Dawn came and went. He lost track of time entirely, his world narrowing to the workbench and the equations spinning through his mind. The mysterious component finally revealed itself somewhere in the middle of the second night—a compound derived from a fungus that grew in the southern wetlands.
He didn’t have access to that fungus, but he knew something similar that grew in the forests just below the mountain, in the dark spaces where the trees grew so thick that sunlight never reached the ground.
He emerged from the workshop just as the first grey light of the second dawn was filtering through the entrance to the den. Jessa was asleep in the chair beside Dani’s bed, her head drooping against her chest, one hand still clutching her sister’s fingers.
He didn’t wake her.
The forest was cold and quiet as he made his way down the slope. His body ached from the hours of immobility, his eyes burned from staring at his equipment, but he barely noticed. The location he needed wasn’t far—a hollow tree he’d discovered during his second winter here, its interior colonized by a specific species of fungus that glowed faintly in the darkness.
He collected what he needed and returned to the workshop.
Another day of work. Another night. The substitute compound wasn’t identical to the original, but it was close—close enough that it should work. In theory. If his analysis had been correct. If his memory of long-ago lessons hadn’t failed him. If he hadn’t made a single mistake in the dozens of calculations and measurements and reactions required to create the final product.
Too many ifs, and not enough time to verify them.
The finished medicine was a pale liquid, almost colorless, with a sharp herbal scent that caught at the back of his throat. He held the small vial up to the light, watching the liquid catch and refract the glow from the fire.
Please,he thought, though he wasn’t sure who he was praying to.Please let this work.
He found Jessa in the main room, warming broth over the fire. She looked up at his approach, and hope flared in her eyes—hope that turned to something more complicated when she saw what he was holding.
“Is that?—”
“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “It should be. The components are correct and the proportions are right, but I’ve never made this specific medicine before. I can’t promise?—”
“Give it to her.”
“Jessa—”
“She’s getting worse.” The words came out flat. The voice of someone who had already accepted the worst possible outcome. “The fever spiked again this morning. She hasn’t been conscious since yesterday afternoon. If there’s even a chance?—”
“There is.” He crossed to her, taking her hand in his. “But you need to understand what we’re risking. If I got something wrong?—”
“If you got something wrong, she dies.” Her eyes met his, steady and sure. “If we do nothing, she dies. I’d rather take the risk.”
He couldn’t argue with that logic. He didn’t want to.
Together, they walked into Dani’s room.
The child looked impossibly small in the bed he’d built for her, her dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink. Her breathing was shallow and irregular, each exhale rattling in her chest. The fever flush had spread from her cheeks to her neck and chest, painting her skin an alarming red.
She was dying. He didn’t need his healer’s training to see it.
He knelt beside the bed, the vial steady in his hand even as his heart tried to hammer its way out of his chest. He carefully tilted the liquid into a small cup, mixing it with water to dilute the strength.
“Dani.” Jessa’s voice was soft as she lifted her sister’s head. “Dani, sweetheart, you need to drink this.”
The child’s eyes flickered open. They were unfocused and glazed with fever, but they were still her.
“Is it gonna taste bad?” The question came out as barely a whisper.
He almost laughed. Almost cried. “Probably.”
“‘Kay.” Her eyes drifted to him, and something that might have been a smile tugged at her cracked lips. “Trust you.”
Don’t,he wanted to say.I don’t deserve it.
Instead, he helped Jessa raise the cup to Dani’s lips.
