Quietly he poured a cupful of willowbark tea and brought it to her.

“I am so sick of this rubbish!” cried Rosethorn, glaring at him. “I swear, I’m going to float away in a sea of horse urine!”

“Oh, no, love,” said Lark, taking the cup from Briar. “I assure you, horse urine is much more strongly flavored.”

Rosethorn, Briar, and Tris stared at her in horror. “How—?” began Rosethorn.

“You don’t want to know,” Lark replied solemnly. “It’s better to drink this.”

Rosethorn stared at her, then drank the tea down.

Lark winked at Tris and Briar. “You just have to know how to talk to her.”

Normally Rosethorn would have groaned and thrown a pillow at Lark. Tonight she only smiled and lay back. Lark nodded to the door with her head; Tris and Briar left.

It was the first time since her return from the greenhouse that Rosethorn had no notes to send back to Crane.

In bed that night, Briar dreamed he searched for Rosethorn in a foggy place, knowing she was there but unable to see her. The fear that she was lost—that she might be hurt, or worse—made it impossible to breathe.

He woke with a start, facedown in his pillow. His room smelled like night terrors and sweat without the shakkan to sweeten the air. Disgusted, he walked out into the main room, dragging his blanket, and lay it on the floor next to the dog. Tris was curled in a knot before the gods’ shrine in the corner, clutching her blanket to her chest. Briar covered her more thoroughly.

Sandry joined them a few minutes later with her own covers. Daja thumped down the stairs with hers. Hearing Daja, Lark came from Rosethorn’s room and looked them over. “I’ll get pallets in here tomorrow, if you want to do this,” she said quietly. Daja, Briar, and Sandry—Tris had not woken—nodded.

Briar was just setting up the next morning when he saw white light shimmering in the shiny surfaces around him. Tris yipped with glee, clapping her hands. The boy turned.

Crane was removing a pair of trays from his personal cabinet, where he kept his experiments. They blazed hotly, marking the first breakthroughs since Rosethorn had gone. Once he’d put them on his worktable, Crane turned to Tris. “There is hardly a need for such enthusiasm,” he drawled. “It was bound to happen at some point.”

“But two of them!” Tris pointed out, refusing to be deflated. “Two!” Looking at Crane’s drooping frame, the girl shook her head. “I’ll be happy for both of us,” she said, uncovering her inks.

The more emotional he feels, the limper he acts, thought Briar. Remembering his first encounters with Crane he added, Unless he’s so furious he forgets he’s nobility. It’s like somebody taught him it’s wrong to be excited.

He reached for Sandry, who sat with Rosethorn that morning. Two? repeated Sandry, once Briar had explained the good news. That’s splendid.

Briar frowned. There was a shadow in Sandry’s mind.

No, don’t! she cried, feeling him shift to look through her eyes. She covered her face, but it was too late: Briar had seen. Rosethorn was covered with dark spots.

Lark’s gone for a healer, Daja told him magically. We’re to keep getting Rosethorn to drink things and to rub lotion where she itches. She’ll be fine.

Frightened as Briar was, Daja’s calm solidity was a comfort. How could Rosethorn come to harm with her and Sandry there? She couldn’t, of course, and things were starting to move in Crane’s workrooms.

It’s just a shame she lost her bet, is all, Briar told the two girls, explaining about Rosethorn’s wager. She threw out spots, but we don’t have a cure.

You will, Sandry told him firmly.

Stop gossiping and get to it, added Daja.

Briar obeyed.

The next key that day was Osprey’s; the blaze of white light that announced it came just before noon. Crane developed another around two that afternoon. Osprey produced two more from Rosethorn’s notes; Crane brewed an eighth before they closed for the night.

“Good,” Rosethorn said fuzzily when Briar reported to her. “Very good. Tell Crane when he’s got something to try on patients, I’m his first volunteer.”

Briar swallowed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Rosethorn smiled, barely able to stay awake. “Before he reaches that point, there’s a test fluid we made—actually, there’s a set of ten fluids. I can’t remember what we called it—”

“Human essence,” said Lark. She had taken over from Sandry and Daja, and sat in a chair by the bed, knitting.

“That sounds right,” agreed Rosethorn. “Crane will test cures on the essences before he tries real people. Once he does that, his first cures may not work for everyone, but they won’t kill anybody either. They …” Her voice drifted off, and she slept.

“You know the disease better than I,” Lark said to Briar. She leaned forward to hold Rosethorn’s hand. “I take it this wandering and confusion is normal?”

Briar nodded. “It’s the fever. We almost never lost anyone with spots. It was always after they faded, when the fever got out of control.”

Lark reached out with her free hand and took his. “We’ll all get through this,” she told him solemnly. “It will end, and we’ll be fine.”

That morning Crane didn’t wait until his workers had finished in the washroom, but scrubbed when they did. Once inside, no one split off to begin their day’s work. Crane, Osprey, Briar, and Tris led the way to the inner workroom as the rest of the staff crowded in the doorway near Briar’s table. All eyes were on the cabinets where Crane and Osprey stored the previous day’s experiments.