Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Alfrie
Iscoop Zara’s limp body into my arms, holding her close to my chest. Her skin burns like embers and her arms hang loosely as I carry her like a child across the ground.
Panic plagues me and I can’t tell which of our hearts is racing the fastest. I glance at her pale face.
Her eyes are closed as if she's simply sleeping but color continues to drain from her cheeks with every step I take toward the castle.
The heat that was emanating from her only minutes ago is fading and her body is cooler to the touch. I pick up my pace, clutching her tighter, hoping I can transfer some of my body heat to her.
“Hang on, Zara,” I whisper into the evening air, and use my shoulder to forcefully push open the wooden doors. Pain tears through the days old injury, but I continue on.
I need to find Leer.
“Someone help me!” I scream in the hallway hoping to be heard above the music and cheer from the wedding reception happening in the ballroom.
I yell again to a couple of guards making their way to the merriment and they rush over to me.
“Get the prince immediately! Tell him to come to the healer’s wing. Go. Now!”
I keep moving, Zara not stirring at all in my arms. I hold her closer.
Her heart rate has slowed, and a bluish color tints her lips.
Oh gods, no. I start running through the long dark halls and up two spiraling staircases.
Finally, finally, I reach the healer’s rooms, and I press my body against the door, barging in.
One of the healer’s apprentices jolts at my entry but I pay her no mind and lay Zara down onto the small cot in the corner of the room.
Her face is white and dark circles gather beneath her closed eyelids.
I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand noting how cold her skin is.
I lean in and hear her faint breathing. Thank the gods.
I tuck blankets around her, pulling them up to her chin.
“Stay with me.” I brush a strand of hair from her face.
The apprentice hustles over to the bed and awaits her orders.
But I don’t know what to tell her. I’ve no idea what’s happened.
I try to recall Zara’s behavior before she fell into this unconscious sleep-like state.
She said she couldn’t breathe and held her chest as if it caused her pain.
She was sweating and overheated. I don’t know much more than that.
She said…she said she thinks about me.
“Alfrie? What should I do? What’s wrong with her?”
I rake my gaze over Zara’s face. “I’m not sure.” I rub the back of my neck. Think, Alfrie. Could it be plague? Maybe an insect bite? Poison? I look again at Zara’s lips noting the hint of blue. That isn’t from any poison I know of.
It hits me. The quiet meeting between Hardin and Elara. The attacks. The sleep aid. But—why?
I’m sick to my stomach.
I uncover one of Zara’s arms and hold her pale fingers in mine. They’re so cold. “Bring me that candle,” I direct the apprentice. She grabs the burning candlestick and carefully carries it over. I turn Zara’s hand over so I can assess her fingertips and palms and hold it near the candlelight.
My heart sinks. A slight purplish color stains her thumb and two of her fingers. The Jimson Weed. The sleep aid. Fuck. I encase her ice-cold hand with both of mine and brush my lips against her fingers, forgetting about the apprentice hovering over me.
I quickly cover Zara’s arm beneath the blanket and jump into action. I pace around the tiny room racking my brain for some type of reversal agent for the plant’s deadly effects.
“Alfrie?”
I stop pacing and stare helplessly at the apprentice. “Jimson Weed overdose.”
She tenses. “Is there an antidote?” Her voice is meek and small, and I’m sure it’s because she already knows there’s no official antidote.
“I just need to think.” I return to pacing, rubbing my hands over my face. This is my fault. I made the elixir and handed it over to Elara. I allowed the excess petals to be taken instead of disposing of them.
And I can’t tell anyone about it.
I need to get down to my workroom. There has to be something.
Rushing to the door, I instruct the apprentice to keep the princess warm and to stay with her until I get back.
I sprint through the palace, the sounds of the celebration still in full swing echoing from the ballroom.
A few drunk courtiers lounge on loveseats in the main halls.
They holler and laugh as I race past them, but I hardly notice.
I’m mentally paging through my texts racking my brain for anything to counteract the plant.
I finally reach the workroom and start pulling out book after book, tossing them onto the table and floor as I search for something I can use.
I pause on the dusty green spine of a text about herbs and medicinal plants.
I yank it from the shelf and sprint back to Zara.
When I get back to the healer’s room, Leer is sitting on the bed next to Zara. He looks over at me as I bust through the doorway, trying to catch my breath. “What the hell happened?”
“It may be Jimson Weed.” I don’t look at him. I go straight to the desk and open the book, leafing through it and scanning the words for something to help. Anything. I see him coming toward me in my periphery, stopping next to me and reading over my shoulder.
“You can help her. Can’t you?” His voice is quiet, and I’m taken aback by the vulnerability in his tone.
I meet his gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to her.” I give him a quick nod and return to my research. There has to be something. I sink down onto the wooden stool in defeat as I come to the end of the book. Nothing. I gaze at Zara asleep—pale and cold. She could die.
And it will be because of me.
“Alfrie?” The apprentice taps my shoulder and hands me a fistful of sage. “This won’t heal her, but it might help lessen the symptoms. It's effects are opposite of the weed.”
“Thank you. It’s worth a try.” I grind up the sage leaves and mix it with oil to create a paste.
“Will that cure her?” Leer makes room for me when I approach the cot, and I take a seat next to my patient.
“I don’t know.” I want to tell him that she’ll be fine.
But I would only be lying to him. And to myself.
My heart aches at the sight of her. She’s still so completely breathtaking even in her death-like sleep.
I dip the pad of my finger into the sage concoction and gently apply it to the insides of Zara’s cheeks hoping it will absorb quickly. Now the waiting begins.
“How long will it take to work?”
“A few hours?” If it works. These might be the longest few hours of my life.
I don’t sleep. I don’t leave her side. It’s been five hours since I first applied the sage and only two hours since I applied it again. Zara hasn’t stirred—as if she’s already dead. I lean close to hear her soft breathing every five minutes just to reassure myself. Why won’t she wake?
The room is dark save for a single candle that’s nearly burned down to the wick on the table, and I’m alone.
It’s the middle of the night and I sent the apprentice to bed hours ago.
Leer stayed for a while, pacing back and forth, his emotions wavering between hopeful and irate.
He finally left to get some air and let Hardin know what happened.
I watch Zara sleep. Waiting. Hoping. I rest the back of my hand to her cheek.
She feels warmer and some of the color has returned to her face.
I stroke her hair from her forehead and take her hand.
I press my lips lightly over her knuckles and hold her palm to my cheek. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”
Her fingers twitch and a sound escapes her lips. She doesn’t move but her eyes flutter open, and she gazes blankly at the ceiling.
I still grasp her hand in mine, not willing to let go just yet. “Zara?” I whisper, and she tries to focus her eyes on me. Her lips move as if she wants to speak but the words don’t come. “Don’t try to talk.”
Her eyelids close and my heart stops for a second wondering if she drifted back into unconsciousness.
Then her fingers wrap feebly around my hand.
My breath hitches at the gesture, and I lightly squeeze her hand.
She’s going to make it. I should go and find Leer.
And Emlyn and Alix. I don’t even know if they have a clue what’s happened.
But I can’t force myself to leave her side or this moment.
Her hand is soft and warm wrapped inside of mine.
Once she’s healed, this will never happen again.
She belongs to Leer now. She’s his wife.
And he’s the closest thing I have to a friend.
So, no matter how much I wish things were different.
That I could hold her in my arms for the rest of my life.
This will have to be enough.
I carefully and unwillingly place her arm back onto the blankets.
I trace my fingers over her cheek, glancing behind me to ensure that we're still alone then lean down and kiss her forehead.
Her hazel eyes flit open and search mine.
She smiles weakly, her lips parting slightly.
I swallow hard and caress her face, and gingerly lower my mouth to hers.
She finds my hand on the bed and clings to it, her lips moving perfectly with mine.
Kissing her is ecstasy and misery all at once.
I’ve never wanted anything more than this moment.
To hold her in my arms for as long as she’ll let me.
But it isn’t right. Not like this. It takes every ounce of my being to tear my mouth from hers.
I stand and back away from the cot and she gazes at me with a sadness that might just kill me.
She shuts her eyes, and a tear rolls down her cheek.
I ignore it. “Rest now. I’ll come back with your husband. ” It pains me to add the last bit.
Fatigue hits me like a sucker punch to the face. I need sleep. I blow out the dying flame of the candle and tip-toe to the door. I glance back at the princess peacefully sleeping in the cot. What I wouldn’t give—no. I can’t. I shake off the urge to rush back to her and hurry to the door.
I’m met by two guardsmen. Their long swords are drawn and block my exit from the healer’s room. I take a step back instinctively. “What’s this?”
“Grab him.” I hear his gruff voice before I see him. King Hardin stands behind the guards with his hands folded neatly in front of him.
The guards flank me and each take one of my arms in their hands. I don’t struggle. “What’s going on?” I look to Hardin for answers, but his expression is empty.
“You’re under arrest. For trying to assassinate the Princess of Lanray.” The guard to my right drops my arm and chains my wrists together as he explains their presence.
“What? I—This is crazy!”
Hardin raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
“Your Majesty, please! I would never harm her.” The guards drag me down the corridor and I call out to Hardin over my shoulder. “Please, tell them!” My eyes widen when Elara appears next to the King. A wicked smile spreads over her lips, and she winks at me as I’m led away to the dungeon.