She pulled away.
“We gave our word,” she said, as if that should explain everything. “I don’t know what’s going on, but what I do know is anyone out to kill a boy that young ain’t on the side of right. That stranger paid us a fortune for this. We can buy more land from the Potters, those acres they can’t till worth a damn, but we could do it. We can hire help, extra salt and meat for next winter, lumber for the house…I won’t better our life on the blood of a dead child, and I expect you to feel the same.”
His cheeks flushed red. When he went to speak, he shut his mouth again and waited another moment to get his composure back.
“True enough,” he said. “Hard as it is to get the kids to avoid a lying tongue. Won’t do no good to go lying ourselves. I’m scared, Evelyn. We’re just farmers. I don’t like going up to Tyneham to trade our wares to the miners, let alone all the way south to Veldaren where the real crooks are. Whoever’s after this boy…”
“Tristan.”
He laughed. “Fine. Whoever’s after Tristan probably has money, soldiers…Who’ll take care of Debbie, or Anna, or little Mark should something happen to us? Or, Ashhur forbid, what if something happen to them? ”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.
“Stop worrying. We’ll deal with each problem as it comes, and Ashhur will keep us safe. Now let Tristan here sleep.”
“Tristan,” Matthew muttered as they passed through the curtain into the other room. “You really wanted to name one of our children Tristan?”
*
Tristan woke them a few hours past midnight. Evelyn was the first at his side. The boy was moaning, and his legs and arm twitched every few moments. She touched his forehead. It was like touching fire.
“Get water in the tub,” she told Trevor, “mix in some snow, too. If you can stand to keep your hand in it for long, it ain’t cold enough.”
“Yes ma’am,” Trevor said, his eyes lingering on Tristan as he put on his coat and boots. They had a small tub inside their home (a luxury if I ever saw one, Liza, her crone of a neighbor, had once told her). They had to bring the water in by buckets, and that would take time. Until then, she tore off the boy’s blankets and clothes, stripping him naked upon the bed.
“He going to be all right?” asked Anna as she poked her head through the curtain. She was twelve, old enough to help her mother when she acted the healer.
“Wake your father,” Evelyn said, ignoring her question. “And make sure Mark and Julie stay in bed. Probably already scared, and I don’t want them scared worse.”
Anna nodded, and her head vanished behind the curtain. Evelyn lifted Tristan in her arms, and it was like picking up a burning log. When she brushed through the curtain into their living room, she found Matthew putting on layers.
“Trevor said you needed water in the tub. The fever gotten that bad?”
She nodded.
“I told you he hadn’t had enough to drink,” he said. “Can’t sweat off a fever if you ain’t got nothing to sweat.”
“I know,” she said. “Now’s not the time.”
She caught her younger children looking at her, and she turned her back to them and hurried to the tub. The door to the house slammed shut, whether from Matthew leaving or Trevor coming in, she didn’t know. In the tub she found a single bucketful of water, barely enough to wet the surface. She put him in anyway and held him down as his body flailed against the cold.
“Anna!” she cried. Her daughter hurried in after. “Help me hold him down. His shivers are going to get worse. Don’t feel bad about the chill, either. He’ll burn to death before he catches cold.”
She shifted so that Anna might hold his arm, then pressed down on the boy’s knees. Trevor came in with another bucket of water, and he looked lost about what to do with it.
“Just dump it on him,” Evelyn said, trying to be patient. “It’s only water!”
Trevor hesitated, but the look in his mother’s eyes got him going. He upended the bucket, cold water from the well. Tristan’s moan turned to a full-fledged wail. Rather than stay, Trevor hurried out. Evelyn leaned more of her weight on her arms as Tristan’s struggling grew. Beside her, Anna quietly cried.
“Start praying,” she whispered. “It’ll help you, but don’t you dare let go of that arm.”
Matthew came in with a larger bucket, and he poured it in by the boy’s feet. The water was halfway up his body, and Evelyn told him one more should be enough.
“Still need the snow?” he asked.
“This water will be warm soon enough.”
“All right.”
When they came back, she put the bucket of snow beside her, saving it for when the chill left the tub. Tristan was still shivering, and he cried when he had the energy, and moaned when he did not. After twenty minutes she dumped in the half-melted bucket of snow, sending Tristan’s shivers back to full strength. Ten more minutes and she lifted him out, wrapped him in a towel, and brought him back to his bed. Matthew was there not long after, a small cup of milk in one hand, a slender funnel in the other. Evelyn recognized it sure enough. They used it to feed their animals various herbs and tonics should they catch ill.
“He needs to drink,” Matthew said. “Hold open his jaw, and don’t let him move. I have no intention of drowning him.”
Once the milk was gone, they wrapped him tighter in blankets and waited.
“Go rest,” she told her husband. “You have enough work in the morning, and it won’t be no good for you to do it on a half night’s sleep. Get the kids back to bed as well. I’ll keep vigil on him.”
Matthew squeezed her shoulder and then left. Once he was gone she gently stroked Tristan’s forehead with her fingers. He looked like a drowned rat, but his fever had finally dropped. He’d fallen back asleep, too, for which she was thankful. She’d mixed a bit of Hogroot in the milk, and she prayed it’d break his fever completely while he slept. A quick inspection showed the stitches on his shoulder to be clean. No infection, thank Ashhur. There wasn’t anywhere higher left to cut, other than his neck just to end the suffering.
On her knees, her weight leaning against the bed, she waited out the night. Just before dawn, his fever broke, and for the first time since Haern had brought him there, he opened his eyes.
“I’m thirsty,” he said, his voice croaking.
Evelyn smiled and clutched his hand.
“Fresh milk,” she said, “coming right up.”
*
M atthew was breaking the thin seal of ice atop their pond when he saw the men ride to his front door. There were two of them, their chainmail dirty from the road. Even from this distance, he could tell they were armed.
“Who are they?” Trevor asked beside him. He squinted against the light reflecting off the snow. “Do you know them?”
“No, I don’t,” Matthew said. “Remember, if anyone asks, Tristan’s your brother, and he caught infection from a spider bite. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And just in case, get your knife, but don’t you dare let them see you holding it. This is serious, Trevor.”
The lad’s eyes widened. He went to ask a question, thought better of it, and then just nodded.
Matthew led them back to the house. Evelyn had answered, and after a moment, invited them in. He trusted her to keep her wits about her, probably more than himself. His other children were in there, though, and once outside the public eye, he wondered just what type of men they might be.
Should have made them wait outside until I got back, he thought. Damn it, Evelyn. Sometimes you ought to act the proper wife.
Just before reaching the house, he stopped and ducked into the barn. He heard his son gasp as he yanked their pitchfork off the wall.
“Won’t do much against their armor,” he said, inspecting its four teeth. “But they ain’t wearing helmets, so that’s something.”
He set it beside the door, then opened it and stepped inside. The two men sat beside the fire, their cloaks
