire weight against the knight’s armored shin, and slapped her tiny hands over her own mouth in a universal gesture of ’Shut up right now.’

She pointed a frantic finger back toward the bedroom door.

Gallahan froze mid-inhale.

He looked at the door, looked down at the tiny, bedraggled girl clinging to his leg, and swallowed his impending howl with a loud, pathetic gulp.

He dropped to his knees instantly, his armor clanking against the floor, bringing himself down to her eye level.

"You’re awake, My Lady," Gallahan whispered, his voice trembling so violently it sounded like he was speaking through a fan. Tears literally spilled over his lower eyelids, tracking down his dirt-smudged cheeks. "By the Light, you are awake. I thought... we all thought..."

He reached out, his massive hands hovering nervously around her shoulders, terrified to touch her in case she shattered into a thousand pieces of porcelain.

"I’m awake, Sir Gally," Seraphina whispered back, her voice cracking painfully on the syllables. Her throat was like a desert. "But Papa Duke is finally sleeping. Don’t yell, or he’ll wake up and be grumpy."

Gallahan nodded frantically, wiping his eyes with the back of his armored wrist, completely ruining his dignity. "Yes. Yes, of course. Quiet. Tactical silence. I understand."

He noticed her wince as she spoke, recognizing the raspy, broken quality of her voice.

"Water," he deduced instantly, his knightly training kicking in. "You need hydration. Stay right here. Do not move a muscle. If you evaporate, the Duke will skin me alive."

Gallahan stood up and practically sprinted down the hallway to a nearby credenza where a silver pitcher and crystal glasses rested.

He poured a glass with shaking hands, spilling half of it on the lace doily, and hurried back.

He dropped to his knees again, offering the glass with both hands like a religious sacrament.

Seraphina took it, her small hands wrapping around the cool crystal.

She drank greedily.

The water was crisp, cold, and tasted like absolute heaven against her parched throat.

She drained the entire glass in a matter of seconds, letting out a small, satisfied gasp as she lowered it.

"Thank you," she rasped, her voice sounding marginally better. She looked at Gallahan, noting his ragged appearance. "Did I sleep for a long time? Papa Duke looked like he had fought a bear. And you look like you got run over by a carriage."

Gallahan let out a watery, self-deprecating chuckle. "A carriage would have been less painful, My Lady."

He looked at her, his expression turning incredibly solemn, carrying a weight of guilt that seemed entirely out of place for a man who hadn’t done anything wrong.

"Lady Seraphina," Gallahan said softly. "You have been unconscious for three days and three nights."

Seraphina froze.

The empty glass in her hand felt suddenly very heavy.

"Three... days?" she repeated, the words feeling foreign on her tongue.

"More than seventy-two hours," Gallahan confirmed, his voice thick with emotion. "You collapsed at the restaurant. The Duke carried you back to Marquess Myer’s estate. Since that moment, you have not opened your eyes. You were burning with a fever we could not measure, fighting an agony we could not see. The doctors were useless. The mages were baffled."

He looked down at the polished floor, shame radiating from his broad shoulders.