The lack of water felt like a hot iron in Morna's stomach. Her skin boiled with it, her eyes watered, she never could rid herself of the phantom smell of damp. The prickle and itch ran rampant over her arms and legs so that she could barely sleep at night. Whatever she managed to choke down when it was mealtime made an untimely reappearance into the chamber pot. She knew Brenna read to her at one point, but her mind was not always as clear as it should be, and she couldn't really remember when her sister had started or stopped. Only that a book showed up at her side and that the words swam when she tried to read it. She shoved it off the mattress and turned over, facing the large window on the opposite wall.

The bedroom was small when compared to even their nursery at their old house. It fit the same sort of furniture they'd had before, only now there were only two sets and they still were a little cramped into the room. The fireplace was massive, and when they'd first arrived Brenna had made many comments that she thought this was a writing room before they'd come. Morna couldn't bring herself to care about the size of the room or the fact that it had been made-over. She only wanted it to somehow smell like straw and mud and animals, and to hear the sound of Nurse singing in the other room, and to have the steady sound of breath coming from Adair and Brenna in the beds next to her. If she wasn't already sick she knew that she'd feel the longing for that old cottage like a physical pain.

A noise outside drew Morna out of her mind and back to the present. She forced herself to focus, like looking out through a fog and struggling to see the shapes beyond. The glass was closed against the chill, but she could still hear a faint cry of a bird. It sounded like a crow, and was soon joined by a symphony of mates.

Looking through the window now, she could see the distant trees that covered the hill that the Grand House stood upon. As she stared at them she slowly began to reclaim herself, pulling out of her haze and sitting up a little in the bed. A wave of nausea rolled over her, but she waited it out and was soon able to push herself into a shaky standing position. She made her uncertain way to the window sill, placing the side of her hip against it to brace herself and pressing her hands onto the glass. It felt cool against her hot hands and she sunk forward to plant her forehead in place and stare out into the field of grape vines beyond.

This was why she was ill. This was why there was no water. The hill surrounding the Grand House had no place for a lake or a pond or even a stream. It was rocky and filled with the lines of grape vines that made this kingdom so famous. Only a small trickle of water ran through the fields for irrigation. It was perhaps ankle-deep, and probably not even to that depth. Morna stared at it with glassy eyes, imagining running into it and splashing her face. The call of the water buzzed in her bones and she could feel its frustration at only having a tiny trickle to be the one to beckon her forward.

With the sturdy glass cooling her forehead, Morna thought of an idea. Admittedly an insane idea, one she'd never seriously thought of. She clenched a ball of her skirt into one palm, furrowing her brow as she pulled the idea to the front of her mind and examined it. If the water was not strong enough to pull it toward her, only enough to make her feel sick, she might be able to break the hold it had on her once and for all. If this was all that would happen to her, she could weather the illness. At least she thought she could. A few more days of throwing up and sweating in her bed and she'd be able to picnic at a lakeshore and not worry about walking in. A faint little bubble of hope expanded in her breast and she pushed off the window. If there was any time to free herself, it was now. And the first step would to stop staring at the irrigation ditch and daydreaming about the pond at her home.

She swung the curtains shut over the glass and then trudged back to her bed, pulling her feet in and sinking into the mattress. At first she pulled her blanket up to her chin, but the fabric felt like an anchor against her chest and she pushed it back with a gasp. The pillow pressed against the back of her head until her neck ached. She rolled over to her side, staring at the door. If only Brenna would come back. Where had she gone to? Morna tried whispering her name, hoping maybe the sound of it might somehow summon her sister.

Nothing but the cawing of the crows outside.

She turned back to the view of the ceiling. A delicate web, like a cloud, floated in some phantom breeze among the moulding. A black dot against the white marked the spider that lived there. Morna wondered if anyone had noticed it before. The maids hadn't, at least. She waited for it to move, but it never did. It might be dead.

Her stomach heaved up nothing but bile into her chamber pot. She sat back with a groan, new sweat beading on her back.

"Brenna," she called, as loud as she could get. Still no answer. Tears pricked her eyes, though she didn't want to give into them.

Time slugged on, thick as molasses and slower than a lame horse. Her eyes burned from being held open, but any time they shut she saw the inky black of the pond out behind her old home. So she stared at the dead spider and prayed that Brenna would come to distract her.

She tried her sister's name a few more times, but not even a maid appeared. She clutched the sheet on either side of her and struggled to breathe through panicked gasps of breath. "Adair. Brenna. Someone," she whimpered. No one came.

More time ambled by, and finally Morna's eyes could stay open no longer. She fought the exhausted sleep, but it had all the advantages. The dreams of raging waves and angry rivers screamed through her mind.