Chapter Ten

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Spare Tyre greeted the dawn with his customary enthusiasm. Paloma grabbed a basket from the kitchen and stumbled from the castle, still half asleep. As she reached the door to the bathing chamber, it swung open to reveal Carmen and Brock. “She’s breathing.” Carmen smiled over red-rimmed eyes. “She swallowed a bit of water, too.”

Brock squeezed her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “We’re going to get a little shuteye,” he told Paloma. “See if you can get Lowell to do the same. He’s been up all night holding Dora in the mud bath and I know he’s worn out.”

“Good luck getting that pig-headed man to take a break,” Carmen muttered. “He’ll just keep on until he keels over from exhaustion.”

Paloma shrugged. “Sounds about right. I’ve got some rolls, fruit and juice here, so at least he can eat something, if that doesn’t break his martyr code of suffering.”

“Good luck, Paloma,” Carmen yawned. “Korbin said he’d be back this morning, too, after he checked some things out in the library.”

Paloma stepped inside the corridor, then turned. “And Father?”

“He spent yesterday settling a troll dispute at the north end of the woods,” Brock replied. “If he went straight to bed when he got back, he may not even know about all this…”

Paloma sighed. “He may not know about all this yet,” she amended. “But there’s no question that he will.” She closed the heavy wooden door behind her and made her way to the bathing chamber.

There, up to his chin in a bubbling pool of warm mud, sat Lowell. He cradled a shrunken form coated in a heavy layer of silt. Paloma was reminded of the apple heads she would make when babysitting young Korbin and Brock while Lowell was off doing some manly thing or other with Father. With her young charges, she’d peeled apples, carved crude features into them, and left them to dry overnight. The next day—presto! There would be shriveled, gruesome brown faces, mummified apple heads. A raspy breath clattered through the parched lips of the person in Lowell’s arms. Paloma shuddered.

“Signs of life, then,” she noted. “That’s good.” She placed the basket on the floor, undressed and entered the tub next to her brother. “Give her to me. You need to stretch, rinse off, go to the bathroom, eat something—” Lowell started to protest, but Paloma cut him off. “Nuh-uh. You’re going to get crankier and crankier, and crazier and crazier, and don’t you want to be all charming and frisky when Dora wakes up?” She eased Dora from Lowell’s embrace, stunned at how bony and fragile the once-curvy woman felt in her arms. “Go on.”

Paloma let Dora’s head fall against her chest and she smiled encouragingly at Lowell. “It’ll be okay,” she promised. “I’ll take care of her.”

Lowell, defeated, rose and walked on stiff legs to the underwater creek. Paloma heard him splash and groan behind her, then dip into the heated pool of Healing Waters. He had to be as puckered as a raisin, but she knew that his body must be craving the magical waters—like the Living Earth, they were essential to his unnaturally vigorous life. Dora’s head was still hairless and her eye sockets and cheekbones showed clearly beneath the thin, damaged skin of her face. Paloma ladled warm mud onto her vulnerable scalp.

Splashes from the water tub behind her told her that Lowell was exiting. A few moments later, he stood, dressed in his filthy kilt and mud-smeared T-shirt. “Have some grapes,” Paloma offered. “There’s apple cider and rolls, too. Do you good.”

Lowell hesitated, then dug into the picnic basket. He chugged a bottle of cider and took a single bite of bread. The chamber was silent as he ate except for the trickle of the creek, the faint bubbling in the tubs and the wheeze of Dora’s breaths.

Paloma lifted one of Dora’s skeletal hands from the mud and started when the bony fingers curled around hers in a shaking grip. “See?” Paloma said excitedly. “She’s going to be okay. The mud is healing her.”

“No, it’s not.” A deep male voice rumbled in the corridor. Lowell gulped as Gavin strode into the room. He looked stern and agitated.

“Father,” Lowell began. “Please don’t be angry. I didn’t have any choice. I wanted her to come to the woods anyway, and I think that perhaps she would have of her own accord, but she was burned horribly in a fire.” His voice shook. “She would have died if I hadn’t brought her here.”

Gavin placed one heavy palm on Lowell’s shoulder. “I’m not angry, son. You thought you were doing the right thing. What I fear, however…” He gazed down at the gasping creature huddled against Paloma’s chest in the pool of mud. “You may have saved her from a death by fire by bringing her to an immortality of pain and suffering. She was not immortal when she received her injuries, so the mud will not restore her to health. It will only keep her from dying.”

Lowell swayed on his feet. “But—” he choked out. “She can’t just…” A ragged breath cawed from Dora’s throat. “She can’t just be like this forever.” Tears began to run down his face into his beard. “What kind of a life would that be?”

Shaking his head, Gavin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and replied in a quiet voice. “Not a life she would have chosen, son.”

Lowell’s head dropped into his hands and he sobbed openly, broad shoulders shaking. “What can I do?” he gasped. “Oh god, what have I done? I promised her I’d never let anything hurt her, Father.”

Gavin’s jaw clenched and he cleared his throat. “Oh, son,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around Lowell and held him as he cried.

Paloma’s throat felt as dry as old bones. She swallowed with effort and looked down at the horribly burnt woman she held. Cradled in the fetal position, Dora was as weak as a kitten. What’s she thinking? Paloma wondered. Does she understand what’s going on? Is she frightened? She felt hot tears sting her eyes. Is she hurting?

“Don’t worry, Dora,” she whispered. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to be okay. I’m not sure how yet.” Paloma raised the goblet of healing water to Dora’s lips and let a few drops trickle into her mouth. “But it will. I promise.”

* * * *

Hours later, Lowell, incoherent with sorrow, finally succumbed to Paloma’s repeated request that he sleep. He had refused to rest in the castle, but had agreed to lie down on a pallet near the mud bath. Paloma watched the huge man, racked by grief and remorse, stretch out. The improvised bed could hardly have been comfortable—just a thin pad on top of the hard stone floor, with a pillow and a blanket to soften it—but his body was depleted by strain. His red-rimmed eyes, fixed on Dora in Paloma’s arms, struggled to stay open, but fatigue won out. Within minutes, he was snoring lightly.

Carmen, bearing a couple of folded blankets, returned to take a shift holding Dora. She was surprised that the Living Earth hadn’t restored her friend yet, and Paloma didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wouldn’t. “It must just take longer to heal someone who is new to being one of the Fair Folk,” Carmen said. “Her injuries were really bad, after all.”

“Mm-hm,” Paloma hummed in reply. “Must be.” She rinsed herself in the creek and took a brief dip into the Healing Waters before drying and dressing herself. Uncorking a bottle of cider from her basket, she leant back against the cavern wall and drank.

“You can go, you know,” Carmen told her. “I’m sure you need some rest yourself.” She inclined her head towards Lowell and grinned slightly. “It does a body good.”

“Oh, thanks, but I think I’ll stay.” Paloma shrugged. “I know Dora’s your friend and all, but I feel rather protective of her. I…” Once more, Paloma felt a queer, painful dryness in her throat and a sharp stinging in her eyes. “I want to see her get better.” A noisy breath rattled from between Dora’s lips.

“You’re funny, you know that?” Carmen shook her head. “All prickles and thorns, but you’ve got a soft heart under there, don’t you?”

Paloma sighed. “Oh, I’m still a bitch, don’t you worry. It’s just that Dora’s a nice person.” She bit her lip. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Well, she’ll get better soon,” Carmen said. “And then she’ll be one of the Fair Folk. Might take some adjusting, but I’m guessing it will all work out beautifully.”

Paloma squeezed her eyes shut to hide the tears that sprang up in them. Thankfully, Carmen’s attention was on Dora and she didn’t see her expression.