She drew closer to him, reassessing him for any new injuries. “Are you all right, my lord?”
He nodded, the flush in his cheeks a contrast to the paleness of his skin.
Leena placed a hand against his forehead, her heart sinking when she felt his temperature scorching.
“You have a fever,” she cried in alarm, turning to Mrs. Van. “He says that he has been injured with demon poison—”
“Describe the wound,” Mrs. Van demanded.
Leena did so as best she could, emphasizing the black marks emanating from its center.
“Detritus Poison.” Mrs. Van’s breath hitched. “The antidote is rare.”
St. Silas nodded toward Mrs. Van. “Can you make it?”
“I can,” Mrs. Van confirmed, “but I must go back immediately to Golborne where my books are. Then it will take a few hours to collect the ingredients.”
Golborne, which was five days away. And now their carriage was broken. “How long does he have before the poison reaches his heart?” Leena’s eyes swung between St. Silas and Mrs. Van in horror.
Mrs. Van fleetingly looked at St. Silas before answering. “A few days. At most, a week.” She struggled to meet St. Silas’s gaze. “First, he will swing in and out of acute delirium, and infection will ravage his body, before he falls comatose—likely around the fifth day. I have only ever seen this poison used once. Afterward—”
Mrs. Van stopped, unable to continue.
Leena touched her chest as if her own heart felt the ache of the poison, already preparing for the end.
Coming to Weavingshaw’s hunting party, a thousand grim scenarios had played out in her mind. But never once had she seen St.Silas dying in any one of them—or imagined that the very thought of such a possibility would send her into a premature grief, as if that loss could already be felt.
Leena finally looked at all three of them mutely: Rami, his teeth clenched; St. Silas, poison thrumming in his veins, already ravaged with infection; Mrs. Van, demon-born, whose grim face belied a depth of emotion.
Leena knew with certainty that St. Silas would not last a journey on horseback.
She inhaled a lungful of crisp air, welcoming the way it burned her throat.
Steeling her nerves, she turned to her brother. “Rami, you and Mrs. Van must ride to Golborne now. You will have to push yourself to the limit, but you can make the journey in two and a half days if you ride day and night. You will have to change horses at every posting inn.” Leena glanced at the horses. They were carriage horses and would need to be traded for two riding horses at the next town.Thatwould slow them down as well. “Once you arrive in Golborne, Mrs. Van will concoct the antidote. Once that is done, you must ride as quickly as you can back to us.”
“Where will you be?” Rami asked as he took hold of the horses from Mrs. Van, already preparing for the long ride ahead.
“In Lytham, a couple of miles back. There is an old housekeeper who lives in the center of the town. We’ll hide there.”
Rami nodded. “You two must not walk back on the road, but circle around the town. I will lead the Black Coats away from you. Mrs. Van will take one horse and I will take the other, so that they may think that we have all gone to Golborne.” He paused in the act of knotting the long reins. “If we are lucky, they will not uncover the deception until we are back in the city.”
Mrs. Van’s gaze raked St. Silas. “He is fever-touched already. Our time is very short—especially as Mr. Al-Sayer will have to travel back with the antidote in this weather.”
“You will have to make it, Rami,” Leena said firmly. “If not, then I will personally track down Lord Hargreaves and trade the red diary for the antidote.”
Leena had seen St. Silas hide it in his coat pocket when they’d struggled out of the upturned carriage.
At this, St. Silas jolted, stumbling forward to grasp Leena’s shoulders in a tight grip. There was urgency in his eyes. “Swear to me that Hargreaves will never get ahold of that diary, Leena. It is essential.Swear it.”
Leena locked her stare with his. For the first time in her entire life, the lie felt natural on her tongue. “I swear it.”
He released her, turning toward Rami. “Here.” He thrust out a drawstring pouch, full of coins. “If you need more, Mrs. Van will know where to look in my study.”
Mrs. Van took one last look at St. Silas, her stern eyes memorizing the contours of his face, and for a moment it looked as if she was in prayer. Then her straight brows formed a formidable scowl as she swung herself onto the horse.
“I’m sorry,” Rami said as he climbed onto the other black gelding, “that you both have to walk toward town in this snow, but this is the only viable way to lead the Black Coats away from you.”
St. Silas nodded, his gaze already turned toward the miners’ town and the road that lay ahead.
