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A black dot in her vision rushed toward her, the sensation making her feel sick. She lost her balance—or perhaps she already had, because there was Ollie somewhere beyond, calling out to her. The black dot widened, until she could see it wasn’t a dot at all, but a keyhole. She peered inside at her mother and Jessamine bent over a bed. Someone was in it, but she couldn’t see who. When she blinked, they were gone, and in their place was the hollow sound and stabbing pain of one of her headaches.

“No. No,” she mumbled, her stomach rolling with nausea.

“Tarley? Please. Talk to me.”

She realized she was in Ollie’s arms near the fire.

“I’m here,” he said. “What’s happening?”

“A headache,” she whispered with her eyes tightly shut. “I need the tea. The herb I gave you–”

“Which one?”

“Wallash.” She swallowed, and knew she was going to be sick. “With the purple…I need–” But the nausea took over. She rolled her head away from Ollie, gagging and spitting up bile, but there was nothing in her belly to eliminate.

“Fuck, Tarley. What can I do?”

It sounded like yelling.

“Sleep. Quiet,” she whispered.

Suddenly, her body was floating. “Your ribs–”

“Hush. Don’t worry about my ribs.”

But his grunt told her she should worry, only she struggled to piece together why she was supposed to worry. “I’ve got you.”

Ollie laid her in the tent.

“The tea–”

She curled into a ball and prayed the balm of sleep would come for her. Sometime between the strike of the powerful headache and Ollie forcing the bitter tea into her, she slept. By the time night fell, the tea had begun to work, and she opened her eyes. The remnant of the headache lingered, making her mind sluggish.

Her wet tunic was gone, and she was covered with a dry blanket, with her head in Ollie’s lap. His hands were in her hair, his fingers brushing the strands with soft, gentle strokes. She turned her head and looked up at him, wincing at the residual pain as her mind caught up with her senses.

His gaze met hers, worried. “What can I do?” he asked.

“You’ve done it,” she answered and allowed herself to accept his nurturing. For this moment, at least. She shut her eyes and just existed, imagining this could be more, even as she knew it couldn’t. Awareness gradually dawned that she’d been completely helpless, and Ollie had stepped up once again.

“You kept your promise,” she said.

“What do you mean?” His voice was light, like his touch in her hair.

She wasn’t sure how to explain it. Had she been with Gan when a headache hit, she knew a man like that wouldn’t have been taking care of her this way. She’d have been in danger.

She turned her head and studied Ollie. His head tilted down as he watched her, his usually smiling mouth serious, and usually smiling eyes tight with worry.

“I’m sorry–”

“Tarley. Don’t–”

“You didn’t have to–”

“Of course I did. You nearly fell in the fire.” He stopped, his fingertips pressed against her scalp, and took a deep breath. “When you went down–” He cleared his throat.

She frowned against his chest as the vision she’d had returned. Jessamine and her mother in a room attending to someone. She’d had many headaches, but they weren’t usually accompanied by images. Lights, sounds, smells—yes. This had been one of her worst. “Thank you. For helping me.”

“Thank you isn’t necessary. You fucking saved my life,” he said, his voice deep and resonant with her ear pressed against his chest. “It’s the least I can do.”