"Blegh. That's vile."

  Rocher wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He set the vial I'd given him down on the table with a decisive cck.

  I didn't look up from my notes. "As long as you're able to keep it down."

  He chased the taste with a swig of warm water, then sighed in relief.

  "So," he said, his voice still rough, "what happens now?"

  "Now, it should cull the fungal overgrowth," I said. "Reduce it to normal levels within the day."

  He frowned. "Reduce?"

  I gnced up. He was still standing there, shoulders squared, attention fixed on me with that particur intensity he got when something did not conform to his expectations.

  "Not eliminate?"

  I nodded. "The fungus by itself isn't a problem."

  That made him pause.

  "It's opportunistic, yes, but under normal conditions it's mostly harmless. It lives in bance with a lot of subterranean ecosystems. Even people, sometimes. What pushed it into overdrive was the demonic miasma. That was the accelerant."

  He absorbed that in silence.

  "Once Seraphine's orb burned off the miasma," I continued, "the fungus lost its fuel source. That's why you were able to think again. But it didn't vanish. It just... calmed down."

  "Like dousing a fire without ripping out the hearth," he said.

  "Exactly," I replied. "This just helps it settle back into something resembling equilibrium."

  He nodded once. Then his gaze drifted to the vial in my hand.

  "You finished yours already?"

  "I did."

  "I didn't see you make a face."

  I hesitated for half a beat too long.

  "Oh," I said, a little too brightly. "I may have forgotten to add the sweetener to yours."

  His eyebrows lifted. "Forgot."

  "Look, it's been a long day."

  I turned away, disinviting him from further interrogation.

  Maybe I had been mildly annoyed. Maybe some petty, vindictive part of me had thought he could stand to suffer a little, after firing the orb at me when I was at my most vulnerable. After bringing me to the edge, just to rip it away.

  It wasn't fair. I realized that. He was trying to anchor me, the only way he knew how. I just hoped it wouldn't end in some deeply inconvenient paraphilia.

  His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something more.

  Pain beat him to it.

  The headache hit me without warning, sharp and bright behind my eyes, like someone had flicked a switch and rerouted all sensation straight through my skull. I hissed under my breath and reached for the edge of the table on instinct.

  Before I could even register the movement, Rocher was there.

  A hand at my elbow. Another already lifting the kettle.

  "Sit," he said.

  "I don't need—"

  "Cire."

  I sat.

  He poured warm water into a cup, careful not to spill, then pressed it into my hands. The heat was grounding. The weight of it helped.

  I drank. Slowly. The pain ebbed from a spike to a dull throb, still present but no longer screaming.

  "Thank you," I said, a little embarrassed by the concern.

  He nodded, eyes still on me, like he was gauging whether I was about to tip over again.

  "When are the others getting back?" I asked, changing the subject.

  He tilted his head. "I'm not sure..."

  Evelyn, Lumiere, and Seraphine had gone out to collect the quarantined padins, armed with Evelyn's map and my annotations on it. I'd given them a bundle of my fast-acting sedative, in case any of them got rowdy.

  Seraphine had taken her orb back from Rocher as a st resort. I hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

  If possible, I wanted them returned here in one piece, where I could properly treat them.

  "It's going to be some time," he said.

  I grimaced. "It took both Evelyn and Lumiere in concert to move me when I was unconscious. With just the three of them, they're going to have to make multiple trips if anyone resists."

  He leaned back against the wall, arms folding loosely across his chest.

  I looked up at him. "Why didn't you go with them? With your strength, you could have saved them a few hours."

  He didn't meet my eyes. He just stared at a corner of the room.

  "I didn't feel right leaving you alone," he said finally. "After what I did."

  His mouth drew tight.

  "I wanted to take responsibility. Not just for what happened today, but before as well."

  "You weren't in your right mind," I said quietly.

  "Of course," he huffed bitterly. "But still, that means some part of me, when it came down to it—"

  "You realize what you're saying goes for me, too?"

  He froze.

  I stared at him. "The way I was in there. Desperate and cock-crazed. Is that what you think of me? Deep down?"

  He swallowed. "No, I—"

  "We are who we try to be every day, Rocher. Not just our unconscious selves."

  He looked at me for a moment, reading the earnestness in my expression. Something like realization crossed his face.

  "I understand," he said slowly.

  He turned his gaze toward his feet, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

  "And besides, I don't think of you that way at all." Then quieter, under his breath, "I think you're cute."

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing," he said quickly.

  I nodded once, letting it go.

  The party felt... thinner now. Not in numbers, but in cohesion. Fractured in pces that would not knit easily back together.

  Seraphine I could tell was avoiding me. I intended to have words with her about that. And about the rather significant breach of confidence she had committed without so much as a warning.

  But the one I was really concerned about was Lumiere.

  She'd checked on me. Only once.

  She had stood just inside the doorway, staff in hand, eyes searching my face for signs of lucidity. When she found them, she inclined her head, murmured something polite, and left.

  Not her usual comfort. Only the courtesy she reserved for her flock.

  I had wanted to go after her, but Rocher and the force of an ear-splitting headache held me back.

  I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  The dey had been costly. We had used nearly half our allotted time dealing with the infection alone. And we had not even spoken to the Mountain Guardian yet.

  That was not acceptable.

  "Tomorrow," I said suddenly.

  Rocher looked up. "Tomorrow?"

  "We go to the Forge," I said. "Regardless of readiness. Regardless of comfort. We cannot afford another day of drift."

  His expression tightened. "You're still in the middle of recovering."

  "So are you," I countered. "So is everyone else. That doesn't change the math."

  I straightened, ignoring the faint pressure building behind my eyes again. "We're still yet to speak with the Guardian. Everything hinges on that conversation. The longer we wait, the worse our position becomes."

  He studied me for a long moment.

  "You're sure?" he said.

  "I am," I replied.

  Another pulse of pain fred, less violent than the first but more insistent, like a warning rather than a punishment.

  I exhaled slowly and reached for the water again.

  It wasn't going to be easy.

  But it had to happen.