Or maybe not. He lifted his arm about half a foot before it fell back to his side. Damn, he was tired. And thirsty. His mouth felt as if it had been packed in sawdust.

That glass of water looked like heaven. Heaven, just out of reach.

Damn it.

He sighed, then wished he hadn’t, because it made his ribs hurt. His entire body ached. How was it possible that a body could ache absolutely everywhere? Except for his leg, which burned.

But he thought that maybe he didn’t have a fever any longer. Or at least not much of one. It was hard to tell. He certainly felt more lucid than he had in some time.

He watched Honoria for a minute or so. She didn’t move at all in her sleep. Her head was cocked to the side at an unnatural angle, and he could only think that she was going to wake up with a terrible crick in her neck.

Maybe he should wake her up. It would be the kind thing to do.

“Honoria,” he croaked.

She didn’t move.

“Honoria.” He tried to say it louder, but it came out the same—raspy and hoarse, like an insect hurling itself against the window. Not to mention that the effort was exhausting.

He tried reaching out to her again. His arm felt like a dead weight, but somehow he got it off the bed. He meant to just poke her, but instead his hand landed heavily on her outstretched leg.

“Aaaaah!” She came awake with a shriek, her head snapping up so fast she hit the back of it on the bedpost. “Ow,” she moaned, bringing her hand up to rub the sore spot.

“Honoria,” he said again, trying to get her attention.

She mumbled something and let out a huge yawn as she rubbed her cheek with the heel of her hand. And then: “Marcus?”

She sounded sleepy. She sounded wonderful.

“May I have some water, please?” he asked her. Maybe he should have said something more profound; he had, after all, practically come back from the dead. But he was thirsty. Wandering the desert thirsty. And asking for water was about as profound as one got in his condition.

“Of course.” Her hands fumbled about in the darkness until they landed on the glass. “Oh, blast,” he heard her say. “One moment.”

He watched as she got to her feet and made her way to another table, where she picked up a pitcher. “There isn’t much left,” she said groggily. “But it should be enough.” She poured some into the glass, then picked up the spoon.

“I can do it,” he told her.

She looked at him with surprise. “Really?”

“Can you help me sit up?”