Broken by the Horde King (Horde Kings of Dakkar #4) - Zoey Draven Page 0,143

she whispered once she calmed slightly. “I shouldn’t have done that. The wild lands are so dangerous now. I thought…I thought you would get hurt or attacked and I couldn’t sleep. I just—”

“It’s all right, Laru,” I murmured. “I’m glad you sent me the message. You did the right thing.”

She blew out a short breath, lifting her watery gaze to mine.

“I need to see him,” I said.

She nodded and we pulled away. Taking a deep breath, I followed her towards the room our father had once shared with Lomma. She pushed open the door—the one that had always creaked loudly—and there he was. Sleeping. In the middle of his bed, the furs piled around him.

His breaths were shallow, however, and his face was pale. Sweat ran down his forehead, rolling onto the furs underneath. The whole room smelled of sweat and the acrid stink of infection.

I blew out a breath, dropping the satchel I didn’t remember carrying from my pyroki at the door. I went to his side, kneeling beside the bed.

Tears wavered in my vision, blurring him, but I blinked them away quickly. I needed to be strong for him. I knew that I needed to be focused in order to best attend to him.

I felt guilt and sorrow now because in the weeks prior to this, I’d been angry at him. Angry that he’d kept Kiran from saying goodbye, and lying to me about it, and denying me the closure I had desperately needed at the time.

All of that seemed silly now. None of it mattered. All that mattered was that I did my best—and I would do anything I could—to see him healed.

I lifted the furs covering him. Underneath, his chest was bare and a large slash that ran nearly the entire length of his torso was visible, covered in a light bandage soaked with green uudun. Black veins ran out from the infected, weeping, pus-filled wound.

I swallowed, my stomach sinking.

Lomma, I whispered quietly in my head, please give him strength. We still need him here. We are not ready to say goodbye.

I cleared my throat, taking Pattar’s hand, turning his palm over in mine. He roused at my touch, his eyes flickering underneath his lids.

A breathless moment later, his eyes slitted open. His gaze was bleary and glassy. His face scrunched in pain and I knew he needed more begalia. I wondered how long it’d been since the mokkira last tended to him.

“Pattar,” I whispered.

His brow furrowed. In a weakened, quiet, raspy voice, he asked, “Maeva?”

“Lysi,” I whispered, giving him a soft smile. “I’m here.”

A rough sound emerged from his chest. He shook his head, though even that took effort.

“You’re home,” he whispered. True to himself, he commented softly, “I must truly be dying if Laru sent for you.”

He was trying to be amusing but his attempted, pained joke fell flat. Laru made a squeaking sound in the threshold of the doorway, no doubt trying to muffle a sudden sob.

“Oh, rei kassiri,” my father murmured, his gaze going to Laru, his brows drawing down deeper, pained. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll see you well, Pattar,” I breathed, squeezing his hand gently.

His gaze flashed to mine, flickering between my eyes that looked nothing like his own.

“I swear it to Kakkari.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Three days.

It took three more days for my father’s fever to finally break and when it did, I went outside to a private, icy corner of the saruk—though it was in the dead of night—and cried with relief until my throat was raw.

Three days and nights of little sleep. Of constant wound cleaning and fur washing so he didn’t have to lie in a puddle of his own sweat and grime. Of trying to keep my pattar’s fever down with ice I collected from outside, though he thrashed in the bed and claimed it felt like fire was crawling over his flesh.

Three mornings and nights of nausea that racked his body until he was weak and gasping. Of increased pain because I didn’t want him to be dependent on the begalia—which was known to be addictive—and his foul mood because of it.

Laru helped me as much as I would let her. But I could see why she’d been so exhausted and overwhelmed. And she’d had to shoulder this responsibility alone.

And as my father slept during those three days and three nights, as I cleaned the furs and kept the soliki tidy and aired out, as I waited, whenever I was alone with my thoughts and had time to think about