J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [412]
Cormia put the hood of her robe up. “Are the others—”
“Our sisters are at meal. They are all at the meal. There is no one who will see you.”
Cormia hurried out of the sequestered temple, but was blinded by the brilliant light of the Sanctuary. She took Layla’s hand until her eyes adjusted, and the two of them raced for the Primale’s temple.
Cormia slipped in through the golden door and swept aside the drapery.
The Primale was lying on the bed with nothing but the silken bottoms of his Sanctuary dress on him. His skin had an unhealthy glow to it and a sheen of sweat. Racked with the shakes, his big body seemed horridly frail.
“Cormia?” he said, reaching out with a palsied hand.
She went over to him, shucking her hood. “I’m here.” He strained at the sound of her voice, but then she touched his fingertips and he calmed.
Good God, he was on fire.
“What’s wrong?” she said, sitting by him.
“I th-th-th-think th-this is d-detox.”
“Detox?”
“N-n-no . . . d-drugs . . . n-n-nnno mo-mo . . . d-d-d-drugsss . . .”
She could barely make out what he was saying, but knew on some level the last thing she should do was offer to get him any of the hand-rolled he’d always smoked.
“Is there anything I can do to ease you?” When he began to lick his dry lips, she said, “Would you like some water?”
“I shall get it,” Layla said, heading for the bath.
“Thank you, my sister.” Cormia looked over her shoulder. “Bring cloths as well?”
“Yes.”
As Layla disappeared behind a curtain across the way, Phury closed his eyes and started turning his head back and forth on the pillow, his speech abruptly evening out. “The garden . . . the garden is full of weeds . . .oh, God, the ivy . . . it’s everywhere . . . the statues are covered in it.”
When Layla returned with a pitcher and a bowl and some white cloths, Cormia said to her, “Thank you. Now please leave us, my sister.”
She had a feeling things were going to get much worse, and that Phury wouldn’t want to be seen by others in his delusional state.
Layla bowed. “What shall I speak unto the Chosen when I appear at the meal?”
“Tell them that he is resting after your mating, and that he has requested time to himself. I shall care for him.”
“When shall I return?”
“Does the sleep cycle begin soon?”
“Following Thideh prayers.”
“Right. Come back after all are settled. If this persists . . . I’ll need to go over to the far side and fetch Doc Jane, and you’ll have to stay with him.”
“Fetch who?”
“A healer. Go. Now. Extol the virtues of his body and your station. Be loud about it.” Cormia smoothed Phury’s hair back. “The louder you are, the better for him.”
“As you wish. And I shall return.”
Cormia waited until her sister left, then tried to give him something to drink. He was too out of it to take water, though, unable to focus on what she held to his lips. Giving up, she wetted a cloth and pressed it to his face.
Phury’s feverish eyes flipped open and clung to her while she blotted his forehead. “The garden . . . is full of weeds,” he said urgently. “Full of weeds.”
“Shhh . . .” She dipped the cloth in the bowl again, getting it cool for him. “It’s all right.”
On a desperate breath, he moaned, “No, it’s covered them all up. The statues . . . they’re gone . . . I’m gone.”
The terror in that yellow stare made her blood run cold. He was hallucinating, clearly out of his mind, but whatever he was seeing was very real to him—he was getting more agitated by the second, his body twisting and turning in the white sheets.
“The ivy . . . oh, God, the ivy is coming for me . . . it’s all over my skin—”
“Shh . . .” Maybe she couldn’t handle this on her own. Maybe . . . Except if his mind was the problem, then— “Phury, listen to me.If there is ivy overgrowing things, then we shall clean it up.”
His thrashing slowed, his eyes focusing a little. “We . . . will?”
She thought of the landscapers she’d watched on the far side. “Yes. We are going to get rid of it.”
“No . . . we