I took a deep, steadying breath. “And do you think the same?”
She examined me closely. Her eyes scraped over my face, my body, lingering on my hands and, weirdly enough, my mouth. Eventually, her gaze returned to mine. “No,” she whispered.
“No?’
“No,” she repeated. “I found those mushrooms on my own. I remember that much. I’m still not sure how you found your way into the situation. You weren’t there when I fell.”
“They say the widowmaker mushrooms aren’t local,” I reminded. I wasn’t sure why I wanted her to rally against me, but I couldn’t help but share all the information. If she were going to side against me, I wanted to get it over with.
She nodded contemplatively. “They aren’t. Details, details.”
A smile threatened to tug on my face. I felt suddenly lighter. “Details, indeed. You don’t think I planted them there for you to find?”
“No. If you wanted to kill me, why would you rescue me afterward? Anyone could have moved the mushrooms,” she said. “And with the magic returning…” She flapped her hand dismissively as if I would understand that vague statement.
I didn’t.
“Magic returning?” I asked, confused.
“You know, how magic returned to the realm after Hallow’s Eve.”
“It did?” I asked. During my time in Moonvale, I had heard folk discussing the mysteries of magic, sure, but I figured they were just idiots. Magic was everywhere. In everything. It always had been, and it always would be.
…Right?
“Have you been living under a rock?”
“Maybe I have,” I said, defensive. I didn’t like being at a disadvantage.
She seemed to notice my confusion and explained, “Things have been haywire. Magic was gone, and now it’s back, and we weren’t expecting it. Strange things have been happening.”
“And now. Are you okay?” I couldn't help but ask.
She tugged the sheet tighter around her shoulders and straightened her spine. “I’m alive.”
“But are youalright?” I pressed.
Her smile was tight. “I’ve been better. Honestly, I feel like dirt. But some rest and a bowl of stew should fix me right up.”
“That’s all it takes?”
“Sometimes. They tell me I’ve been asleep for days.” She leaned against the bars, no longer keeping as much distance between us. Her normal sweet honey smell was tainted, cloaked in something astringent. I hated it.
But at least the sickly scent of death was gone.
“The longest days of my existence.”
She pursed her lips but didn’t say anything else for a long moment.
Eventually, she spoke again. “And how old are you?”
I took a step back from the bars. “Old,” I said.
“You don’t remember much, do you?”
My hackles rose. “I remember enough.”
She nodded. “Where you came from?”
