Serenica's first instinct was to bang on the door.
She did so, violently, with all the rage of a caged animal.
"Let me the HELL OUT!" she roared.
"Um…"
The pale prince stirred from his feverish slumber.
"We are not letting you out so that you can be a damn hero and try to drown yourself!" Spade yelled at her through the door.
"Uh…this is just a regular subtropical fever," the Dreamer said with strange meekness in his voice that made the healer think he had to be right, at least on some level.
She had seen how he acted when he was crippled, she had not seen how he acted while suffering from a regular old fever. It could well be that they had caught a bad case of a contagious illness.
There was no reason to blame everything on witchcraft.
Serenica felt her own forehead with two fingers.
"My gods, you must be right," she said. "I don't feel too good, either."
