Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(2)

“Sorcha, his fever is back,” her sister said.

She rushed to his side.

Rosaleen was the youngest in the brothel and innately kind. The longer she stayed here, the quieter she would get. Kind people never lasted in this profession. They were either lucky, and some nobleman took them as a mistress, or they disappeared forever.

Rosaleen’s heart shaped face was pale with fear. She had tied her blonde ringlets with a leather thong, but a few escaped to bounce with her movements.

Such a pretty little thing would surely capture a nobleman's favor. Or a soldier's, at the very least. What man wouldn’t want a mistress such as her?

Sorcha pressed her hand against Papa's forehead and tsked. “We completed another treatment, and I thought rest would stave off another fever. I'm sorry, I was wrong. Can you get him hot water, please, Rosaleen?”

“Will it help?”

“It will. A spot of tea fixes a great many things,” Sorcha lied. He wouldn't heal tonight, in a fortnight, even in a year. He wouldn't heal at all. But Rosaleen was a delicate creature and lying eased her worry.

Sorcha watched her sister rush from the room with a troubled gaze.

“Good riddance,” Papa coughed. “They fawn over me as if I’m already dead.”

“They’re worried,” Sorcha replied with a smile. “And they have a right to be.”

“There will be another man to take my place. A business like this won’t be empty for long.”

“But will he be as kind? Will he be as understanding?”

“I am neither of those, and the girls shouldn't expect another man to be.”

Sorcha helped him sit up, her hand sturdy and strong behind his back. She remembered him as a tall man, broad and capable of taking on the world. He had thrown men out of this establishment without breaking a sweat. Now, he was skeletal. Each inhalation rattled and exhalation wheezed. His hands shook, and his eyes remained unfocused.

While he caught his breath, she plucked at the bandages and poultice packed around his ribs. “How does it feel?”

“Sore,” he grumbled. “Damn beetles are always moving.”

“At least we got rid of another hive mother.”

Papa snorted. “It’s something, but it won't save me.”

No, it wouldn’t.

A blood beetle infection was a death sentence, and no one had figured out how to cure it. They came from the skies. Swarms of green locusts, so beautiful the villagers wore their wings as jewelry in the first year. Then, they laid their eggs inside people. There was no catching up with them after that.

Sorcha sighed and laid her hand over one of the many bumps on Papa’s back. The beetles lived underneath the skin, eating flesh from the inside out. They multiplied while feasting slowly upon their hosts, but at least they didn’t spread until they exhausted their food supply.

Sorcha had figured out a way to extract them. She cut through skin, muscle, and sinew, carefully pulling the beetles out from behind. She then burned them and buried their ashes. It was the only way she could be certain they wouldn't fly off and infect someone else.

The bump underneath her hand shifted.

“I felt that one,” Papa huffed. “How long do I have girl?”

“A few more months. I’ve been trying to keep up with their reproductions, but your body won’t take this much trauma for long.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The door eased open and Rosaleen poked her head through. “Can I come back in now?”

Sorcha rubbed Papa’s back. “Yes, come on in. Can you pour the water in a cup for me, please?”

Pottery was scarce at the brothel. No one wanted to sell household objects to prostitutes, so they made do with what Sorcha received as trade from her midwifery. The mangled clay cup was lopsided, but it held water without leaking.

She packed yarrow into the cup and gave it a swirl. “Here you go, Papa. Drink up.”

“Is this that bitter tea you keep making me drink?”

“It keeps the fever down and helps stop the bleeding.”

“I don’t like it.” He sipped and made a face. “I think you’re poisoning me.”

“I think you’re being a child. Drink it all—” she paused. “All of it, Papa. And then go back to sleep.”

He grumbled, but laid back down on the bed without too much of a fuss. Sorcha drew the curtain so the light wouldn’t disturb him.

Rosaleen stared at her. The weight of her gaze was like a physical touch. There wasn’t much for Sorcha to say. She didn’t want to ruin their happiness, and income, by giving a date to their father’s death. They needed to stay strong, and later they could grieve.

She tucked her little sister under her arm and guided her from the room. “What’s the matter little chick?”

“I’m worried about Papa. Aren’t you?”

“You let me worry about him. I’m the healer, aren’t I?”

“Midwife.”

The word stung.

“I’m doing more than the healers would. They’d be bloodletting him when the beetles already do that. He doesn't need any leeches, he needs the beetles removed.”

“They’re still not listening to you?”

The sisters walked into the kitchen and main living space for the women. When they first moved to this city, only the family had lived in this building. Their Papa was a born businessman, and he set his sights on expanding their clientele. Now, there were thirteen women living and working under their roof.