Chapter 7 #2
Alexander hesitated, torn between his own limited knowledge of the healing arts and the princess’s request. He looked down at Conrad. The paleness of the boy’s pallor told him she was right.
He took a deep breath and nodded.
They moved Conrad into a tent and laid him down on a makeshift cot.
She worked with a healer’s grim rhythm: assess, irrigate, debride.
Her fingers, stained with Conrad’s blood, located the blade’s path by touch, seeking the poisoned tissue beneath.
She retrieved a small jar of dark green powder from her wooden chest and sprinkled a fine pinch over the wound.
Conrad jerked violently, his body seizing. A ragged groan escaped him. Darion swore under his breath, watching closely.
The wound began to smoke. Dark, poisoned blood bubbled to the surface, thick and putrid. A soldier nearby gagged at the stench, but the princess didn’t even flinch. She plucked the coagulated clots away with a pair of small pincers, like diminutive tongs, discarding them into a separate bowl.
Calmly, she told him, “Please tell your men to bring a pot of boiling water and as many strips of clean cloth as they can gather.”
Alexander barked the order.
She repeated this process several times, sprinkling the same powder again and again, until the liquid rising to the surface no longer coagulated and was the colour of fresh blood.
When a pot of boiling water was brought, she took a pouch and spilled the contents into the hot liquid.
At first, they looked like a sprinkling of dark soil, but as they drank up water, they bloomed into what appeared to be some sort of moss.
She spread them over Conrad’s wound, letting the greens soak up the blood.
“I’ve eliminated the worst of the poison, but I need more moss.” She looked up. “Is there a marsh nearby? Swamps or wet meadows?”
Tedric stepped forward. “The Wilris Morass is not far from here, Your Highness.” He pointed to the east. “Beyond that copse of trees over there.”
Alexander told her, “Tell Tedric what you need. He’ll fetch them.”
She shook her head. “I need a particular type of moss. It will be difficult to distinguish from others. May I borrow a torch, my lord, to light my way?”
“I will go with you myself.” Alexander helped her rise. He looked at Tedric. “Bring a torch.”
He linked his arm with hers so she could lean on him while she walked. The princess might be too proud to announce her own injury, but he could persuade her to take some weight off her foot.
Shards of limyerite, fused and fixed to a spike, shimmered with stored sunlight. The pure, unwavering glow unfurled in a wide circle, scattering the forest shadows for fifty paces and painting the marsh in otherworldly light.
“What kind of moss are you looking for?” Alexander asked.
Her fingers skimmed through the greeneries covering the soil, sifting through the lichen that grew there.
“Plume moss,” she replied. “It helps neutralize the poison in the blood.”
His brows stitched together. She hailed from X?en-Sarai, a land ferociously different from his own. Would Tremore, or Blackwood-Veyrde, boast the same vegetation she was familiar with?
“What if it doesn’t grow in these parts?”
She didn’t answer for a moment. “I’d rather keep my hopes intact for a little while longer, my lord, while I search the ground.”
Tedric held the torchlight while they continued. Seconds ticked by while the Princess showed no indication of success. Sweat gathered at Alexander’s brows. How was Conrad doing now? If the boy had gotten worse—
Her gasp put all thoughts to rest.
He dropped to a crouch, his knife flashing as he pulled it from his boot. “Let me.”
She scooted back. Alexander dug his knife into the dirt, scraping what, to him, looked like ordinary moss. He slipped the greens into a pouch and handed it to her.
She nodded. “This will make all the difference.”
They hurried back to camp. The return trek was harder, the ground uneven.
Alexander watched as she compensated for her limp with a fierce, focused determination.
Her breath came in short, controlled bursts.
Yet the moment they arrived, she went straight to work, hands steady as she rinsed the plant in hot water, fingers deftly picking bits of soil from their roots.
She carefully removed the old layer of moss, now wilted from the poison, and spread new ones over Conrad’s wound.
The boy’s colour, though still pale, began to return to his cheeks. His breathing was heavy but steady, and he soon dozed off. As the princess lay fresh strips of bandages to cover the boy’s chest, Alexander fingered the leftover moss.
“I’d never have expected this to grow in X?en-Sarai too,” he commented. “How lucky it is that our two lands share this gift.”
“Plume moss grows only in the wetlands of Tremore, my lord,” she explained. “X?en-Sarai’s climate is too warm for it to grow in our marshes.”
Alexander frowned. “Then, how did you know this will help Conrad?”