“This is, it seems, the future,” Willo said, biting off each word. “The Demonai called him home. He was not allowed to finish his course work, nor serve an apprenticeship.” She wrapped a wide piece of linen over Raisa’s shoulder and around her waist, tying it off neatly.

Elena stood then, and strode back and forth, talking with her hands as usual, directing her arguments at Willo.

“Willo Watersong, the attack on the princess heir more than justifies our decision to bring Alister back. If what you say is true, and he did save her life, this single act has repaid our investment twice over. It was worth it.”

“Do you think it was worth it to him?” Willo whispered.

“Where is he?” Raisa demanded, struggling to rise from her pallet. “Where is Han? I want to see him.”

“Granddaughter…” Elena said, furrowing her brow. “You should rest now. I’m afraid this has been—”

“No!” Raisa said, louder than she’d intended. “If I’ve been sleeping three days, then four days have passed since somebody tried to kill me. I want straight answers to my questions, and I want to see the person that you say saved my life. I want to see what price he’s paid for it.”

“If you insist,” Elena said, her face tight with disapproval.

Willo helped Raisa to her feet, keeping one hand clamped around her elbow. “He’s in the next room,” Willo said. The Matriarch Lodge had several sleeping chambers walled off with curtains, where patients could stay under the watchful eye of the healer.

Willo pulled aside the deerskin drape and they ducked through. Elena remained in the common room, as if Han’s ailment might be catching.

A ceramic stove glowed in the center of the room, kept stoked by two apprentices, a boy and girl a little older than Raisa. A stub of sweetwood smoldered in a burner, and one of the apprentices waved the smoke toward their patient with a large fan.

Han Alister lay on a pallet close to the fire, smothered in blankets, his face pale and glistening with sweat in the firelight. His hair was damp, plastered down on his head, and he twitched and trembled under the blankets, mumbling and muttering to himself.

“Sweet Lady!” Raisa said, looking down at him. The skin seemed tightly stretched across his bones. Usually he blazed with life. Now it looked as though the vital essence had been wrung from him. Tears stung her eyes. She sank to her knees next to the sleeping bench and gently raked strands of golden hair from his forehead.

Don’t you die. Don’t you dare. I forbid it.

As if Han Alister had ever listened to anything she said.

Raisa swallowed hard and looked up at Willo, who was looking down at her, eyes narrowed, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Isn’t it too hot in here? He’s sweating.”