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MistressKendall lives here with her son, Gillis. Kendall’s husband died two years ago, but she and Gillis haven’t shown any sign of the fever since, and they were two people I’ve felt we were helping. Gillis is thirteen, and he works as a runner for the forge closest to here. He’s a hard worker, and he often whispers that he wants to join me and Wes once he’s old enough. We haven’t seen him in a week because his mother said he’s been making early morning runs for supplies—but it means he’s been missing the doses we bring.

Wes taps at the door lightly, and for a moment, we hear only silence. Then a fractured sob from inside.

Wes’s eyes meet mine. I swallow.

He closes his fingers around the latch and eases the door open. Kendall is kneeling on the floor in the dark, a body wrapped up in blankets by her knees. She snaps her head up with a gasp.

Gillis. I suck in a breath, too. Wes puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head, and I’m not sure if it’s at me or her. Probably both.

“Tessa,” Mistress Kendall cries out anyway, half yelp, half sob. “Wes. He’s dying.”

Dying.

Not dead. Yet.

I stride forward and drop to a knee beside her. Gillis’s eyes are closed, and his dark hair is matted with sweat. That’s usually a good sign, meaning the fever has broken, but I think it has more to do with the blankets she’s got wrapped around him. I’m surprised we didn’t hear his breathing from the door. The death rattle in his chest is clear.

My own chest tightens. “Can you sit him up?” I whisper. “We brought medicine.”

Butwe’ll be too late. I can see we’ll be too late. He’s not even conscious. There’s no way he can drink a dose—and little chance it’ll do any good at this point.

Kendall nods hurriedly, and Wes meets my eyes. His expression is resigned, but he gets an arm under the boy’s shoulders to help. Gillis’s small body flops lifelessly, his head lolling against Wes’s shoulder. I fish one of the vials out of my pack and pull the cork free. My fingers are trembling.

“Gillis,” says Wes, and his voice is very low, very soft. “Gillis, open your eyes.”

We all hold our breath. Hoping. Praying. Waiting.

In the beginning, when the fever began to steal lives, many people believed that it spread through close contact, especially since it seemed to affect those in the Wilds before striking the elites in the Royal Sector. The gates to the Royal Sector were kept locked for weeks. But my father kept records of those who grew ill, and as cases began to appear at random, even among those who closed themselves away, it quickly became apparent that the fevers had nothing to do with close contact. I’ve kept up my father’s books, and there’s no pattern to it. The illness might take one life—or a dozen.

It might leave an entire family unscathed—or it might leave a half-dozen bodies waiting for the next funeral pyre.

A sob breaks free from Mistress Kendall’s chest again. Just when I’ve begun to give up hope, Gillis coughs hard, then blinks. “Ma?” he croaks.

Kendall gasps. “Gillis! Oh, Gillis!” She presses her hands to his cheeks. He blinks again slowly.

“Shh,” says Wes. “The night patrol will hear. Tessa?”

Itake a deep breath for the first time since we came through the doorway. “Here.” I hold out the vial. “Gillis, you have to drink.”

He coughs wetly. “Yes, Miss Tessa.”

While Wes helps him drink, I dig through my pack hurriedly, pushing the vials of elixir aside, looking for my bottle of morningwood oil. A few drops will help rouse a drunk or someone with a head injury, but I’ve learned that it will also help the Moonflower elixir work more quickly.

Mistress Kendall is kissing his forehead, his cheek, her breath shaking, her hands fluttering. “Oh, Gillis,” she whispers against his temple.

His hand lifts weakly to touch her cheek, but I pull the dropper of morningwood free. “This too,” I whisper.

His dry lips part, and I tap three droplets into his mouth. His throat works as he swallows.

“There,” says Wes. He finds Gillis’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’ll be slipping through the shadows with us in no time.”

Gillis blinks, but then a slow smile finds his mouth. “Promise.”

“I promise.”

Mistress Kendall presses a kiss to his cheek again, murmuring nonsense, but the love in her tone is pure and clear. I put a hand on her shoulder. She looks at me, tears gathering in her eyes.

Gillis coughs, hard, then tries to inhale, but the muscles of his neck stand out as he fights for air. His fingers dig into Wes’s arm.