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“You’re not allowed to die,” Lethe said, pacing back and forth. The click of her boots echoed off the stone floor.
“I’m not dying,” Jill replied. Her voice was hoarse. “It’s just a cold.”
“‘Just a cold.’” Lethe sniffed. “I know how fragile you beorc are. Even a little sickness can kill you.”
“Lethe, we just killed the Goddess. Surely this is less dangerous.”
“You cannot strike disease,” she said, matter-of-fact. She reached the end of the room and pivoted. She saw Jill, sitting on the bed, hand raised to her mouth. A smile peeked out from behind her fingers.
“You’re laughing at me!” Lethe hissed.
Jill schooled her face into something neutral. “Right, sorry. This is very serious. Worse than the time that knight impaled me.”
“I was worried then, too.”
Jill grinned. “You were?”
Lethe huffed. “I take it back. I won’t tolerate teasing, beorc. Not even when you’re on the brink of death.”
“I’m not—” Jill sighed and shook her head. She flopped back onto the pillows. “Then will you do a deathly ill person a favour?”
Lethe stopped pacing to sit on the bed. She stared intently into Jill’s eyes. “What is it?”
“...can you bring me a cup of tea?”
“Tea?”
“You know, plants in hot water? Made it from pine needles in the war?” She mimed pouring some from a pot.
“I know what tea is,” Lethe snapped. “I just don’t see what it will do.”
“It’s good for the throat. Especially with honey?” Jill accompanied the last part with a pleading look, the one she knew Lethe could never resist. It would be like kicking a kitten.
“...fine. But you had better be grateful.” Though she grumbled, she was already halfway out the door.
Lethe returned twenty minutes later, pressing a steaming cup of tea into Jill’s hands. It had been troublesome to find honeycomb, but she’d managed. Jill caught her hand once it was freed, brushing a casual kiss to the back of it. Lethe felt her heart still.
Then Jill sniffed, immediately tarnishing the moment. Lethe wiped her hand off on the blanket. “I take it your condition remains stable?”
“I’m still fine,” Jill said. “Just worn out.”
Lethe stood up. “Then rest. I’ll keep watch.”
Before she could resume pacing, Jill said, “We’re in a castle full of guards. I’d much prefer you stay with me.”
Lethe turned to glare at her. “I don’t take risks, beorc.”
“Then…will you keep me warm?” Jill smiled, and Lethe melted a little. “I’m having chills.”
Lethe raised her eyebrows. “You’re not lying to convince me, are you?”
“Swear it on the Goddess.” She winced. “Er…on someone. Just come here. I want you near.”
Lethe sighed. She laid down on the bed, right next to Jill, who threw a blanket over her. Shifting to cat form, she pressed up against Jill. Her fur would help keep the woman warm. Goddess, if anyone saw her now, cuddling up with a beorc—
Jill leaned her head against Lethe’s. Against her better judgement, she closed her eyes. She listened to the steady pulse of Jill’s breathing, thick with disease, until it slowed down. Her muscles relaxed. Sleep pulled heavy on her bones. Maybe just a short nap—
Lethe woke to a sore throat.
She returned to human form. Jill was awake next to her, watching her fondly. “Morning.”
“Morning? I—” Her words came out scratchy. She placed a hand to her throat.
Jill blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Oh no .”
Lethe cursed soundly, first in the laguz tongue, then the beorc. By the end of it, Jill was cackling, and it felt like a live pigeon had flown up her throat. “Damn,” she said, for good measure.
“Seems we’re both sick,” Jill said once she’d finished wheezing. “Do you still think it’s so deadly?”
"Not for me , but you—”
“Hypocrite.”
Lethe’s shoulders slumped. “...fine. We’re not about to die. We’re just miserable and sick.”
“Miserable and sick together .”
“You’re a sap.” But really, that was all Lethe could ask for.