The inevitable result of the hours she kept and the food she ate - or didn't, as the case had been - and topped off with the stress of a furiously angry argument, Zoya had finally collapsed with a fever. Kevil and Darin dragged her to the next town mainly by strength of will, then checked the three of them into an inn.

Darin, who had not slept for two nights running, collapsed immediately into his bed. Kevil went to the town's small temple to fetch the priestess, a sweet-faced woman who came instantly when Kevil described Zoya's condition. She clucked her tongue over Zoya, and insisted on moving her to the temple.

Zoya felt lighter than air and hotter than fire as he carried her into the temple's infirmary. He laid her gently on the cot the priestess indicated, then hovered nearby while she examined her. He tried to remain calm, but Aylin's features insisted on superimposing themselves over Zoya's. Just like this had Aylin tossed in fever-induced dream...

"Sir Bard," the priestess interrupted his torturous thoughts, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "Do not worry for your friend. Exhaustion adds to the fever, but I believe her life will be spared."

She glanced over her shoulder at where Zoya lay. "However," she said firmly, "She will need at least two weeks of rest before she is ready to travel again, or I cannot promise the fever will not return."

Kevil could not tear his eyes from Zoya. She would live, he thought, relief flooding him. He nodded absently to the priestess, then knelt by Zoya's side and took her hand. "You will be well, n'shava," he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered and opened. "Kevil?" she croaked, and he nearly cheered with joy - three days had passed since she had recognized him or Darin.

"Yes, Zoya," he said quietly, squeezing her hand gently.

She frowned at him with confusion. "Where...?"

"Hush, n'shava." He smoothed the hair from her forehead with tender care. "At a temple of Ydriel, just a few days' travel south of Nevall. You fell ill - do you remember? Three days ago. The priestess says it will take you a couple of weeks to heal."

She shook her head stubbornly. "Can't... wait that long," she gasped.

"It is the priestess you will have to convince. Just... Rest for now. Get better. Darin and I will visit as often as we can."

Zoya frowned and tried to sit up. "No. Must..." She stopped as she realized she was shaking with that little effort, and fell back against the pillow, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. "Two whole weeks?"

"Perhaps even longer, Lady Mage," the priestess interjected, coming up behind Kevil, "although I will pray for a speedy recovery."

Zoya fixed her eyes on the priestess, opening her mouth to protest again, and then quite suddenly fell asleep again. Kevil looked at the priestess in alarm, but she was calm. "It is only the exhaustion," she told him. "She will be like this for some while, but it is nothing to be alarmed about now that she is under my care."

The priestess took Kevil's elbow and led him back toward the temple door. "Go back to the inn and get some sleep, Sir Bard," she ordered. "You're on the verge of collapse yourself. She'll still be here on the morrow."

Kevil wanted to protest, but subsided after one look at the firm set of the priestess' mouth. "Yes, Lady Priestess." He allowed her to point him back in the direction of the inn, and after a final glance back at Zoya's sleeping form, left.

An unexpected holiday, he thought tiredly. There was no denying that he and Darin could both use the break. Three months of constant movement, little rest and inadequate meals had weakened all three of them. Kevil's elegantly tailored clothing hung on his frame like rags, the sharp bones in Darin's face made him want to weep, and Zoya... Yes, he thought again, mounting the inn's narrow stairway, we could use a holiday.

He should sleep, he knew, but... his step dragged as he passed Darin's room, and he found his hand on the door latch. Surely it could not hurt, just to look in...?

Darin had fallen asleep without removing so much as a boot. Kevil couldn't resist a tender chuckle, and he slipped into the room, quietly shutting the door. He carefully unlaced Darin's boots and set them on the floor. He then slipped the cloak from Darin's shoulders and hung it by the fire to dry. Kevil looked down at his lover, trying to ignore the surge of lust he felt.

Tired, he thought, wincing inwardly at the dark circles under Darin's eyes. We are both too tired for bed games. Just one kiss, and then I will go back to my room. He leaned over and carefully kissed Darin's cheek.

Darin shifted, and before Kevil could move Darin's arm had caught him around the waist. "Hello," he whispered sleepily.

Kevil smiled and kissed him again. "Hello, n'shava," he said quietly. "I did not mean to wake you. I just wanted to check on you before I went-"

"Zoya?"

"At Ydriel's temple. The priestess tells me all will be well."

"Good," Darin murmured, relaxing somewhat with relief. His arm tightened then, drawing Kevil closer. "Come to bed," he whispered.

"N'shava, you need sleep."

"I sleep better with your arms around me," Darin wheedled. "It's not even illegal here, like it was in Nevall. Please, Kev?"

Kevil could not resist smiling. "You know I cannot resist you." He touched Darin's cheek with one hand. "At least take off your vest and belt so you can rest more comfortably."

Darin stretched luxuriously and sat up to groggily pull off his clothes. He did not stop at vest and belt, but stripped down to the skin and climbed under the bed's thick quilt. "Come on," he said. "Now I need to be warmed."

Kevil laughed softly and stripped away his own clothing before climbing under the quilt with his beloved. Darin put his head on Kevil's arm and leaned against him, his back to Kevil's chest. He made a quiet sound of contentment as Kevil's arms wrapped around him. "Much better," he murmured sleepily.

Catlike, Kevil rubbed his face against Darin's soft hair. "N'shavalin," he whispered softly, then kissed the back of Darin's neck before giving in to slumber, himself.

The first days, Zoya argued little - although Ydriel's healing eased the fever in her blood, it could do little to replenish reserves long since run dry. She would drop into sleep in the midst of a sentence and awaken hours later. Usually indifferent to food, she found herself ravenously hungry, eating almost constantly during the short periods she was awake.

As her physical strength began to return, however, her mind chafed at the priestess' restrictions. The use of her magical craft was forbidden. Kevil and Darin were allowed to visit no more than one hour each day, and at that under the strictest commands to avoid any mention of their quest or anything else any more mentally taxing than the weather. The rest of the day, Zoya was permitted to walk no further than the temple's meditative courtyard, and even that under supervision.

It was against these restrictions that she fought most vehemently. She had demanded. She had pled. She had cajoled, cursed, shouted, and wailed. Though it all, Ydriel's priestess had remained as immoveable as granite: If the Lady Mage did not rest, body and mind, she explained patiently, time and again, then she risked permanent damage to both.

Zoya continued to fret, but the priestess merely nodded placidly. After a week of fruitless insistence that she was now well - some ten days after Kevil had laid her on the sickroom's narrow cot - she gave up. She sat, staring at the blank wall, waiting. Patience and waiting had been among her earliest lessons.

Without her irritation to occupy her, she fell after some few hours into a near-meditative state. Although she never quite reached a true trance, her mind fell quiet, pausing, waiting for her to supply direction and motivation.

A soft knock on the door's frame jolted her to full consciousness, and she felt a brief flare of irritation at the interruption. The curtain was pushed aside to admit the priestess, closely followed by Darin and Kevil. "I just got comfortable," she snapped peevishly.

The priestess smiled and placed a tray of hot stew and bread on Zoya's table. "On the contrary, Lady Mage," she said, "your friends have been waiting for more than two hours for you." She offered Zoya a somewhat wider smile. "I would not interrupt such excellent progress as you seemed to be making."

Startled, Zoya glanced up at the window - the sun's angle indicated at least four hours had passed since she last noted it. Ydriel's priestess turned her face toward the light, touching her lightly at throat and temple as she clinically checked her vital signs. "Have a nice visit," she said softly. "Don't forget to eat, Lady Mage." She turned her warm smile briefly on Kevil and Darin, then pulled the curtain shut behind her as she left.

Darin sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "You're looking much better today, Zoyischa," he offered.

Almost, she responded with a snappish demand to leave, but forced herself to stop and consider. "I... feel better," she finally admitted, looking down at her hands. But not well, she thought. Like a muscle overworked to the point of numbness and then improperly warmed down, her mind felt weak and sore and torn. It would be some time, she realized, before the abuse healed.

"We are glad to hear that," Kevil said, leaning against the wall. His black eyes watched her almost warily,