The fever returned two days after the fight.
Elena had pushed herself too far- running when she should have been resting, straining muscles that were still knitting back together. The wound in her chest throbbed as if the blade had been driven in anew.
But it wasn't just her body that suffered.
Guabancex mourned.
Her beloved Lion had nearly struck them, and though he hadn't landed the blow, the betrayal was a rift in the divine bond. The goddess's grief tangled with Elena's own, pulling her down into that familiar fevered darkness.
Only the children could lift her spirits. They didn't know what had passed between their parents, not exactly, but they could sense the fracture in the air. Esperanza and Juan came to her side each evening, recounting the drills they learned from Alejandro and Jaime, their confidence blooming under that steady tutelage.
Phineus rarely left her, his quiet devotion matched by Vera's gentle care. Vera loved to braid Elena's hair, warm oil slick between her fingers as she wove curls into crowns and ropes, letting the fragrance of citrus blossom and ylang-ylang fill the room.
Niegal was gone from the cottage entirely.
Shame and rage drove him to the barracks, where the walls were bare and the air was cold. He took the night watches, pacing the gates until his feet blistered. The Lion within prowled endlessly, claws dragging across the edges of his mind. He feared the moment it had slipped free, feared himself more than he ever had.
And Jaime… Jaime began to visit.
He didn't mean to at first. But Coatriskie's voice grew louder in his thoughts, gentle as rain on the surface and relentless beneath. The flood god urged him toward her, toward Guabancex's vessel, toward the woman who, whether she knew it or not, carried the echo of his own lost consort.
Their meetings began in the cathedral gardens, beneath the broad arms of the kapok tree. Elena would bring a small basket, mango bread still warm, or fried plantains dusted with spice, while Jaime brought a flask of rum or jars of guava nectar, sometimes mixing them into cocktails that left her body flushed and her shoulders loose.
They discovered they shared more than circumstance. Both thirty-six, both loathing the bitterness of oranges though they loved other citrus. Both finding unexpected comfort in the old hymns, though the Church had left them with scars. Both agreeing that food tasted better under the stars.
One evening, Jaime pulled a small tin of cigarillos from his pocket.
"Blue lotus flower, chamomile, mana leaf," he said, holding one out. "Good for the aches. Better for the nerves."
Elena grinned for the first time in months. She hadn't had a smoke since before that cursed ritual from the cult. The first inhale was bliss- sweet, herbal smoke uncoiling in her chest until she cried joyful tears that caught the moonlight like pearls.
Jaime's smile was easy, almost boyish. "In the Inquisition, you're supposed to renounce vices. But some nights, you need to inhale something other than air, you know?"
She laughed, smoke curling from her lips. "Yeah. I do."
Across the garden wall, Esperanza and Juan paused on their way back from drills. Sweat darkened their collars, their breathing quick, but both froze at the sight of Elena and Jaime sharing the smoke beneath the kapok tree.
"Isn't that the man she pulled from the river?" Esperanza whispered, pulling Juan behind the wall.
He nodded. "She looks… peaceful."
Esperanza's gaze lingered on her mother's smile, but when she turned back to Juan, she realized how close they were. Her pulse leapt.
"Yeah," she murmured. "She… needs it."
Juan cleared his throat, breaking the moment. Elena's laughter drifted over the wall and made him smile. "Come on. Let's head back."
They slipped away toward the cottage.
Niegal, patrolling near the outer fields, saw them too.
The sight of Elena and Jaime together lit a red flare in his vision. El León Negro surged forward, eyes burning sickly crimson, every muscle ready to strike.
But Niegal froze. Forced the beast to stand down. His fists trembled, nails cutting into his palms, and without another glance he turned away, walking hard toward the Behike's hut.
Something was wrong.
The Lion was rotting him from the inside, whispering with hunger and old jealousy.
And still, the god's voice pressed in his ear, urging him to turn back, to confront her, to reclaim her before she slipped beyond his reach.
Niegal walked faster.