Together, they worked to cool him. Cloth after cloth. Water against his skin. Whispered curses from Tabitha whenever the fever surged beneath her palm. Henry slipped in and out of consciousness, sometimes muttering words too broken to understand, sometimes going still enough that Livia's heart stopped until his chest rose again.
Then a loud knock struck the front door. Both women jumped.
"I will see who it is," Livia said, forcing herself upright. "You keep him cool."
"My lady," Tabitha warned, "be careful."
Livia nodded. She took the nearest candlestick as if it were a weapon, if the assassin stood outside, she doubted brass would be a formidable defence. Still, a woman had to work with what she had. She slipped from the room.
Tabitha turned back to Henry, pressing a fresh cloth to his neck. Suddenly, Henry's hand clamped around her wrist.
