It was midweek, and Talia was taking dinner with the Collegium instead of the Court. She was watching Dirk out of the corner of her eye the entire time, and hoping that Skif was going to be able to fulfill his promise. She was worried—very worried. Dirk was white to the ears; he kept rubbing his head as if it ached. She could see him shiver, although the common-room was warm. He seemed to be unable to keep his mind on what anyone was saying, and he couldn’t speak more than two words in a row without going into a fit of coughing.

She could also see that Kris was watching him, and looking just as concerned.

He pushed his food around without eating much. Kris finally seemed to come to some conclusion, visibly steeled himself, and walked over to sit down next to him.

Kris said something to him, which he answered with a shake of his head. Then he stood up—and Kris had to catch him as he started to crumple.

Kris had decided he’d had enough. He couldn’t stand watching his dearest friend fret himself to pieces—and he’d come to some unhappy conclusions over the past couple of weeks. He’d gone over to sit next to Dirk before the Herald was aware that he was even in the common room, and spoke his piece before Dirk had a chance to escape.

“I was wrong; I was wrong to put so much trust in my uncle, wrong to have doubted you, and wrong to have said anything about your private life. I apologize. Are you going to forgive me, or will I have to throw myself from the battlements in despair?”

Dirk had started a little when Kris first began speaking in his ear, but hadn’t moved away. He’d listened with a mixture of relief and bemusement, then shook his head with a weak smile at Kris’ last sally. Then he stood up—

And the room faded from before his eyes, as he felt his legs give under him.

Half a dozen instructors and field Heralds made a rush for him as Kris caught him. They lowered him back down into his seat, as he protested weakly that he was all right.

“I—” he coughed, rackingly. “I just was dizzy a minute—” he bent over in a fit of coughs, unable to continue, hardly able to catch his breath.

“Like Hell!” replied Teren, one hand on his forehead, “You’re on fire, man. You’re for the Healers, and I don’t want to hear any nonsense out of you about it.”

Before he could regain enough breath to object, Teren draped one of his arms over his own shoulders, while a very worried Kris did the same on Dirk’s other side. The rest surrounded the three of them, allowing no opportunity to escape, and escorted them out the door.