20. Alchemy #2
Al was already walking away, leaving me to stew in my worry. He strode back to his main workspace, and he selected the jar with the thick black liquid that bubbled as if alive.
I tugged at my arms, but I was locked in place. Even with panic crawling up my throat, my gaze kept trailing to the shelves. There was an odd burning sensation in my belly.
“Here we have the first dosage,” he mused, having approached while I’d been reeling. He held a long, thick needle connected to the tube full of the bubbling liquid. Without allowing me to brace myself, he jammed the needle straight into the side of my arm.
The sting ripped my breath from my lungs in a sharp gasp. He pressed the top of the syringe, injecting the thick liquid sluggishly until it was flush and there was no longer anything left.
Well, that wasn’t too bad . . .
A searing agony pulsated at the injection site. Then another. A dull, terrible pain that only bloomed worse and worse.
I struggled to draw in a breath, my sight becoming blurry.
With each of my heartbeats, it seemed to expand, my veins taking the liquid throughout every part of my body. A scream ripped from my throat. My arms jerked as if possessed, straining and yanking for freedom. I ended up writhing in the chair, the sting so searing I could not form a proper thought.
All that spilled from my mouth were high-pitched screams. Tears blinded my vision, and I blinked to clear my view. At least I wanted to know what surrounded me.
Al watched me, scribbling in a journal. He tucked the book under his arm and approached, pressing his fingertips to the inner side of my wrists. His lips moved as he counted, then he scribbled across the parchment.
“Try to breathe through the pain. It will help,” Al informed me.
Another throb pulsed through my veins, and I whimpered as I slumped in the seat.
“You strained for three hundred and forty beats,” he mused. “You will continue to feel the spasms. Catch your breath before the second dose.”
A second dose?
My lips moved, but nothing came out but a whimper.
The straps made sense now.
“My lord, we need you to address the officers from the Western border,” a soft voice wheedled.
The distinguishable, coaxing tone of Lady Drusilla. Her tone took that register only when she was speaking to one individual. My gaze snagged on Lord Draven’s. He stood near the entrance, watching me.
When had he entered?
I opened my mouth and nothing came out.
Cassiel.
I grunted, moistening my lips.
“Stop this,” I breathed through the fire burning my throat. “Lord Draven . . .” I mumbled, struggling to keep my eyes open.
His jaw twitched, and he slowly approached.
“This does not harm her, my lord.” Lady Drusilla said. He stiffened, stopping halfway to us. “It only makes the human weaker,” she added.
False! I ached to scream.
I opened my mouth and Al leaned over the seat, checking my pulse, but he pressed a little harder against my arm. I found his gaze peering into me, and he gave the barest shake of his head.
Was he warning me to be silent?
A copper taste coated my tongue.
“Besides, the survivors await your presence in the throne chamber. You must plan with the council what will be done next.” Drusilla’s voice remained soft and cajoling.
“I rush for no one,” Lord Draven announced.
Drusilla lowered her head almost until she was bowed halfway.
“Your Highness!” a deep voice boomed. A wide-set man with a sword strapped to his side barreled down the stairs. “A dispute has broken out with the survivors.”
Lord Draven’s gaze fell upon me once more.
He will stop this . . .
“The body must remain intact to host my bondmate,” he decreed, meeting Al’s gaze pointedly. Then he turned on his heel, leaving without another look in my direction.
Tears stung my eyes, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to hide my whimper. He did not care.
Yet, here was, grappling with my decisions. Al and Lady Drusilla exchanged a look, but with a shrug, Al came forward with another syringe, filled with the same liquid. Sweat gathered at my nape.
“Lady Drusilla,” Al bowed his head. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Drusilla continued to study me, her eyes as unreadable as always.
“Go forward, alchemist,” she ordered.
Al grunted. “Brace yourself, dearie,” he murmured low to me, sticking the needle in my other arm.
A deep, guttural grunt left my lips. She did not turn away from me as the torment began.
Pure, searing agony traveled through my veins in pulsing throbs. I squeezed the wooden arms of the chair; the wood gave way to my nails. I screamed, the sound wrenched from deep in my soul.
Had I seen that correctly? Had Drusilla smiled?
The thought washed away under the swell of pain.
I did not know sense, or anything, my breathing would not return to normal. Fire seared my insides, gnawing at every particle of my body. My consciousness faded. It was a blessed relief from the searing agony wrapping itself around my veins and twisting them.
A pinch on my chin roused me. Drusilla stood so close her breath wafted across my cheek.
“He did not send you to me to heal,” she murmured, a perplexed look on her face. It slowly morphed into something else. Not satisfaction, not cruelty, something closer to worry. But not for me. She watched the doorway as if she could still see him.
Whatever was between them was not simply fealty.
She faded, giving way to the haziness circling my vision.