Aubrey was going mad.
Two days.
For two long, miserable days Ruthven had not stirred. Further examination from Stregoni only gained a reiteration that Ruthven was merely asleep.
Why?
He had torn apart the library looking for something, anything, that would tell him about Pets and illnesses. He had even borrowed Stregoni's hoard of medical texts and harassed him to death seeking any sort of clue.
It made no sense. Ruthven had been perfectly fine on their way to the kitchen. What had caused this to happen?
Aubrey held a hand to the fading bruise on his throat. Had something been wrong with his blood?
Stregoni had warned him he would make himself sick if he kept fretting so, but this must somehow be his fault - why else would Ruthven be like this?
He worried his lower lip as he stared out at the depressing landscape beyond his window.
What did he really know, though? Ruthven, as near as he could tell, was wholly unique.