WELL, the mage didn't die and nobody's stormed the castle, so I'm guessing I've done passably well. It was easier for Liara to be glib now. Three days of tender ministrations had passed and the wizard was driving her mad once more. Demanding and impulsive, Nagarath was not one readily confined to his bed. He simply didn't know how to sit still.

Liara paused outside his door, making sure to rattle the cups in their saucers as she used her elbow to gently push open the door. She'd come to realize it was better if she gave the mage warning before entering. Twice she'd caught him gingerly pacing his room and found, given the heated words exchanged as a result, that it was far easier if they both believed the lie that he was sitting meekly in bed, awaiting his caregiver's return.

"Good morning, Nagarath."

"Good morning, Liara."

A quick glance about the room told her that perhaps he hadn't been stalking about that morning. He certainly didn't look as though he'd left his bed. Rather, his bed looked as though it had left him. Pillows and blankets lay strewn about the sides and foot.

"I take it we had a rough night?" she teased, swiping pillows from the floor and tossing them at Nagarath.

"Bad dreams." He frowned as if clearing out the memory. "And you?"

"Fair enough." Liara finished her triage of the bedding situation and gestured that he come sit with her by the window where she had laid out a light breakfast. Nagarath rose to join her, waving off her offers of assistance.

"No need for that," he said, sitting heavily. "I'm better than halfway recovered. Nearly there. Tomorrow maybe?"

Liara pursed her lips, suppressing a sigh. He'd said much the same thing the past three mornings. Always a promise of 'tomorrow' and then he'd retire to his bed, requesting all sorts of odd volumes from the library. The man would subsist wholly on books—illness or not—if she didn't keep pestering him with food. Frankly, it was getting ridiculous.

She suspected he liked being coddled. But, enjoying the gentle ebb and flow of her power as the castle's spells drew at her Art, she was content to play housekeeper until the mage felt sufficiently strong again. It felt good to feel useful. Liara found it a welcome distraction from other things.

Nagarath's voice recalled her attention. "We could switch chairs if you'd like."

Being a corner room, Nagarath's windows had command of two different vantage points. The casement the pair sat next to faced a different direction from that of Liara's own room. The other offered the same view as Liara's: a glimpse of Dvigrad's dark stones in the far off distance.

Liara hadn't realized she'd been staring past Nagarath and out at the battlements. Color rising to her cheeks, she ignored the gallant offer and instead focused on her plate, trying to keep the tears from welling up once more and choking her.

Nagarath pressed, in spite of her clear desire that he leave the issue alone. "You are allowed to grieve, Liara."

"I'd rather be strong," she hissed.

She waited in silence to see if he would let the matter drop.

He did.

It was his turn to look longingly in a direction opposite the table. "Liara, would it be possible for you to fetch me some more books this morning? I think I may have come upon the solution we've been seeking with regard to the defense spells."

"Which ones?" she grumbled.

At least he had the sense to not read at the table. Even so, she glanced over to the growing pile at his bedside. What had started out as her generous gesture—a few books to help pass the time, nothing more—had become a full-blown, multi-day research session.

She still felt him too weak, too tired to do anything overly strenuous—and to her, reading was always strenuous. But as Nagarath hadn't actually tried to cast anything, she was willing to go along with his increasingly detailed requests.

One breakfast and ten title requests later, Liara found herself in the hallway with a tray of crumbs and spent books, shaking her head. At least the man had gone back to bed.

~*~

Liara returned with the fresh reading material only to discover the gentle sound of uneven snoring drifting through Nagarath's partly open door. With a fond smile, she pushed it open further, sticking her head inside. Yes, the mage slept.

Tiptoeing through the room, lest she wake the fitful sleeper, Liara carefully placed the books within Nagarath's long-armed reach.

Straightening, she watched the soft rise and fall of the comforter as his quiet but heavy breaths filled the room. Turning to leave, she noted the careful placement of the mage's staff against the headboard of the bed—another promise of protection, even in his grave hour. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have dreamed of leaving such a valuable article unguarded in her presence. Nor would she then have ever dreamed of leaving it untouched, so deep was the call within her. But, as she'd discovered, some things were deeper, more important, than magick.

Memories of Nagarath stirred in Liara's chest; of him falling in the library, of his still form lying crumpled on the stone floor. She crept back towards the door, eager to escape risk of discovery. Her recent realization that she held such affection for the mage was still a surprise to her, and one she was eager to conceal from him, though she wasn't sure why.

A faint murmur arrested her movement. She almost answered, thinking he had awoken and was addressing her. But no. A quick glance confirmed that Nagarath was talking in his sleep.

"Dvigrad . . ."

The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she turned, waiting, straining to hear the rest. A long moment passed, shaking her from her rooted position. What was she waiting for anyway? She'd only just banished thoughts of the town, buried the lump rising in her throat whenever they emerged. The troubled sleeper shifted and she eyed the door, feeling guilty should her presence wake him. More incomprehensible mumbling gave way to a cry.

"I felt the magick. What have you done with the soldiers?" Tossing and turning, Nagarath moaned and grabbed at his covers blindly. "Don't listen to him, Liara. He didn't come for you. I did."

Those words chilled Liara more than the first. She had found Nagarath's behavior unsettling since his return from the shattered town. Normally immune to his paranoia, she'd found his fears insidious, seeping into her thoughts ever since his dramatic reentrance into Parentino following the town's destruction. Sleep-addled thoughts or not, there was something concrete in his words. Magick? Whose magick? I thought you said you'd used your power to burn the bodies, honor the dead.

Conveniently forgetting that her own dreams often spouted incredible nonsense, Liara crept back to the mage's side, her anger building. Who was she not supposed to listen to? Krešimir?

You don't even know him, Nagarath, Liara argued in her head. Krešimir might not have come back for me. But neither would he skulk about some old castle. He'd sooner be dead than invisible and ineffective. Krešimir would act. Liara would act!

But she hadn't. Instead, she'd played caregiver and ran the wizard's spells for him.

A new tone colored her growing anger. Was it her magick he felt? Mayhap his words weren't about Dvigrad at all, but regarding her. Her fingers fairly itched at the thought. Nagarath knew her power and was keeping her here. Trapped by promises to a dead man, Liara would waste away in the castle until Nagarath's fears proved unfounded. And how long would that take?

But the soldiers . . . 'What have you done with the soldiers?'

Liara wished that Nagarath had touched more on this point. Especially as he'd been frustratingly vague about what exactly he'd found in Dvigrad, other than the aftermath of apparent plague. Who was he addressing? Her? Someone in Dvigrad? This last question chilled her beyond the rest. Here were not merely the confused murmurings of a man facing a nightmare. This was grounded in truth. Nagarath was convinced that Parentino was a target for some horrid crusade against wizards. The mage's fears infected Liara's heart.

The thought that she could be hated so much for just being who she was had become increasingly repugnant, of late. She'd lived on both sides now; had found Nagarath to be a decent, honest man. The idea that regiments of soldiers—people she had lived alongside for most of her life—could be creeping through the woods at that very moment to smoke out the 'evil magick users' made Liara want to crawl away and hide in the pages of Nagarath's books.

Fear gripped her, like her terror the day she'd been hauled out to the woods and accused of witchcraft. Smoke from a burning tree, the suffocating heat of her worldly treasures set ablaze. . . . The memories overtook her senses, reigniting her anger.

'I felt the magick.' So had she. Time in the mage's company had afforded Liara the opportunity to realize just what she'd lost when her tree had burned. A personal assault.

What had the mage really found in Dvigrad? And why won't he tell me? Is it because he thinks I am too useless to be of help? Well, she could easily prove him wrong on that account. Already his words had sparked a number of ideas. Magick could be traced. If, in fact, there was any to track.

Nagarath had ceased his thrashing. Pillows lay scattered about the floor. Again. But if she was going to help, it would be via books, not bolsters. She retreated to the library once more.

~*~

Nagarath woke to a selection of thoughtfully stacked books. A glance to the window informed him that it was just past midday.

I slept the morning away, Nagarath reproached himself. He did feel much better, though. Even if the sleep was neither necessarily sound nor restorative.

He noticed that the pillows and blankets had been scattered from the bed again, like some strange bed-linen form of autumn. Liara would be annoyed. Nagarath smiled at the thought of her good-natured scolding, clicking her tongue and putting his topsy-turvy ways to rights. It was good for her to be busy just now, for all that he fiercely envied her for it.

Being confined to his bed was no good for him. He was used to overdoing it. He liked it that way. And in fact, it was more important than ever that he—That I what? Work so hard that I fall and leave Liara unguarded? Half-forgotten images from his unsteady sleep assailed him. Danger flashed, vague but pressing. He must act. Before—Before what, mage? Before you destroy what is left of your mind, your sanity? She could be right, you know.

Remembering Liara's white face peering into his own, the world slowly coming back to him after his fainting spell, Nagarath forcefully subdued his peevishness. But I can at least read. He reached over and picked up the topmost book, wincing as the stack gave a perilous sway.

He was still reading when Liara returned with a midday meal. However, he had moved to the tableside window, dragging his temporary library with him.

"Nagarath." Liara's warning came as a near-growl.

"What? I'm sitting. You let me sit at breakfast." Nagarath's reply came out more irritable than intended, and he scrambled to take a lighter tone as Liara's frown grew dark. "Besides, I slept. I'm feeling better. And I think I might have just hit upon a solution to our problem with the defensive spells."

As he predicted, the word 'our' returned him to Liara's good graces. The girl lit up and sat down at the table.

"Liara." Nagarath looked very seriously, very intently at his ward. "I need you to do me a huge favor."

"Anything."

"I need a bucket of dirt from the garden."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. He nodded sagely, good humor tickling the corners of his mouth. "I'll wait here, of course."

"Of course." Liara left the room, a quick but cool smile flitting across her features.

Now, what was that about? His only aim had been to joke with Liara as they always had.

Dismissing the thought with a shrug, Nagarath closed his eyes, running over the words of the spell in his mind. The idea was to draw the earth's own power and channel it to feed the spells defending Parentino. It had a simple elegance to it, even if it was not the sort of tactic he would normally employ. The earth did not belong to him. But the castle had been built of earth and stone, occupied its own space within the wood. Could he not use the native magicks to aid him in his defense of the area?

Liara returned with a bucket of dirt, her face carefully closed to him.

"Thank you." Nagarath gestured that she place the bucket on the table. That Liara first moved aside his spell book made him chuckle. "Now, don't be alarmed, but you're going to notice a freeing sensation on your power, if this should work."

"And if it doesn't?" Liara's question was lost in the sound of Nagarath calling the spell to life.

"Atsmi'i chazar lekh adamah ma' atsmm laq' mimekh. If'sher na'ash lil'oth shl zanav. If'sher maa'gal mal."

Opening his eyes, Nagarath lifted high the bucket of dirt. Turning to the window, he flung the contents out into the garden.

"Did it work?"

"I forgot there was snow on the ground," Nagarath muttered out the window, ignoring her question once again. Fingering his jaw thoughtfully and sensing Liara's increased annoyance, he turned and asked, "How do you feel?"

Liara thought a moment. Nagarath was aware of the same tension, the stiffness she'd brought with her into the room. "I feel . . . lighter. Like I'm not getting tugged at by some invisible force."

"Me too." Nagarath's grin went unanswered. "I feel—well, I still don't feel fantastic. But I do feel less drained."

He could tell at a glance that Liara didn't feel 'fantastic' either. He wondered why.