“I am serious!Thisis serious. The kingdom is a mess. Who’s to say that Mainland isn’t going to face the same Undesirable rules as the Grounders face. You’ve heard the servants’ stories about raids. About people being hanged just for having an ailment.”
“Alright, I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just that you’re already working your arse off to get through each day. I didn’t want to further overwhelm you.”
“Neris. You mean more to me than anything else. Please risk overwhelming me. You’re more a sister to me than Arionna has ever been. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I stand and take her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Now go take the damn medicine before you relapse again.”
She salutes. “Yes, ma’am.”
As she walks off, I pick up the crystal cup to return it to the table. I pour myself some water, and as I turn with the freshly filled glass, a tingling sensation glazes over my skin. A figure materializes before me, covered from head to toe in a grey, tattered cloak. I gasp and drop the glass, which shatters. I bump my hip into the table, causing the pitcher to fall over. Water spills, pooling on the table and overflowing onto the floor.
The figure holds a withered, almost greyish hand to blue lips, the only thing visible under the cloak. The book bindery dissolves around me, and a dark, misty forest appears with a gigantic tree stretching toward the sky.
That damn tree again!
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen it. It’s appeared in my dreams many times before, always accompanied by an inexplicable desire to travel northward, away from here.
A shattering sound fills my ears, and I wince, closing my eyes. When I open them again, I’m back in the bindery, and the figure is nowhere in sight.
My heart is in my throat, cutting off my air supply. It takes a while before I can catch my breath again. Where the figure stood, four symbols glow on the floor. A singular spiral, three whorls, a cross within a circle, and a triquetra. But in a blink, they’re all gone.
Realms above, what on earth is happening to me?
I need sleep.
I’ve been taking half an elixir every day, and it only takes the edge off the pain. By dinner tonight, the daily ache was already starting to sink in. Now, as I lay in bed, the sheets drawn up to my chin as Gruffud snores loudly beside me, the pain infiltrates my senses until I can’t ignore it anymore. I stumble out of bed and don my nightgown, then my silk housecoat. I cinch it tightly around my waist and grab the oil lantern to light my way.
As I step into the corridor, the flame casts eerie shadows in the hallway. My pulse spikes as my vision darkens and wanes at the edges. I grip the banister with my slick palm and pad down the staircase. I just need to make it outside, get the herbal mixture, and brew the tea Radika gave me.
Cold sweat breaks out on my skin as I step outside and make my way to where I keep my elixirs buried. I close my eyes, breathing slowly as I draw the stony box from the earth and pluck the satchel of herbs from inside. Burying the box again takes more effort than usual, but finally, I make my way back into the kitchen and force my bare feet to take me toward the kettle hanging in the woodburning oven.
Water sloshes inside the kettle when I jostle it, so I light the logs with the flint and tinder while sweat continues to dampenmy nightgown. Bone deep pain in my thighs forces me to my knees moments before a searing sensation pours down my throat.
Stars spot my vision as pain ripples through my senses. The world disappears. Saliva floods my mouth, and I gag. When my arms fail to hold me upright any longer, the cold kitchen floor against my cheek shocks my senses, keeping me fully conscious and aware. The slash of agony across my abdomen is a sadistic reenactment of the initial effects of the Cleanse a year ago. I curl into myself, breathless and nauseated, dizzy, hot and cold.
I’m not sure how long I lie on the floor, shivering and biting back groans of distress, but a voice wavers in and out of my senses. “Lady Gwyneth?” Sage’s airy voice has gone shrill. Too loud.
My eyes blink open, my sight bleary.
“Do you need me to get Gruffud? Call for a healer?”
I push myself up on wobbly arms as the kettle starts to scream. “No,” I grind out. I pause to swallow the acrid vomit that rises into my throat. “I just need tea. It’s from a healer.”
Sage squats in front of me, her plump face shifting in and out of focus. Her eyes drop to the satchel that’s fallen to the floor. She picks it up, holding the pouch before my face. “This?” she asks.
I nod, and the motion makes my head and neck ache.
“Alright, I’ll make the tea and add tepid water to cool it down.”
I must lose consciousness for a moment, because the next thing I know, there’s a clammy hand on my face. I peel my eyelids back and force my eyes as wide as I can. Sage sets something down with a dullclinkand hoists me up, pain skittering across my sensitive skin. She braces me upright somehow and holds a porcelain teacup to my lips.
“Sip slowly, Lady Gwyneth.” Her voice is quiet and gentle for once. The liquid still scalds my tongue and the roof of my mouth, but I drink it anyway. Perspiration cools on my skin and the pain slowly begins to fade as exhaustion seeps in. “One more sip,” Sage coaxes. I barely get the liquid in my mouth before someone shouts over the gentle crackle of the woodstove.
“What in hells is going on in here?”
Sage jumps to her feet and steps aside, making way for Gruffud. Shite … His face is even more menacing than usual in the light of the oil lamp. He sets it down on the table within reach and bends to grab my arm. Pain flares through my still-sensitive body as he hauls me to my feet.
“What is wrong with you?” he demands, his grip unfaltering.
“I—” The words snag in my throat as his eyes roam my body, my face.
