Heir of Beasts

Ch. 2.1- Fever Dreams

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Shira

I wake up in the large plush bed, surrounded by down pillows and feeling like death. My head is pounding and my limbs feel like leaden weights, anchored to the soft mattress beneath me. My skin is flushed and covered in a fine dew of sweat.

My sleep was disordered and feverish, full of loud sounds and colors and memories bleeding together like wet paint. I dreamed about O'otani, I remember; I never saw her, but I heard her voice. I can almost hear it now, staring up at the white ceiling, forgetting where I am for a moment.

It comes back to me in pieces, reality. I'm in bed, in the Ambassador's manor house, and I'm definitely sick. I wonder if it was the month of travel, tossed to and fro on a small cargo ship, or the shock of a foreign climate that wrung me out.

Maybe the aimless wondering and crying, I add, still coherent enough to feel my flush deepen. I lost myself last night, completely lost myself. And the Ambassador saw- I don't know how I'll ever face him again, I made such a scene of myself.

A knock at the door startles me out of a delirious stupor. I stupidly try to get up, but a blurring of vision and a pounding in my head lays me back down. Then I just struggle to arrange myself so I'm semi-presentable, smoothing the fabric of my sleeping clothes and tucking my sweat-slicked hair behind my ears.

"Come in," I call in a rasping voice.

"Good day, Shira. I came-" Tyro stops suddenly as soon as he sees me, his words trailing off to silence as he quickly looks me over. His brows knit together and his smile deepens into a concerned frown.

"You look terrible, Shira," he says bluntly, setting down the tray he's carrying and walking over to me.

"Thanks," I answer sarcastically. "It's always nice to hear that."

He ignores me and presses his palm to my forehead. "You're burning," he mutters with concern. "Were you feverish last night?"

I shake my head. "Just since I woke up."

"Well, a channel crossing is hard on anyone," he says. "Newcomers get sick all the time. It's the foreign climate, it's hard on a delicate constitution."

I almost protest his use of the word delicate, but my throat hurts and my voice is weak, so I let it pass.

"Here, take some tea," he says, handing me a steaming cup. "It might help. I'll be back as soon as I send for the doctor.

"Are you sure that's necessary?" I ask, struggling to sit up further. "You said it was common. I'm sure it will pass, if you'll just send me some broth. Oh, and have some tea brewed from that Jessonweed I saw in the gardens."

Tyro shakes his head. "I'm sending for the doctor, Shira. The Ambassador was very clear. I'm to take no chances with your health."

I assent with a nod, swallowing any protests. I do feel terrible; a doctor might not be so bad. Either way, I know Tyro is fiercely loyal to the Ambassador's instructions, and the Ambassador is loyal to that mysterious vow.

The doctor arrives before noon. She talks to Tyro for a few minutes in a hushed, serious voice before introducing herself to me and beginning her examination.