Chapter 25
The light from the candles had become too bright, and Dawson wasn’t sure why the hall was so hot. He hadn’t had that much to drink, mostly because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of management. They were still his bosses.
He glanced around the room, his vision smearing every time he turned his head, now filled with laughter and talking and music.
The tables were filled with food and different drinks.
Was he allergic to something he had eaten?
A lot of it was far fancier than he was used to.
Or perhaps it had been the liquor that had been handed out around the bonfire, he was sure he’d drank that before.
He took a gulp of water, not sure what was going on, only that he wasn’t feeling too good. He didn’t want to be rude and leave the feast early, but it was becoming harder to focus. Even sitting, he was beginning to feel dizzy.
Katrina put her hand on his arm. “Dawson, are you listening?” She frowned and stared at him. “Why are you so sweaty?”
“It’s hot.”
She continued to stare at him. “It’s not that hot.”
The engineer on the other side of the table laughed far too loud, and it echoed through Dawson’s head. “He’s had too much to drink and doesn’t want to admit it.”
Dawson forced a smile. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”
“You haven’t drunk any more than me.” Her words were soft for his ears only. Or maybe they were muffled like she was talking through a thick blanket.
“Maybe it’s something I ate, and I’m allergic.”
Katrina frowned. “Maybe don’t eat anything else.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I might step outside for a moment, as it will be cold out there.” He stood and stumbled because his feet refused to work, and not in the clumsy way he might wobble if he’d too much to drink.
Mr. Healy scowled and shook his head as if Dawson were a disgrace to the company.
The soldier stepped up to his side. “Would you like some assistance?”
“I just want to go outside. It’s too hot in here.” His lips and tongue felt strange, like they were disconnected from his body. He touched his face to be sure they were still there, but of course they were.
The soldier led him outside to where the bonfire was burning brightly, but he couldn’t look at it without it taking over his vision. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes.
He wasn’t the only person outside. There were some standing around the bonfire and others returning from a trip to the toilet. He turned away from the fire, his head pulsing.
“Why don’t you sit?” The soldier indicated a stone bench against the wall.
Dawson tripped again. It was then he realized he couldn’t feel his feet, or his lips…or his fingers touching his lips. “Something is wrong.”
The soldier laughed. “Too much to drink.”
Dawson shook his head, which was enough to make the courtyard swim, then he was staring up at the sky, not quite sure how he got there.
Or why people were suddenly shouting.
The stars swelled as if he was staring at the sun. They were far too bright, so he closed his eyes.
“He’s not drunk,” Katrina said. “He was sweating, and his pupils were uneven. He said he might be allergic to something he ate, but an allergic reaction normally makes your lips and tongue swell.”
Someone poked at him, and Dawson tried to open his eyes but couldn’t.
“There is no swelling, and he is breathing, although it’s very shallow.” The person pulled open his eyelid, but he couldn’t see anything.
He managed a panicked grunt.
“It’s okay, Dawson,” Katrina said. “The healer is examining you.”
It was not fucking okay. He grunted again, or at least he tried to.
“Hmm. He might have been unconscious for a bit from banging his head. But he can’t see, and his pupils are still uneven. Grip my fingers.”
Dawson felt something against his palm, but he couldn’t be sure it was fingers, and he wasn’t sure his hand moved.
Katrina and the healer were silent. That was not a good sign.
“Sweaty, uneven pupils, loss of coordination, blindness…” the healer said. “It’s poison.”
“Poison? Who would want to kill Dawson?”
Exactly. He wasn’t important, so who would want him dead? He grunted again, aware of the throbbing on the back of his head. A cracked skull was the least of his problems.
A door opened.
“Sire,” the healer said.
“I was told he had drunk too much by the other humans, but when neither you nor Katrina returned, I doubted their words.” Ul’s voice drew closer.
“He’s showing signs of statue poison,” the healer whispered.
What the fuck was that?
Ul was silent for far too long. “If you are wrong, the cure will kill him. If you are right, there will be a mark where the poison got into his body. Find it.”
Find what exactly? He wasn’t able to ask as hands started undressing him. His long pants were pulled down, and then off.
His limbs were lifted as the healer searched his skin. They held him still with one leg in the air.
“The tip of the spine is still in his calf.” Warmth trickled over his skin.
Katrina gasped.
And his leg was placed down.
“Is that enough proof for you, sire?” the healer asked.
“Give him the antidote and pray he survives,” Ul snarled. “Katrina, come with me.”
The door slammed, and Dawson realized Ul had not stayed, and he’d taken Katrina. He was going to die alone, blind, and unable to move.