She stood up when Conall appeared. “What’s happened?”
“She… I daenae ken… I—she just fainted!” Conall was extremely agitated.
Lilliana turned to Betsy. “Stay here. Give her the tea once it’s ready.”
Betsy nodded as Lilliana snatched up her bag and ran after Conall.
“Have you been boiling your water like I told you?” she panted.
He nodded. “Aye, Maither made sure of it.”
Even as she ran, exhaustion pulled at her. It seemed that whatever she did, she could not stop the sickness from spreading.
She arrived at Conall’s cottage only to find his mother convulsing on the floor, white foam spilling from her mouth. Beth, Conall’s sister, was doing all she could to restrain her, tears running down her cheeks as she watched their mother suffer.
Lilliana fell to her knees. “It’s alright. We’ll just wait it out. Go and boil some water, then add in some salt and honey,” she told the girl.
Beth hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave her mother.
“Go!” Lilliana urged with a reassuring smile. “I have her.”
Beth stood up and ran to the hearth, where she stoked the fire. Lilliana held tight to their mother, trying to make sure she did not hurt herself. Finally, after what seemed like an age, she stopped convulsing.
Lilliana checked her mouth to make sure she had not bitten her tongue. Luckily, she had not. Her airways were clear, and she was not choking. Lilliana took a pillow and placed it beneath the mother’s head before checking her over for any other injuries. Aside from a few bruises, she seemed fine.
Lilliana looked at Beth. “Is the mixture ready?” she asked.
“Almost,” Beth called, her voice shaking.
Lilliana looked at her and then at Conall, who was swaying from side to side in the corner.
We have to fix this. What can fix this, and soon?
Lilliana forced herself to breathe.
The convulsions had been violent but brief. Foam at the mouth. Sudden collapse. No fever. No lingering delirium.
This was not the same creeping sickness as before. This was concentrated.
Her mind raced through possibilities.
“Conall,” she said firmly, looking down. “When did she last drink?”
“This morning,” he whispered. “From the well. We boiled the water, as ye said.”
Boiled water. Good.
But had something else been added?
Lilliana leaned closer to the mother’s face. There was a hint of something bitter and metallic in her breath, beneath the sourness of vomit.
Not rot. Not fever. But poison.
Her gaze snapped towards the hearth.
“Beth,” she called sharply, “do not add honey.”
The girl froze. “But ye said?—”
