I press my lips closed.
‘Don’t worry, Storm Weaver,’ says Fox, as though he could hear the comment I swallowed. ‘I’ll have a bucket of the stuff sent over to your rooms tomorrow.’
Hal takes a swig from the vial and I’m surprised by his willingness to trust his brother when mere minutes ago he was inclined, by some deep-rooted sense of pride, to refuse his offer of help, even with Elva’s life hanging in the balance. And precarious as it may be, this new semblance of trust between them strikes me as not beingnewat all. It seems an old sort of trust, once binding and now fraying like a thread, yet still unbroken.
‘Ten, nine, eight …’ Fox begins counting down, glancing at neither Hal nor me, his eyes fixed firmly on his patient.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘Seven, six, five – be an angel and pull up a chair for His Imperial Highness, would you, Storm Weaver? Four, three …’
I frown, but Hal is starting to look a little woozy and so I do as I’m asked. The moment I slide the chair behind him, he begins swaying on his feet.
‘Two, one, and sweet dreams, dear brother.’
Hal collapses into the chair, eyes closed.
I gasp, fear stabbing at me, white-hot and fierce. Did I just witness the assassination of the Crown Prince? And am I next? Is this where I am to die, in this peculiar apothecary, surrounded by shelves and tinctures and medicines and –
‘Oh, don’t look like that. He’s not dead. He’s just sleeping.’ Fox selects a couple of sprigs of something green and strong-smelling from the rack above the countertop.
My voice is barely more than a squeak. ‘What did youdoto him?’
‘Knocked him out with some ragroot. I can’t have him all hysterical while I’m trying to work. Hysteria is not good for my concentration. Besides, I reckoned his voice is one you most definitely don’t want to hear right now, given the circumstances.’
I look at Hal spreadeagled in the chair. It’s hard to be angry at someone when they’re sleeping, but I’ll do my best.
I turn my attention to Elva. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘She appears to have fainted.’
‘But it’s more than that, isn’t it?’ I ask, as Fox reaches behind me for something.
Fox glances at me. ‘Yes, Storm Weaver, and I will explain everything to you once I have brought your friend back to the land of the living.’
My eyes widen. ‘You mean she’s –’
‘She’s alive,’ Fox assures me. ‘But her pulse is slower than I would like.’
‘What can I do?’ I twist my hands together. ‘I can’t just stand here.’
Fox half smiles. ‘Very well. Fetch me that green vial over there.’
I stare at him. ‘Could you maybe be more specific? There’s about ten thousand of them.’
‘Don’t exaggerate, Storm Weaver – there’s only nine thousand four hundred and eighty-two.’ He points. ‘Third shelf, second from the left. The label should readBitterbloom.’
I step over Hal’s legs and retrieve the vial. Fox takes it from me, pulls out the stopper with his teeth and pours two drops into a mortar along with the pungent herbs, then begins to grind them up into a paste.
‘What’s that?’
‘Lift her head up for me, would you?’
I move around the table. Elva’s hair spills off the end, her skin deathly pale, lips slightly parted. The almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest is the only sign she’s still breathing. Gently, I slip my hands behind her head and prop it up. ‘Like this?’
‘Just like that. Now, I’m going to waft this under her nose, which will result in a shock to her system, meaning she’s going to open her eyes for a moment or two.’
I shiver. ‘Her eyes, they – they wereglowing, they –’
