Chapter Fourteen
T he court healers are so distracted by my pacing and constant questions, they sentence me to walk the halls until their examination of the queen is concluded. As I leave her chambers, High King Tadhg grips the arms of a hearthside chair in absolute silence, his knuckles paling as his eyes follow the healers' movements.
The mighty Connor King has never looked so frightened. Until now, I wasn't sure he could feel such fear.
When more healers keep arriving, it sinks in for me just how serious Fiadh’s condition is. By my count, every healer and apothecary in the castle and nearby army barracks is now pressed into the queen's bedchamber.
Prince Ruairi waits, too, so still he is little more than a shadow against the wall. When I turn at the end of the hall, my strides hurried with no place to go, I can see that he nibbles but does not bite through his nails.
My feet are beginning to ache from all the pacing. It's almost a relief when Ruairi seizes my arm, causing me to stop and whirl to face him.
I think he'll admonish me like the healers, or tell me my movements are driving him mad. Instead, I find his eyes dark eyes soft with understanding.
All at once, the tears begin to flow again. This time, they are for Fiadh. They are so desperate and burning, I regret I ever wasted any on Cillian Cloudtongue.
Queen Fiadh must live. A puca as high queen means so much for every púcaí, every fae shifter and every low fae.
And, I now admit, she means a great deal to me, too. My royal cousin.
Until I knew for certain that her body was riddled with deadly poison, I did not know how many of my own hopes I had put into her reign, and how deeply her kindness and friendship towards me had kept me going these last few months.
When I arrived here, she was a distant relative I had little memory of meeting, for the sake of whom I’d been plucked from everything I knew. I resented her with all my might. Now when I look upon her, I see family.
Ruairi’s arms envelop me as I sob into his shoulder. She can’t die. She just can’t.
As my eyes wring themselves of every tear I have left, I slowly become aware of the prince’s touch. His palm cradles the back of my head, his fingers tangling into my rain-dampened hair as he holds me close. My chest presses into his stomach, his arms into mine, my balled hands into his chest.
I catch the breath I needed.
Withdrawing from his hold, I mash away my tears with my palms, desperate for any shred of composure. I know that Ruairi looks upon me with concerned eyes. And that if I see that concern, I’ll only start crying again.
“Thank you, sir, for your attempts to comfort me,” I say stiffly. “I’m fine now.”
“Laoise—”
“I’m fine now.” I say it louder, aware of the other servants gathered in the hall.
And that is when I realize who I don’t see.
In all the time the healers have been here, a single, frantic lady-in-waiting has arrived, remaining at High Queen Fiadh’s side to preserve her modesty.
So where are the rest?
“Ruairi—sir.” I choke a little on the slip. “How can it be that none of the other ladies-in-waiting are here?”
His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before something dark flashes across them. “Stay here,” he says, and it sounds like an order.
Gone is the prince who so tenderly comforted me moments before. I finally see it: The evidence of that daily knight’s training he spoke of in the garden that day. This is a warrior stalking away from me, and he is truly frightening.
Good, I think. Because if those other ladies have anything to do with poisoning my cousin, they deserve to be as afraid as I’ve been for her, as they’ve made the queen feel as she lay in bed suffering, asking me when the pain would ever end.
Not a quarter hour after Ruairi disappears, a bellow of agony tears through the hall. The quiet, nervous conversations that have arisen out here become silent.
Minutes later, the healers emerge at last. Their heads are lowered, their faces ashen as they lace their fingers together far more tightly than is necessary.
The lead healer draws himself up, looking for all the world like a lost little boy. He announces to the hall, “Our good queen has been imbibing a tonic said to increase the likelihood of her womb quickening with an heir. We believe the poison was contained within.”
The missing ladies-in-waiting. I knew it! No wonder Fiadh always dismissed me right after her luncheons! Oh, how I wish I could dash down these halls and drag those wicked High Fae ladies out by their hair!
“I’m afraid,” the healer continues, “that Her Majesty's condition is very grave. A team of healers shall remain at her bedside round the clock. Even though Her Majesty has ceased to imbibe this tonic, the poison has accumulated. It grieves me to say there is little we can do at this advanced stage but await the end.”
And then his announcement is over. The healers not on duty begin to leave. That’s it. That’s all.
This can’t be it.
Only one healer meets my eye as they file out, her own eyes brightening as she regards me. It’s not as though she knows me. Which can only mean one thing.
She has an idea.
“Tell me,” I say at the same moment she exclaims, “Essence of the sea!”
I blink back at her, astonished. A half breath later, the hall erupts into a cacophony of voices.
“Essence of the sea can aid in the healing of water fae!” the young healer shouts at them all. “As a shifter, our queen is of the sea as well as of the land. Yes, Pádraig, it could work! Of course I haven’t lost my mind!”
The healers say many things then, mostly on top of one another. They call it a myth. They question how the magic of a sea court could possibly help the queen now, after ingesting so much poison for months. And even if it could save her, why would the sovereign sea fae agree to give it?
When I cannot get the healers to stop yelling over each other, I stick my fingers in my mouth and let loose the shrillest whistle I can. All eyes turn to me, filled with shock at this maid's audacity.
They'd best remember that's my family in there. And I'm not letting her go without a fight.
“It’s not a myth. I know it isn’t,” I tell them, holding each of their gazes as though their attention will slip through my fingers like the rain. “I can find it for Her Majesty.”
One of the healers shakes his head. “Collecting the essence of the sea would take too long. I fear the hour for our great queen’s demise is too close at hand.”
But I don't need to collect it, do I? Not when I can bargain for it.
“I know how to get it!” I call to the disbelieving healers from over my shoulder. I'm already racing down the hall.
I fly down the stairs, oblivious to their shouts, nearly colliding with other servants. I hear the clinking of soldiers' armor, but still do not stop. The moment my slippers hit the grass, I’m casting off my cloak and exchanging these seelie feet for hooves.
I can get there in time. I know I can.
“Laoise!” a faint voice calls from above. “Laoise, wait for me!”
But there is no time to lose. With a nicker of apology towards Ruairi, I tuck back the fins that line my neck and fetlocks, and shake the rain from my aqua scales and hair. Stamping my hooves once or twice to warm up my legs, I then turn my face to the wind.
I gallop toward the sea.