It took another full day before the Enchanter awoke.

"I thought I specifically told you not to enter this room," he said with a groan.

"Would you rather still be in bed with a high fever? I could have left you here and used the opportunity to run away, you know," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Why didn't you?"

"Run?" She raised her eyebrows, surprised, before shrugging her shoulders in resignation. "I think you're the only chance I've got left. I can't go back to the Rimsilla house; you'd find me in a heartbeat, and... I'm tired of starting over."

The Enchanter didn't speak. He simply stared at her in that eerie way of his, where it seemed like he was looking through her and into her very soul. Aoife couldn't stand the odd silence, so she did what every person does in that situation: changed the subject.

"I didn't even know Fae could get sick," she muttered, turning to fiddle with the herbs she'd brought up from the laboratory.

"We can, contrary to-" He broke out into a coughing spasm. "-popular belief. I may have picked up something at the Festival."

"I think you've just been wearing yourself out. You're always burning the candle at both ends."

"And how would you know that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I see the tower light when I wake up at night," Aoife said with a slight shrug. "You're even worse than I am."

"I have things to do," he said grumpily, rolling his eyes.

"You won't have much to do if you keep wearing yourself out like this. You'll just be sick all the time."

The Enchanter huffed, but didn't dispute her point. That was enough for Aoife to consider it a win.

"I saw the maps," she said carefully. She took a sip of her tea, seemingly waiting on his reaction.

"And?"

"This house was part of Fae territory before the wars, wasn't it?"

"How much have you seen?"

"Not much," she admitted. "I can make sense of the maps, and I saw a few of the notes on the papers, but I can't really read well enough to make out most of it. Also, your handwriting is atrocious," she added, feeling a strong heat in her cheeks. The Enchanter told her many times that it was silly to be ashamed of not being able to read when she was trying to learn, but she couldn't help it.

"So you've seen enough to work out a few things," he said with a sigh. However, that seemed to bring on a coughing spasm. The Enchanter pressed his hand to his chest, near his heart, until the coughing stopped.

"Here, it's time for another dose," Aoife said, holding out a bowl of the medicine. He looked at it with distaste, but didn't protest as he drank it in one smooth motion. As she took the bowl back and went to tend the fire, thinking that she needed to make more of the medicinal brew soon. As she stoked the flames beneath the bubbling pot, the Enchanter spoke.

"Debts and favors are extremely important in Fae culture, and to Enchanters. I owe you a debt for this, and you may choose what favor you want, within reason."

Aoife blinked. She wasn't entirely sure what to choose.

"I didn't do it for a favor," she said slowly.

"I know," the Enchanter said with a nod, "which makes it all the more important that you receive one in return. Think carefully before you speak."

Aoife's mind went blank. Not a single thing came to her mind. They'd already concluded that it was impossible for him to remove her powers. He couldn't turn back time and change the moment when she fell into the rose bushes. He couldn't or wouldn't kill her... at least not yet. It had to be something reasonable, but she didn't want or need anything tangible. She had all she needed.

"I want to know your name," Aoife said decisively. "You've got to be called something other than 'Enchanter.' What is it?"

"Are you sure that's what you want?" he asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I've been here for a month, and I'll continue to be here for who knows how long. If you're going to be my only company, I'd prefer not to keep calling you by a title."

There was a long pause, long enough that Aoife was certain he would refuse her request by the time he finally spoke.

"Tarran," he said with a resigned sigh. "My name is Tarran... though I would prefer if you kept that knowledge to yourself."

"Tarran," she said slowly, testing out the feel of the syllables on her tongue. "I like it."

"How long has it been?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and slowly shifting to a sitting position. He looked around the room curiously, and she wondered for a moment if he would be offended that she'd cleaned.

"A day and a half since I found you."

"A day and a half..." Tarran repeated dreamily. However, his sharp gaze quickly refocused and turned towards Aoife. "What was in that potion you gave me?"

"Yarrow, wormswort, peppermint, and sap from a silver oak all boiled down with water. It's simple, but reliable."

"That shouldn't have been as strong as it was..." he murmured, brow furrowing in confusion.

"That's what everyone says about my potions. It's why they sell so well at the market," Aoife said with a shrug. "Even the apothecary prefers to buy mine rather than make his own, but I can't explain why they do what they do."

"Interesting..." Tarran trailed off, again examining her like a hawk looks at its prey.

"Tell me what's happening in that head of yours."

"I have a few ideas, but I'll need-" More coughing. "Time. I'll need some time to put them all together."

"Well, after you're better you can get started on those, but for now you need rest."

"I am perfectly fine," he grumbled, but didn't make a move to rise from the bed.

"I'll go get you some food and you can decide after you eat a real meal. How's that?" Aoife asked, a small smile on her face. He looked oddly like a child who didn't want to take his medicine in this position.

"Alright," he finally said, closing his eyes and settling back against the pillows. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked even paler than usual. It was concerning that something as simple as a mysterious fever could knock him down this much, Aoife thought.

"Aoife?"

"Yes?" she asked, turning around at the door.

"Thank you."