SOPHIA

I was only able to eat a few bites of the chicken soup. It was delicious, but my stomach curdled. I felt like I would throw up if I continued to eat.

"I’m tired," I said.

"Let me get some cool cloths for your head," said Tilda. "It should help relieve some of your discomfort."

Tilda smiled and patted my shoulder, then left. Nathan took my hands into his and squeezed. "What else can I do to make you feel better?"

"Just stay with me," I said. "At least until I fall asleep."

Hune burst into the room. A falcon was clamped on his arm. "Your Grace! We heard from Dunnie. The Scanderoon agreed to come see us."

"Excellent," said Nathan. He stroked the bird’s head with two fingers. "Give something to Peril to eat and let him find a place to rest." Nathan patted one of his wings. "You’re a good bird, Peril."

Peril preened and squawked, as though he understand the praise Nathan was giving him. Hune’s gaze moved to me, and he asked, "Miss Sophia, are you feeling better?"

"Not really," I murmured. "I’m sorry to trouble you."

"Nonsense," said Hune.

"Hune, take Peril and go. Find a place to sleep."

"Accommodations are scarce, sir. I’ll do my best."

"Just worry about yourself, Hune. I will squeeze in with Sophia."

"I don’t think so, Hunky," said Tilda as she returned with a bowl of cold water and strips of cloth. "That’s my bed. I’m sleeping in it. You can find somewhere else to spend the night."

"I won’t leave Sophia," stated Nathan. "I’ll pay you whatever you want for the bed, your house, this whole town. But I’m sleeping next to my wife."

"Who’s your wife?" I muttered.

"Wow. You’ve got it bad, Hunky Hunkerson." Tilda sighed. "Stay with her. I’ll make do in the sewing room."

"Thank you," said Nathan. "I’ll compensate you for the trouble."

"Oh, you will. I’ve been working on an entire new wardrobe for your wife. There’ll be plenty to pay for, believe me."

Tilda left, and Nathan took the strips and soaked them in the bowl. He put one across my forehead and another across my neck. Then he wiped both my hands.

"Don’t worry, butterfly. You’ll be okay."

"Tired," I said. "Sleep."

Nathan kissed my forehead. "Rest well, Sophia. I’ll be here when you wake up. I will always take care of you."

***|***|***

NATHAN

The Scanderoon arrived the next morning. As usual, he was dressed flamboyantly. A dark pink suit with bright blue boots and a pink top hat. He also wore the pink-lensed sunglasses I’d never seen him without. He wore a cravat with pink diamond pin as well as a silver pinky ring and several bracelets on both wrists. He also carried a pink cane with a black crystal skull on its top.

"How did you get here so fast?" I asked as he stepped inside Tilda’s shop.

"I have my ways. It seems not that long ago we made a bargain, Your Grace. And you already have need of my services again?" He looked around the shop. "Interesting styles. Not ones I’ve seen before in this particular place."

"Velvetleaf?"

"The Northern Realm," he clarified. He touched the sheer fabric on one of the display dresses and contemplated it for much longer than I thought necessary. "These are dresses from another place entirely."

"How do you know?" Tilda came into the shop holding a cup of coffee. "Who are you?"

Scanderoon made an impressive bow to Tilda, who looked at him in amusement. "I’m the Scanderoon. At your service, dear lady."

"What kind of service?"

He smiled. "This and that. I could easily find a well-paying market for your lovely frocks. I’m curious where you get your inspiration."

"My brain. I don’t need help, thanks. I get by fine," said Tilda. "Don’t worry about me."

"I don’t worry about anything." He turned to me, leaning on his cane. "What do you need, Your Grace? Mr. Dune was quit insistent that I visit you post haste."

I led him into the bedroom where Sophia still lay sleeping.

"What a lovely flower," he said as he studied her. "Your lady, I presume?"

"Correct. So stop looking at her like she a piece of cake."

The Scanderoon laughed. "I do not covet, Duke Stonehart. Greed makes people stupid and untrustworthy." He moved closer to the bed. "She’s quite ill, isn’t she?"

"There was a fire last night at the inn where we were staying. She didn’t get burned, thank the gods. But she breathed in too much smoke. The doctor says there’s nothing we can do but wait for her body to heal itself. But it’s likely she has an infection."

"I see." He moved away from the bed. "I don’t have any more nanobyte medicine. I might in the future, but not soon enough to help your lady."

"What can you do?"

"Depends on what you’re willing to pay."

Tilda popped into the room, her gaze riveted on the Scanderoon. "Nanobyte medicine? You know about nanobytes?"

"I know about a lot of things. How do you know about nanobytes?"

"It’s still a developing technology where I’m from."

One eyebrow lifted. "Where are you from?"

Tilda shrugged. "I don’t suppose you have any antibiotics? Or fever patches?" She paused. "Do you have electrolyte drinks?"

"You seem to know a lot about the outer realms," he said. "You’ve traveled from somewhere into this fantasy romance, haven’t you?"

Tilda’s eyes went wide. Then she looked away and schooled her expression. "Never you mind, Scanderdilly. What can you do to help my friend?"

"I have antibiotics," he said. "But it might not be enough. There’s also a healing powder I’ve procured, which will heal just about anything except death."

"I’ve never heard of antibiotics," I said. "What are they?"

"Pills designed to help people who have internal injuries to heal faster." He tapped the cane on the floor. "I also have ibuprofen. It will help with the swelling and pain."

"How much for some ibuprofen?" asked Tilda. "I would kill for that and a Diet Coke."

"I’ll discuss your needs after we get the Duke squared away," said the Scanderoon. "Your Grace, you know I don’t make bargains for money."

"What do you want in exchange?"