Chapter Three #2
Keeva bows her head, pressing a soft kiss to my sister’s fingers. “You’re a damn fool, Finn Fallon. How many times do I have to tell you to keep your nose in the ledgers and out of their fights?”
No—out of the fights. I misheard her.
Finn winces. “At least once more before it takes, I think.”
She groans as Keeva tests a finger along the skin around the wound, murmuring something too soft for me to make out. Finn nods tightly.
“I have a tincture for infection, but without knowing what was on the blade, we can’t try an antidote without risking making it worse.
Some poisons react… badly to antidotes that aren’t their own.
” Keeva reaches into the little sack around her soft hips and pulls out a glass vial of amber liquid.
She unstoppers it, lets the droplets fall over the wound.
Finn hisses, her words unrecognizable.
We stay there, watching over my sister until her breathing deepens and her eyes start to twitch behind her lids in sleep.
Keeva finally shifts her gaze to me, and fear sharpens between us.
“She just needs to rest.” I try to sound certain. “Today was… a lot.”
Keeva laughs shortly. “You know how she loves any excuse to play big sister. You don’t always give her much of a chance.”
I bite back the bitterness, but it comes out anyway. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“No,” she admits. “But it doesn’t matter how old you get. You’ll still be her little sister. She’d do anything for you.”
“Except tell me whatever she’s hiding.”
Keeva’s dark eyes soften on me with a knowing look. “Finn loves you, Maeve. But some secrets take time to share.”
Of course that only makes me feel worse.
She stands, stretching her shoulders, glancing down once more at Finn on the bed. “Quite the time for a mad king.”
“Do you really think the next one will be any better?”
We both know the stories about the Bloody Prince.
Only two years older than me, but already rumored to be as brutal as his father.
Apparently, he oversaw the razing of the Martyr’s temples in Dyfflin and had his best friend and his entire family killed over some perceived insult.
Some say the first person he ever loved ended up poisoned.
A diplomat’s daughter just before the uprising, from one of the small republics south of Cymrea that still has magic.
I can’t help but wonder if the poisoner was him or the High Queen.
If the stories are true, he’s as deadly as creatlach.
I draw in a deep breath and meet Keeva’s worried gaze. She glances back at Finn. “Can I stay?” Keeva’s words are a rasp. “Just until we know she’s…”
“Of course.” My fingers find hers, and squeeze. “But she’ll get better.”
I tell myself that, over and over and over again, even as my bones ache and the light outside begins to shift to lavender dusk. My eyelids get heavy. I fight the tug of exhaustion, its milky edges pressing closer around my mind…
What feels like barely an hour later, I jolt up from where my cheek presses into the table to the sound of someone choking on their own insides. Hacking. Wet, harsh, and so desperate our father comes stumbling out of his room.
Suddenly, Finn lurches up. The bed quilt tangles and twists in her limbs. Only her hands are free, clawing at the air like they can rip out whatever chokes her from inside. A sharp sucking sound cuts through each gasp.
Old Ones, no.
Finn’s whole body heaves, and there’s no hiding the blue tinge graying my sister’s lips or the shudders racking her frame with each struggle to draw her next breath.
Dark shadows bruise her wild eyes, flying over every corner of the room, and I crumple to my knees in the dirt as Keeva kneels by her side.
Our father smacks Finn square between the shoulder blades, and the gasp she finally sucks in sounds like it’s been shredded through broken glass. Another suck of air, another smack that cuts like a punch to the gut, and Finn falls back on the sheets, blood dribbling through her teeth.
In all my life, I’ve seen her cry only once—right after our mother was executed, just before she forced me into weapons training and started skimming Father’s coins.
But lying in her own blood and vomit, gasping for breaths that sound like ragged bursts, Finn sobs.
And even as terror freezes me in place, I taste salt from my own tears.
She lifts the hem of her tunic, heaving as she strains to look down at her ribs. The cut there… Old Ones, the black tendrils cover her entire side. Snaking out in furious, hungry fingers, reaching up her rib cage toward…
The words choke me.
Toward her heart.
My sister shakes, shivering so violently that her teeth knock together and the mountains of blankets piled on top of her quiver.
Every rattling breath shakes me straight down to my bones.
Keeva claps a hand to her mouth at the sight of Finn’s wound and looks up at me.
Old Ones, it must be poison—but how can it possibly work so fast? Desperation claws through my insides.
I won’t give my sister up.
Finn is the one thing in this world I’m not willing to lose.
The coughing fit eases after another minute, but Finn only looks worse afterward.
Keeva’s fingers brush over Finn’s cheeks.
“I won’t lie—you look like something the mages dug up and tried to reanimate.” Keeva attempts a smile, but it’s about as convincing as the forced light tone of her voice.
“You. Still love. Me,” Finn wheezes, hand clutching Keeva’s tight.
It’s not a question. My sister says it like the fact it is.
Keeva is fierce. “Always,” she vows, blinking back tears. “You and me, always.”
I choke back a sob.
Finn’s hazy eyes search the room at the sound. She tries to turn her head on the thin pillow, but the effort only makes her cough all over again. “Maeve?” she whispers.
“I’m here.” Tears turn the violet night bleeding through the windows blurry. “I promise—you’re going to be just fine.”
“Won’t…” She barely manages a small shake of her head. “Be.” Finn struggles against her blankets, eyes fighting to hold mine. Sweat beads on her forehead.
“You will.” I cup her face between my hands, not bothering to wipe away the tears coursing down my cheeks. “I’m going to get help.”
Finn’s eyes fly up to Keeva, wild fear burning in the look.
“Nothing,” she chokes out in a plea. “Dangerous.” Finn’s throat spasms and she swallows hard, one hand gripping tight on my wrist. “Promise.”
“I promise,” I vow, emphasizing each word so she knows I’m not going to fail her, that she can trust me. And that she doesn’t have to be afraid for me. “I promise I’ll save you.”
Tears well in her swollen eyes. I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead and whisper a silent prayer to the Old Ones, and even to the Martyr I barely believe in anymore. Help her hold on.
“Keep her safe,” I tell our father, who’s still hovering at the far corner of the room.
His frail chest shudders, weak from years of bitter grief, drink, and violence.
A steely edge sparks in his tired eyes at my order, and for a moment, I almost remember the way he used to be—the man he was when I was a girl, the man my mother once fell in love with.
Finn heaves for breath as our father comes closer, to lean over us and wipe the blood from her lips.
I step back, hands shaking, nudging Keeva with me.
“We can’t let her die,” I whisper, blinking away the sting of tears.
Keeva’s coal eyes darken. Something strange flashes there—what looks like resignation. “I might know someone who could help.”
My breath catches. “You do?”
She leans in close, dropping her voice so I have to strain to hear. “I know where to find a mage.”
What little moisture is left in my mouth turns to ash.
That’s not possible. All the mages are gone. The Seven Wells are empty—drained to nothing.
Still, desperation lights a spark in my chest. I swallow hard, fighting back the fierce flicker of what feels treasonously close to hope. “Who?”
Keeva’s brow knots, and her voice trembles. “The Whisperers.”