Veda nods over at the two. “What’s happening there?”
“They’re debating which potion to use ...andit looks like Khadijah is backing down.”
“Impressive. We need to learn his secrets.”
Expecting Hiram to joke, instead she finds him scooting closer to her. Hovering. He presses his lips to her forehead, toying with the end of her braid.
“Don’t get maudlin now.” She notices something in his hand. “What’s that?”
“Antidote for foxglove poisoning.”
“I could have—”
“Made one? There’s no time.” He glances back at the healers, then pockets the vial. “If this doesn’t work, then ...”
“We try the foxgloves. Alone.”
“Khadijah is—”
“Going to be pissed. But we don’t have much to lose.”
“Only your life.”
“Ariadne is coming for that anyway.” At Hiram’s wince, Veda adds, “You don’t have to stay for this.”
“Thanks for the out, but I’m not taking it.” The double meaning is not lost on her.
Hiram stays with her when they wade into the lake. Water is the best conduit of magic, according to Healer Michaels, who casts spells to shield them from view and monitor her vitals. He hands Veda the vial of Heartbeat Hollow’s essence. “Drink and count back from ten. You may be aware, you may hear things, but you shouldn’t feel anything.”
Hesitation lingers, even with the vial in hand, uncorked and ready for consumption. Veda has a hundred things she wants to say to Hiram, but drinks before she can speak her mind. Counting down from ten, she floats on her back and watches the sky. The breeze is warm, the airis crisp. The gentle lap of waves on the shore is so quiet, she can hear the occasional splash of jumping fish.
A hand in hers is the last thing she feels before darkness overtakes her.
Time loses shape and meaning, passing through Veda’s fingers like smoke. She falls deeper and deeper into the contradiction of tumultuous peace.
“Hiram, hold her.”
“It’s working . . .”
“Oh my Cosmos . . .”
“No . . .”
Veda does not know when the darkness loosens its grip, but her eyes flutter open.
Blue is the first thing she registers—eyes so familiar, yet the man behind them looks like he’s aged five years in seconds.
She doesn’t need to ask. She can still feel it.
“It . . . it failed.”
Strike two for the day, and unlucky nine overall.
Veda wakes late that afternoon, reflecting on the day’s failures until Hiram drags her outside for tea on the dock. They watch the sun sink below the waterline and have a quiet dinner. It’s peaceful despite the looming heaviness. Veda hardly thinks about the fact that they’re truly alone for the first time, and by the time she does, Hiram says, “I think I should brew this with you.”
“Aren’t you—”
“It’s not my best skill, but brewing involves more preparation than actual work. You’re not alone, remember?”
