When she met my eyes, looking for answers, I asked a question of my own.
“Why are you still abed? You seem fit enough.”
Her air of excitement immediately left her, and she again coughed into her linen square.
“I think I’m well and come from the room, but too soon I feel worn and shaky and need to rest. The illness teases me, giving me a moment of normalcy, then robbing me of it all within the same hour.”
Probably just long enough for her to eat, I thought nastily. I closed my eyes and pushed away my anger, knowing Father listened to us. It would do no good to pursue the subject.
“Then you should be back abed to rest. I will bring you something to eat soon. The Head went for supplies.”
She nodded weakly and shuffled back into the room.
By dinner, I’d made a hearty soup with the supplies delivered by the Head. He’d put the two gold coins to good use, and we had plenty to hold us for four days, including more medicine. I ladled Father and I each a healthy portion. He rose from his bed to join me at the table. I felt his forehead when I noticed an extra shine in his eyes. He felt too warm, and I recalled how I’d burned with a fever. After we ate, I helped him to bed, giving him a drink before directing him to call for me if he needed anything.
Then I took what remained of the soup, added cold water, and served the tepid watery mix to my sisters in bed. They took their bowls without comment and drained them while I watched.
The next day Father grew worse. I gave him another dose from my bottle, promising that any pain he felt in his lungs would soon disappear, and left him to sleep. For my sisters, I gave them their dose for breakfast and promised them food, soon. I delivered the food several hours later. More watered down soup.
An agonizing day passed, listening to Father’s racking cough. I sat by his bed, just watching him breathe, and wondered if the beast had done the same while I suffered through my fever. By the time the sun rose, Father rested easier, and I made him drink more water before bathing his face.
At no time during the night had either of my sisters crept from their room, so I went to check on them as well. Both slept soundly, each on her own side of the bed, and I felt a twinge of guilt at my assumption that they faked a lingering illness. I waited until I closed the door softly before I let a small cough escape. Had Father not been ill, I would have been in bed last night as well.
Tiredly, I sat beside him again and soon began to doze.
As the days passed, so did the supplies. We all managed a full seven days of medicine, but remained in quarantine until Father’s cough subsided nine days after I had returned home. By then, very little of the salted stag meat remained. When the Head declared us fit to open our doors again, we all worked together to clean and air out the cottage. I avoided the chore of boiling the linens and thought of the beast.
With supplies so low, my sisters whispered to me about going for more. They didn’t ask how I came by the dress or why the Head gave us the food he had. They only knew that I’d been the source of the good fortune that helped us through the sickness. When their incessant pleading became too much, I snuck away at dawn to visit the sisters.
Father had returned to teaching the day before. Though I hadn’t been to the Whispering Sisters in over a week, the guard nodded when he saw me and let me in. Ila greeted me just inside the door with tea.
“What brings you here today? I heard about your illness and am glad you’re fit again.”
I nodded in agreement and followed her down the stairs to the bathing room. After so long away, her nakedness drew my gaze again, but she didn’t seem to notice. Aryana already lounged in one of the heated tubs.
“My sisters are making my ears bleed with their—” I took a deep breath and then lowered my voice to mimic their husky whispers.
“Could I bathe today?” I asked, instead of complaining.
“You are so self-contained,” Aryana commented. “You need to let your thoughts out more often so they don’t sour you from the inside.”
She rose from the tub, and I held out a hand to help her.
“If I speak my mind, I will sour my family. I’ve grown used to biting my tongue over the years. It usually doesn’t bother me.”
Ila made a neutral noise as she led the way to the back room. They shooed Gen out.
“Is this a new dress?” Aryana asked, touching the fabric.
I nodded and reached for the buttons running down the bodice.
“It’s very pretty,” she said. “I imagine Blye was quite jealous of it.”
“How do you know Blye?” I asked, curious that she knew Blye well enough to know of her nature.
“Only what we hear from our clients,” Ila whispered, helping me lift the dress over my head.