“He’s young and he’s strong,” I say. “Perhaps it will help him fight off the disease.”

“May Hefana smile on your efforts, then,” says Jesmin. His tone is not patronizing, but neither does he speak with great confidence.

“Thank you,” I say. I need the Goddess’s help far more than Jesmin can possibly imagine.

Over the next days, I watch Dineas toss and turn under the effect of the poisonous root I gave him. He cries out and talks about things only he can see. When I hold water to his lips or give him a spoonful of honey, he stares past me without acknowledging my presence. And all I can do is wait. Wait and hope that I haven’t gotten things horribly wrong.

Every day, I wipe down his skin with a cloth, then hide the cloth away before people see the pink dye that’s come off onto it. The color is slower to disappear than I expected. By the fourth day, when his fever breaks and he looks at me with clear eyes, Dineas’s skin still looks like that of someone in the throes of the illness. So I do the only thing I can think of. I crouch down at his bedside and squeeze the juice of another fever root into his mouth. He cringes away at the taste. At some level, he knows this will prolong his suffering, but he’s too weak to resist.

“Forgive me,” I whisper.

Thankfully, the repeated washing starts to work. By the time the root wears off again two days later, Dineas’s umbermarks have turned dark. By the sixth day, he’s sleeping off the last of the fever.

All morning, I watch him as I go from patient to patient, but he doesn’t stir. Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, I kneel by his pallet. Once again I’m guilt-stricken by the grayish tone to his skin and the circles under his eyes. His mouth is tight, as if something pains him even now. I pass a wet cloth over his forehead and notice the pallor of my own skin. The past days have taken their toll on me as well.

Suddenly, Dineas’s eyes snap open and he sucks in air like a drowning man. He tries to sit up, and despite his weakened state it’s all I can do to push his shoulders back down. He yells incoherently and throws his hands up.

“It’s all right,” I say softly, repeating the words in my gentlest voice, hoping my own fear doesn’t show through. This entire plan is folly. I should have known this, but it’s too late now. “You’re safe. You’re safe with us.”