“I caught your scent in my sleep,” he says. “Now answer my question. What are you doing?”
Anger breaks through my momentary fear, clearing my mind a little more and giving strength to my legs. I force myself to straighten and push away from the door. It takes all my effort to speak without letting my teeth chatter again. “What right have you to ask like you’re in charge of me?”
He crosses his arms. “I am in charge of you, Miss Snow. I was sent to kill you, and now I’m determined to protect you instead. At the risk of breaking a bargain that will end my life, mind you. Until we prove your innocence and your stepmother’s guilt, your safety is my priority. Not to mention, this is my house.”
I clench my jaw. “I wasn’t aware it was a crime to leave.”
“It is when your actions put us both in danger. Sneaking around in the middle of the night in the very court ruled by the woman who wants you dead is an act of grave stupidity.”
I bristle, and my anger rises. I’m grateful for it. Grateful for how it burns away my nausea. Keeps the grief that lingers just beyond my awareness at bay. “Oh, so I’m stupid now?”
He takes a step closer. “You are if you were about to wander the woods in search of Crimson Malus.”
Fury rises inside me like a vicious tide. I’m not sure what I’m angrier at—his know-it-all smugness or the fact that he’s right. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I was going out for air—”
“That’s a lie.”
I open my mouth but quickly snap it shut. The truth is, I have no argument against his allegations, and I hate it. I hate that he’s right. I hate that he can smell my lies. I hate that my need for Crimson Malus is so strong that it’s clouding my judgment, making me reckless. I hate that even though I know all that, I still want to creep from the estate and search for the fae fruit.
“Fine,” I say, brushing past him with all the dignity I can muster. “If you’re so determined to be my jailer, let me go back to my prison.”
I manage only a few steps before his hand comes gently around my forearm. I pause, half out of exhaustion, half because there’s something soothing about the sudden touch, the warmth of his skin that somehow cools my fever and burns away my cold sweat. He stands next to me, his eyes searing into my profile. My shoulders sag, my body desperate to lean into his solid form.
“It’s almost out of your system,” he says, tone soft. “Once it is, you’ll be fine. This is the worst part, Astrid. You can get through it.”
His words have my heart softening, my muscles uncoiling. I’m going to be fine. I can believe that…can’t I?
A vision flashes before my mind’s eye. Of Father’s slack face, his pale skin. Of black veins dancing over his flesh, courtesy of a poison that had been meant for me…
I yank my arm out of Torben’s grip, summoning my fury to burn the vision from my mind, to give me strength against the sorrow that seeks to claim me, body and soul.
“Stop talking about my situation like you know anything about it,” I say through my teeth. “I’m not fine, Torben. I’m not going to be fine.”
“Yes, you will be. It’s the poison that’s making you unwell, forcing you to rely on it. It’s killing you.”
“You don’t know—”
“I do know.” Torben’s voice manages to rise without becoming a shout. “It’s how my father died.”
23
ASTRID
Anew flood of convulsions has me in its grip. I take in Torben’s tense shoulders, his expression that constantly shifts between sorrow and rage. Emotions that war within me as well. I swallow hard, but my voice still comes out with a tremor. “Your father died from Crimson Malus?”
He nods. When he speaks, his tone comes out cold. “My father, a pureblood fae bear shifter with the strongest constitution of anyone I’ve known, died from the very poison you’re so fond of.”
“I…I don’t understand. How did that happen?”
He purses his lips as if he doesn’t want to answer. Then, taking a step back, he rubs a hand over his jaw. “After my mother died,” Torben says, voice softer now, “Father changed. At first, the changes were expected. He was grieving the same as I was. We were both getting used to our seelie bodies and living in human society. But as the years went on, his changes became drastic. Mood swings. Constant fatigue. He started handing over more of the estate’s responsibilities to staff. Stopped teaching me how to properly take on his duties. Toward the end, he expressed neither grief nor joy. He ceased to show emotions at all. He’d always been a good and loving father, doing everything he could to give me a safe and thriving life in the wake of Mother’s death. Crimson Malus changed that. By the time I found out about his use of the poison, it was too late. There was nothing I could do to help him.”
“But…but he was full fae. It shouldn’t have done anything to him.”
“It affected him nonetheless. Using the poison for recreational purposes isn’t unheard of for the fae, but most prefer the more potent effects of fruits like Honey Pyrus. Crimson Malus feels subtle in comparison. Nearly benign aside from a slight mellowing or lifting of the mood. That’s what makes it seem safe. But it isn’t safe. What’s happening to you now is the same thing that happened to my father. The longer he used it, the more his body began to rely on it. His innate fae healing was destroyed. He started to weaken, catching every contagious ailment he came across—things no fae should be susceptible to in the first place. Eventually, no amount of Crimson Malus could help him recover. The worst part was, he didn’t care. He was neither happy nor sad about his fate.”
My heart hammers so hard I feel it might burst. While I ache for Torben’s loss and fear what he’s told me about the fatal consequences of my tincture, his story has also reminded me of my own loss. Of everything I’m trying not to feel right now. Desperation and panic claw their way up my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“Torben, I’m so sorry for what happened to your father,” I say, trying to sound as sincere as I can, “but my situation isn’t the same. I won’t use my tincture forever.”
