“Looks like you’ve gone and gotten yourself an infection.” I set my hands on my hips, examining him again. For the first time, an inkling of pity stirred in my heart, but a dark urge to let him fester warred against it. I wasn’t a killer, though, not even a passive one. I loathed Jackie, but if it was his fate to die, it wouldn’t be at the hands of some ordinary illness.
Remembering my own experience with bad fever as a child and the treatments Gerda had used to ease my symptoms, I hurried to the deck and found Ambrose standing at the helm alone. His huge figure loomed, tall, dark, and imposing. “I need your assistance, if you could spare a moment.”
He tilted his head in a curious way, encouraging me to explain.
“Master Faercourt has developed a fever. I need someone to bring him to the deck.”
He recoiled. “Why the deck?”
“The cabin is stifling. He needs fresh air, a cool breeze, and lots of water.”
He waved at the flat sails. “Not much of a breeze tonight.”
“There will be if the gods want him to live.”
“Then you better start praying, miss.”
By the time I returned with supplies, Ambrose and Leo, another crewman, had arranged Jackie on a pallet near the starboard rail at the center of the ship, away from where we might impede the ship’s workflow. I thanked them, and they left me to play nursemaid alone. I dunked rags in a pail of water drawn straight from the cool night ocean and plastered compresses over Jackie’s brow and chest. Slipping an arm under his shoulders, I raised his head enough to poor cool peppermint tea down his throat.
With Jackie hydrated and bathed, I called on the winds, drawing air from the north. The cool front collided against the warm air mass surrounding us and announced its displeasure in an explosive crack of thunder. Lightning split the sky. The breeze raised goose bumps on my arms. I wondered if it offered Jackie any relief.
Gerda had told me fevers were the body’s way of burning out impurities, and to let them run their course. In rare cases, an exceptionally high fever could cause further injury or death, but the best I could do was to keep Jackie hydrated and comfortable and let nature take its course. “I’m surprised your Magic hasn’t saved you,” I said, brushing a lock of pale hair from his brow. “Not so terribly powerful now, are you?”
A flicker of movement in the darkness startled me. The cool front had brought in clouds and blotted out the moonlight, but Clarice’s lantern shined brightly over Jackie’s wan figure as she approached. “Heard he took a turn for the worse.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But a fever seems a rather natural reaction to being shot.”
She huffed. “I’ve brought you some more of the salve I gave him earlier. It should help.”
I muttered my thanks as she smeared a thick glob of ointment on Jackie’s wound. “Leo has the night watch,” she said. “If you need anything else, ask him, and he’ll get it for you.”
“You’re very kind and generous with your supplies.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? Faercourt has paid me well, and there’s more waiting for me if I get him to Inselgrau alive.”
“What’s to hold you to that bargain? You could take his money, throw us both overboard, and save yourself from the trouble.”
She huffed and rose to her feet. From a coat pocket, she withdrew a pipe and a packet of tobacco. “I’m a sailor, girl. Not a pirate.”
She strolled off toward the stern, and moments later the sweet scent of pipe smoke wafted through the air. I swabbed Jackie’s brow again and called for another gust of cool air. The sails billowed, and the waves swelled, rocking the ship like a cradle. I stretched out beside him and closed my eyes. Just for a second, I’ll rest my eyes... just for a second...
***
Jackie’s thrashing and yelling jarred me awake. With a yelp, I sat up, clawing hair out of my eyes. My heart raced, panic swirling my thoughts until I remembered where I was, how I had gotten there, and why. A pale light on the horizon’s edge implied I’d slept for a while—much longer than a brief nap. The cool front had drifted away, and the air had turned still and stagnant again.
I touched him, and he yelled, gnashing his teeth. Before, his skin had been warm, but now it felt like fire. The compress on his chest had dried out. Jumping to my feet, I grabbed a bucket, refilled it, and doused him as though he were a raging campfire burning out of control. Over and over, I drenched him. Calling the winds, I brought in more cool air and vowed to remain vigilant this time. On my knees at his head, I pulled his shoulders into my lap and poured fresh water down his throat until he gagged. Once he caught his breath, I made him drink more.
I was drenched and chilled by the winds, my teeth chattering, but still Jackie blazed in my arms. “I hope you’re not planning to die here on this godsforsaken ship, you bastard. You and I are due for a final reckoning, and you better not deny me. If you’re going to be beaten, it’ll be on Inselgrish soil with me as the victor, not here in the middle of the ocean with no one to witness your sad, weak defeat.” I shook him. “Come on, Jackie. I’ve spent months preparing myself to stand up to you in a fair and honest fight. This is not how things end between us.” Words lodged in my throat. My eyes burned, but I wouldn’t cry for him. If he died, then good riddance, right?
Love and hate, remember? Grandfather said. You don’t love Jackie, but the emotions you feel for him are just as strong.
What’s your point?
There’s power in your hatred. It is the fuel that keeps you fighting, keeps you going when you would have given up or surrendered. If Jackie dies today, then maybe so does your ambition, and then where will you be? What will fuel your lightning then?
Oh, believe me, Grandfather, I have plenty of hatred for Le Poing Fermé. I don’t need Jackie to keep me motivated.
Are you certain?
I thought of Gideon, of his loyalty, conviction, and sacrifice. He’d said he would risk everything for me, and I believed him. Believed him to my core. I might hate Jackie, but I love Gideon more, and I love my people. If anything is going to motivate me as a queen, I choose love. Every day I will wake up choosing love.
Having caught on to the frantic scene, Leo appeared at my side, eyes wide, ginger hair blowing wildly in the breeze. “What’s happened, miss?”
“His fever is worse.”
“How can I help?”
“Get another bucket of water. Keep him wet.”
Leo snatched the bucket and returned moments later with water spilling from its brim. “Step back, miss.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just get him cooled off. Keep it coming.”
The winds howled, cold and frigid. A steady shiver vibrated in my bones. When Leo proposed we take a break, I ordered him to keep going. But when his lips turned blue and his own teeth started chattering, I relented.
“Miss,” he said, “you’ll get the chills if we keep this up.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
