Micah almost couldn’t continue. His tongue felt heavy, and anxiety heightened every sense, making the noises of people and the scent of sweat and stone nearly unbearable. Even his own footsteps sounded impossibly loud, and he rushed past the talking men, terrified they’d try to talk to him, or ask his name, or stop him.
He emerged into a well-lit cave. A circular pit was built into the middle, and in it, two men were striking each other in what looked like rhythmic, timed bursts. One of them hit the other in the jaw and sent him falling back, slipping in the dirt. A woman sitting on the wall surrounding the pit shouted something, and the crowd of people watching let out cheers of excitement or derision. It was like being in the belly of a roaring beast, and Micah wasn’t sure he could make himself take another step.
Then the worst thing happened. An older man spotted him and walked forward, smiling. Micah knew he should smile back. His parents had always told him to, at the fire.Just smile and be polite.But he couldn’t smile when he felt like throwing up, and he stood there frozen as the man peered at him.
“You all right, kid?”
Micah tried to speak. Nothing came out. The man frowned and reached for him, and Micah took a jerky step back. “S-Sasha.”
“Uh. You need Sasha?” Micah couldn’t even nod. He knew what was coming. The man probably thought he was mad, just like his parents had, just like… But no, Micah couldn’t focus on that. He couldn’t focus at all. It was too much.
The man withdrew, and Micah clenched his fists so tight he could feel his nails pricking into his palms. Then—thank the gods, there was Sasha, walking through the crowd like a candle flame in a dark forest, blood on his cheek and his brows knit with confusion. When he saw Micah, he turned to say something to the man at his side and hurried over on his own.
“Hey, boss. What’s wrong? Thought you hated crowds.” Micah couldn’t answer. “Oh. Okay. Okay, let’s… go upstairs, yeah? Think we can go upstairs? You need me to help, or—”
“Touching is… bad,” Micah managed to say, and Sasha nodded. “Viv’s sick.”
Sasha’s entire posture shifted, like one of Micah’s toys that would turn from a caterpillar to a butterfly when you turned the key. It was remarkable to see on a person—and terrible, too, because Micah could see his own fear reflected in Sasha’s face.
“Let’s go home,” Sasha said. Micah nodded.
It was easier to head back, but Micah still couldn’t breathe right. The only thing that made it manageable was that Sasha was with him. Sasha wasn’t trying to hold him or carry him or settle him—he was just there, keeping pace, like a wall between Micah and the rest of the world. Micah let himself think of Sasha instead of the crowd, watching how Sasha walked, the sweat on his skin, the blood on his cheek.
When they made it back to the entrance, Micah was shaking, but he didn’t feel as sick and miserable as he usually did after he panicked. It was still awful, and he was light-headed and tearful, but he didn’t think he was going to throw up or have to crawl into somewhere dark and private until the world stopped pressing down on him. Maybe it was because Sasha and Viv’s homewasthat quiet place he needed, and he knew he was almost there.
When they entered the house, Micah’s heart clenched at the sound of Viv retching in the other room. The door was open, and he could just see her feet through it. Oh, gods, she was on the floor. What if she was choking, what if she’d hurt herself—
“Aw, baby.” Sasha strode to her, and Micah stayed where he was, only just remembering to close the door behind him as Sasha bent down at Viv’s side. “Come on, it’s okay.”
“I fucking hate this. Fuck this, fuck it, fuck everything.”
“That’s right, baby. Kick its ass.” Sasha picked her up. “Gonna wash you off.”
“Fuck baths, too.”
“Yeah, baths are assholes.” Sasha carried Viv to the bathroom, and Micah sat down on the floor. Viv was paler than usual, and her hair was damp with sweat, her gown soaked with it. Sasha gave Micah a look and a nod, and Micah covered his face with his hands, trying to remember, yet again, how to breathe.
* * *
By now, Sasha knew what to do for Viv when she was sick, but that didn’t mean he liked having to do it.
Oh, he didn’t mind the caretaking. That made him feel good, because while he was more of a masochist than anything, he also enjoyed service—and helovedViv, so of course he was happy to help her with whatever she needed.
The thing he didn’t like was that it happened at all. His badass wife, with her magic and her clever fingers and her insatiable appetite for knowledge, should be as strong in her body as she was in her mind. Sasha hated—hated—watching her retch and tremble and shake, because he knew how muchshehated it.
At least when he was tending to her, bathing her or cleaning her clothes or making the broth that was all she could keep down some days, it helped keep his panic at bay. Every time this happened, Sasha would look down at Viv’s small body and see the truth: she was fighting for her very life, and the fever was only trying to burn the sickness out of her. But the fever made her miserable and angry. Which in a way was fine: he’d rather have Viv snarling curses as she retched and shivered than just giving up.
So he carried her to the bath, repeating, “I know, sweetheart. Yeah, it fucking sucks.” He knew he needed to see to Micah, too, because it was clear that Micah was having some kind of…thing… from going to find him. There was probably a word for it, and Sasha was proud as hell of Micah for venturing into the pits to get him. But Viv first.
“He found you,” she said weakly, shivering in the bath despite the water being hot enough that the room had filled with steam and Sasha was sweating. “He was… He insisted. I—”
“Hey, shush, you know you can’t tell him what to do like you tell me,” Sasha murmured, stroking her hair. “I’m glad he did. You know I hate being gone when you need me.”
“I didn’t realize,” she said, leaning back against him. The tub was big enough for both of them, and Sasha was glad, even if he hated how much she was shaking against him. “That it was… going to be bad.”
“Of course not,” Sasha said, but he didn’t think she was telling the truth. It was all right. Sometimes these sorts of… mistruths… made her feel better.
She sighed, and Sasha washed her, holding her as she coughed and gripped him with nails that dug into his shoulders. The pain helped ground him, but without her sexy smile and wicked laugh, it wasn’t fun the way it usually was when she hurt him. But he let it settle him enough to finish her bath and dry her off, carry her to the bed and bundle her in furs.
