“Mmm,” said Sona, and waved her out. She descended on James with, she explained, her own remedies from home: pastes and poultices of frankincense, of marigold and haoma.

“I’d like it,” James said, “if Cordelia would come back and read to me later. If she wants to.”

“Mmm,” said Sona again, dabbing his brow with a compress.

Cordelia did come back, and she did read to James. And then she returned again and read again, and again. He was too fevered to track the passage of time. Sometimes it was dark outside and sometimes light. When he was awake, he ate what he could, and drank a little water, and forced down some of Enoch’s loathsome potion. Sometimes his fever would break for a time, and then he would grow overwarm and sweat through his clothes; sometimes it was as though a bitter cold wind tore through his body and no number of blankets or logs in the fireplace would help. Through it all was Cordelia, quietly reading, occasionally reaching out to wipe his brow or refill his water glass.

She read him the poems of Nizami, and especially the story of Layla and Majnun, one she clearly loved and had known since she was very small. Her cheeks grew unexpectedly red at the more romantic parts: the poor boy falling in love with the beautiful Layla on first sight, wandering mad in the desert when they were separated.

“ ‘  That heart’s delight, one single glance his nerves to frenzy wrought, one single glance bewildered every thought. He gazed upon her, and as he gazed, love conquered both. They never dreamed to part.’  ”

She glanced at James and then quickly glanced away. James started. Had he been staring? He was not entirely aware of his own behavior.

“ ‘  The killing witchery that lies, in her black, delicious eyes. And when her cheek the moon revealed, a thousand hearts were won: no pride, no shield, could check her power. Layla, she was called.’  ”

“Layla,” he murmured to himself, but he didn’t think Cordelia had heard. He closed his eyes.

Only once—that he knew of—did he tumble into the shadow realm. He was awake, shaking with fever, his hair matted to his head with cold sweat, agitated. He saw Cordelia’s eyes widen in alarm as the change came over him. She leaped to her feet and he thought, She means to go for help; she is frightened, frightened of me.

He reached for her, and the shadow that was his hand caught hers, darkness against flesh. He wondered how his touch felt to her. His whole body was tensed, like a horse shying from thunder. The room smelled of lightning.

“James, you must hold on. You must. Don’t go anywhere,” Cordelia said. “Stay with me.”

“So cold,” he managed to add, shaking. “Can’t get warm. Can’t ever get warm.”