The Warlock stirred from his fevered sleep, and Delph quickly pulled Hen from the bedroom. If he was going to disclose his plan in full, it was best that the Warlock did not hear him. 

"My intentions are threefold," whispered Delph, doing his best impression of Fiepet, "I give the Warlock a week of my time to buy my brother's safety, putting myself in his good graces in the process, and giving Mistress Lyre time to fashion a doll."

"A doll?"

"Couldn't she make one to replace me?" asked Delph innocently, "Then wouldn't everyone be happy?"

Hen couldn't help but sigh. "Master Delph, if I may borrow from your eloquent suggestion; allow me to provide you with three reasons why that will not work. Firstly, Mistress Lyre cannot make a copy exact enough to fool the Warlock, secondly, whatever doll she could fashion would be tied to her own thoughts and feelings... and lastly, Mistress Lyre is missing."

"Ah. Wait. She is missing?"

"That is, I do not know where she's gone. When Master Ursa drove you both away last night, do you know what might have happened to her?"

The Warlock had already occupied so much of Delph's time, that he'd had little thought for anything else. Touching a hand to his throat, he recalled Ursa's desperation on the riverbank. But.

"Lyre was not with us. When we left... when he took me, we left you both behind."

Hen had known it was a possibility, but she still had hope the Delph would provide an answer to her whereabouts. She feared that they might have been followed from the lake; that the men who'd disturbed them might have caught her when her guard was down. She banished such a frightening notion. The men had been injured after all, and Lyre had enough strength to defend herself. Wherever she was, she had to be well. She had to.

"Regardless," said Hen, "A doll will not suffice to solve our problem. I will go now and fetch food for the master, and inform the staff that he has taken ill. At least we can use his sickness to our advantage. Upon my return we shall put our heads together, and see if we can't think of what to do before he regains his strength."

A kind hand on Delphin's shoulder was her parting gesture.

Delph returned to the bedroom deflated. He'd felt sure that if he got the Warlock on side, he'd agree to release him should a suitable replacement be found. While the Warlock had set a week's deadline for Delphin to fall in love, Delph intended to use the time to fix what ought to be fixed.

He was not the Maddening Witch, no matter how many times they would try to convince him otherwise. But he was not a monster either. Rolling up his sleeves, he checked the Warlock's temperature, and soaked a cloth in the cool, clean water that Mistress Hen had brought him.

"It might be a little cold," Delph told his sleeping patient, "But bear with it. It's better if you just... don't move."

After the previous night of keeping the Warlock at arm's length, Delph worried that the proximity between them might give the wrong idea. He cautiously dabbed at the Warlock's brow, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair before rinsing his own hand in the water. His charitable act was not without its offenses to his delicate constitution.

The muscles he'd been so curious about were carefully wiped. Once, twice, and then as many times as Delph thought he could manage without disturbing the Warlock from his sleep. He stopped short at the top of his breeches; that was a step too far into the unknown. Discounting how close he'd come to seeing what Ten at the Catary kept inside his clothes, the nearest he'd come to another man's anatomy, amounted to a passing glance when Fiepet was changing.

His hand hovered tentatively beneath the covers, but was quickly pulled away when the Warlock moved.

"You have a fever," Delph explained, the Warlock's eyes fluttering open, "So I've brought some water to break it."

Starting from his wearied state, the Warlock took hold of Delph's arm. "Water?"

"Oh, you're thirsty? Let me pour you a cup."

"Who gave you water?!" the patient growled, "No... You cannot leave me! You must not leave!"

He could give Cuttle's witch a run for its money with his overdramatics.

"I am sitting right here," Delph assured him, "And tending to you as best I can. Aren't you feeling more refreshed? How could I have cleaned you without water?"

"Promise me," the Warlock begged, "Promise that you will not leave through the water."

Delph eyed the basin and pitcher by the bed. What did he expect him to do? Find a door inside the bowl and squeeze his way through it? True he was slight, but he was still a full grown man. Pushing aside such nonsensical suspicions, Delph loosed his arm from the Warlock's grip and flexed his wrist.

"You are far too grabby," he asserted, "It would serve you better if you kept your hands to yourself."

"If I do not hold you, how can I be sure you will not run..?"

"I have decided to grant you the week you requested," offered Delph, "I trust that will be enough to calm your temper."

"It was not a request..." the Warlock informed him, "I mean to keep you to myself for a week, and by my side for a lifetime."

"A lifetime..? Our 'lifetimes' are not one in the same. Seventy years may be a drop in the ocean for someone that gets to live as long as you do... but it is likely all the time I have left. And I don't mean to spend it under your thumb."

Delph's protestations went unheard; the Warlock had succumbed once more to his tiresome fever. Delph mopped away the fresh beads of perspiration that had formed upon his face and neck. Come to think of it, the Warlock, though having the appearance of a man not much older than himself; was likely twice the age of his father. Across the span of centuries, he'd hung all his hopes on a man he'd known for only a week.

Wasn't it ridiculous? There was nothing about the Warlock that made much sense. Just how fiercely had he fallen that his devotion remained for the witch alone? When the Warlock woke up, Delph intended to ask him. The more he could distance himself from memories of the Maddening Witch, the more he felt he could earn his freedom.

My name is Delphin Strahl of Grunterbad, he repeated to himself, I am no witch.

Having explained to Gris that the master had fallen ill; the chamber head took it to mean that Hen's sickness had likely spread throughout the palace. Making no mention of Delph, and denying outright that their was a visitor to the master's room, Hen was tasked with taking care of him.

"I feel I can trust you above the others," Gris told her, "And whatever you had, you're likely immune to its effects by now. You'll understand it best what the master might need."

Her appearance not far removed from a walking corpse in thanks to her fatigue, Hen labored up the stairs with a tray in hand; knocking gently before slipping inside. Her weary eyes adjusting as she walked into the bedroom, she was once more met with an unexpected sight.

"I... I promise you, this isn't what it looks like!" cried Delph, hurriedly pulling up the Warlock's breeches and scurrying from the room with Hen's tray in hand.

"Master Delph," she began, her fuzzy thoughts still processing, "Might I inquire as to what was going on in there?"

Delph set the tray on a small round table and sheepishly turned to face her.

"I was wiping the Warlock's body," he admitted, "At first I took care to clean his torso, but there was more besides that needed to be dealt with."

"I see," she told him gently, "But then why did you tie his hands..?"

"When first I found courage to try, the Warlock attempted to guide me..." he said, "And he was not content with my methods of cleaning. In truth, I don't think he intended that area to be clean at all."

"Ah."

"So I didn't have much choice but to stay his hands from interfering."

"And the stocking in his mouth..?"

"Despite my innocent approach, the moans were excessively lewd. I was worried that someone might hear them, and presume that the Warlock had company. You didn't tell anyone, did you? That I was here?"

"No, but are you sure you don't want me to let your brother know? If nothing else, he will be glad to hear that you are safe."

Delph shook his head. "Even if we reunite, and I can find a door that leads us back to Grunterbad, the Warlock could still follow us there when his strength returns. Fiepet may bear the brunt of his anger should we flee, and I mean to keep him safe above all else; he has protected me long enough. Even if he's the big brother, I think it my turn to shield ."

"If that is what you wish, I will help you hide here. But we cannot be complacent; we must decide on a course of action while the Warlock is incapacitated. Speaking of that Master Delph, had you better not untie him that he might eat?"

Hen gladly accepted Delph's offer to carry the tray inside for the master, taking the opportunity to rest on an ornate armchair in a corner of the sitting room. The red-faced Warlock lay peacefully as Delphin walked over and carefully pulled the gag from his mouth, but the words he spoke when the fibers had all been spit, gave him cause to delay the untying of the Warlock's hands.

"Troublesome little witch," the Warlock murmured, "It's not fair to start a job you cannot finish. I've waited a hundred years to see what your hands could do..."

As though the flush of skin was contagious, Delph's cheeks burned scarlet.

"No need to loose your hands just yet," he said, "I think it best that I feed you myself." 

A few spoonfuls of a nourishing soup were all that were managed, before the Warlock's body began writhing restlessly on the bed. Rather than run the risk of making a mess across the sheets, Delph took the bowl from the bedroom.

"I think that's-"

Mistress Hen was fast asleep. Uncovering a second cloche on the tray, Delph found the meal she'd brought him. Oh. Stew. Again. Quietly taking it over to the Warlock's large marble desk, and stepping over the piles of detritus left disorderly the night before, Delph sat and ate in silence.

When Hen awoke she was mortified. Not only had she fallen asleep in the Warlock's private chambers, but the Divine had tidied up while she slept.

"Forgive me!" she cried, wiping the drool from her mouth and curtseying low.

Delph rushed to her side. "For what? I promise you, you did not snore. The Warlock has barely moved an inch since this morning but I cannot say the same for him."

It was already late in the afternoon. They had not talked, and no food had been fetched that the Divine might take lunch. Hen had failed him miserably. This was not the Witling Forest or the lake by Velmund Drum; this was The Velvet Palace, and if nothing else, there were rules she ought to follow.

"Here," said Delph, passing a cup of water into her hands.

"You are too kind, Master Delphin. I fear you deserve a better ally than I to assist you."

"The only other friend I made here seems solely to wish me harm," said Delph, "I am fortunate to have you here. I might not have gotten so far on my own."

The Divine's benevolence humbled her, and she cursed her stupidity in having followed the Innate so blindly. Master Brecke had thought his coming would doom them all; but there was not a trace of malice to be found within him.

Collecting the dirtied dishes and piling them onto her tray, Mistress Hen left Delph to check on the master while she went to fetch him something to eat.

"Anything but stew," Delph told her.

It was difficult to suggest to Batt that less easily digestible foods should be prepared for their sick master, but under the pretense that he had ordered them himself, they were readied at lightning speed.

"Did your brother go back again?" the cooklet asked Hen as the steak was plated.

"My brother?"

"I showed him where to find your room when he came by to see you. The others were far too merry to even notice him. But I don't remember seeing him leave. Ah," he continued with a wink, "Though maybe it wasn't your 'brother' after all!"

Hen laughed it off, racking her brains as to who it might have been, and what exactly they'd been after by coming to her room. It had to be the work of Master Brecke; only the diary in her possession would be worth having.

Suddenly on edge, and with eyes scanning the hallways with suspicion, Hen nearly dropped her tray when a familiar voice called out to her.

"You look tired, love. Are you struggling to sleep without me..?"