Chapter Seventeen
“Get her on the bed.”
“Careful!”
“Tarin, find Fliss’s mum. Quickly.” That’s Card.
“That bastard—” Bastion. He’s here too. Wherever here is.
“My lord, if you’re going to kick things, please do it outside so I can work. Hold her steady.”
“Sir, we’re out of yarrow.”
“Find some poppy extract.”
“There’s not much of that left either.”
“Gather what you can.”
There are hands on me, pressing, prodding, then—pulling. My throat burns with a scream as metal slides out and—
I swing between nothingness and agony. They smother me, smolder beneath my skin like an intimate burial.
Seconds could pass, or years. There’s no difference in the feverish in-between where I exist. Occasionally, I’m aware of a coolness against my sweat-beaded forehead, a hand pressed in mine, water dripping down my throat, a murmur of voices, the waft of medicine.
For the most part, oblivion is my only companion.
In a murky moment of lucidity, I swim to the surface and squint my eyes open.
It’s blurry, hazy, but I’m in a room. I’m in a bed.
There’s a candle beside me and a blanket up to my chin.
Where am I? What happened? Why can I smell a bouquet of heather and cattail?
Aren’t they usually paired to wish good health for someone sick?
I attempt to sit, but a wall of pain hits me so hard, I black out.
“—done what we needed her for. Why are you visiting again?”
“You don’t need to be so cruel. I’ve grown rather fond of her.” Is that the queen?
“Fernie, you have me. I have all the magic you’ll ever need.” Who is that? She sounds far away. Fragmented.
“I know, my dear, but this is Lilibeth’s daughter. Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”
“She certainly has an unexpected strength to her. I was actually pretty impressed she managed to find the Odyssa. Most who’ve tried have perished. Maybe she’ll make it through this as well.”
The queen sighs from my bedside. “Maybe. I’m doing everything I can to save my son from a doomed fate, Morgana. I can only imagine Lilibeth feels the same way.”
There’s a soft brush of a hand against my cheek. I can’t open my eyes, let alone move away from it. Morgana. She said “Morgana.” The Morgana who cursed me.
“You know there’s nothing I can do for her.
I’m good at many things, but healing is not one of them, and besides, I’m all the way in Berian right now.
Let’s focus on the positive: We have all of the flowers.
They’re enchanted and ready to go, so at least we can save your son.
Did you tell them that you’ve planned something magical for their vows? ”
The queen hums softly and strokes my cheek again. After a quiet moment, she says, “Not yet. If she dies, they might be too devastated to go through with the wedding ceremony. That cannot happen. There might not be any other opportunities.”
“Ah,” Morgana says, like my death would be something of an inconvenience to her. Like it wouldn’t take much for that to happen. “Aren’t your fancy physicians up to the job?”
The queen adjusts my blanket.
“They’re running out of supplies because of the rebel attacks, and none of the healing spells they’re trying are strong enough,” she says. Then adds, “I’ve considered calling for Ruth.”
Morgana snorts. “She’d never help us.”
“I have her son locked in the dungeon. She’ll do anything I ask. When he doesn’t come home, she’ll have to come looking for him eventually. And when she does…”
Will. Oh my gods, Will. He stabbed me. He’s in the dungeon. We’re both as good as dead. I’m dead. Dying.
I stir slightly, and the queen presses a hand to my shoulder. Not a moment later, there’s a sudden bang, like a door crashing against the stone castle walls, and Morgana’s flicker of magic vanishes. Even that can’t rouse me from my inertia.
“Get away from my daughter,” Mum says, loud and unwavering.
There are stomping footsteps and the comforting smell of carnations as a hand takes mine.
“Lilibeth,” Queen Fern says. “I was just—”
“I don’t care what you were doing. Get out.”
“You can’t address me like that.”
“I said get out. I don’t want to see you here again.”
The pulsing in my limbs throbs louder and louder. It won’t be long until I’m back in the arms of unconsciousness. Whatever battle of wills is happening over my bed is a strain bigger than I have the energy to comprehend, so in the safety of my mother’s care, I slip into the darkness once more.
A muffled shout makes me aware of my body.
I’m trapped in my aching bones, unable to open my eyes, unable to twitch even a fingertip.
I know this feeling now. It’s the effects of poppy.
Probably the ones I prepared the other week.
The physician must be trying to keep me under, which is a terrifying realization.
It’s usually reserved for patients who don’t have much hope, and from the unceasing cramp in my stomach and weakness in my veins, I’m most likely still bleeding out.
Over the terror pounding in my ears, Card’s voice comes from my left.
“What was that about outside?”
A chair scrapes across stone to the bedside.
“Lark. I’ve just decided to relieve him of his duties for the time being,” Bastion says, sounding like he’s sitting down next to Card. “He almost punched me for telling him to stop trying to see her.”
“Prick. Fliss would rather die than have him allowed in here.”
The silence hangs.
“Don’t joke about that happening, please,” Bastion says, with a sternness he usually never uses to address his fiancé.
“Sorry. I’m…”
In a rare occurrence, Cardamine runs out of words. He doesn’t know what to say. Clothes rustle as if Bastion has moved to comfort him.
“She’s going to be okay,” Bash says quietly.
“Is she?”
“The court physician told me that he sent two apprentices out looking for more yarrow this morning. That should help clot the blood around the wound.”
“But what if they’re too late?” Card’s voice barely reaches my ears. “Fliss and I never smoothed things over between us. I’d been sulking for a whole week. It’s so stupid now. I was so stupid.”
“Then when she wakes up, you can tell her what an idiot you are,” Bash says, a smile in his tone. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure, my love. Feeling overwhelmed is not a crime.”
“But it’s Fliss. If I’d have told her how insecure I’ve been feeling lately, she would have listened.
I’ve been so out of my depth with all this formality, and she makes me feel…
normal. Myself. I know it’s expected of royalty to have a big ceremony, so I want—I need her with us at the wedding.
It’s in twelve days! She has to get better before then. ”
“I’d marry you with rings made of parchment, dearest.”
“I know. I know that.”
“I should have been helping you more. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”
“No, the council needs you at those meetings. Your dad needs you. And your ideas are what the kingdom needs too. I just—” Card growls in frustration. “I don’t understand why she suddenly became so distant. It can’t just be the wedding stuff, right? I hate not knowing things.”
“People aren’t as easy to learn as a language,” Bastion says, then tuts like he’s hesitating. “Merit told me he remembers hearing her voice that day. She was on the coastal road where he was found, which means she knows more about it than she let on.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know. But Merit heard her, his leg was healed, and then Nettle finds her fleeing the scene covered in blood. She said she wasn’t threatened, but…”
It’s Card’s turn to consider his words.
“Has he said anything?” he asks. From the venom in his voice, I know that the “he” in question is not Merit.
Bash shifts.
“Not a word,” he grits out. “I should have known something like this would happen. This is my fault, and when Fliss wakes up, I’ll apologize to her too. I shouldn’t have let anyone be put in danger because of him. This has gone on for too long.”
“Do you still want to…?” Card trails off.
Bastion doesn’t answer for a long time. I catch the smell of his soap as he leans closer.
“That depends,” he says, colder than the damp towel he presses to my forehead. “What happens to him is in Fliss’s hands. If she doesn’t make it, then neither does he.”