She huffed in irritation. “Go get the book.”
I went and got the book.
We settled down with it held between us, positioned so we could keep an eye on the daydreamers. The next paragraph after the warning—which I might have seen if Angelica hadn’t been bossing me around—contained more details on how to treat someone dealing with pollen toxicity.
Wash the pollen off their face: done.
Put distance between them and the flowers: done.
The book didn’t offer any sort of cure, only a note that said: “If effects linger for longer than twelve hours, seek professional help.”
Where are we supposed to find professional help in the middle of the woods?I passed the book off to Angelica and leaned my head back against a tree trunk. Twelve hours wasn’t too long, in the scheme of things, but it was twelve hours of watching over our high companions with only Angelica to talk to.
At least they weren’t staring wide eyed at the sky anymore. Fitz lay on his side, cradling his hands and occasionally muttering, “They’ll come back, you’ll see.”
Maximus was still making the same hand motion, but the time between repetitions had slowed, until he only whispered, “Mushroom” every ten minutes.
Delilah had curled up into a small ball. Occasionally, she whined in her sleep and moved her arms and legs like she was chasing rabbits.
Only Wilde really concerned me. Everyone else made noises of some sort, but he just silently moved his lips. I leaned forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling his head onto my lap. Once settled in, his eyes finally closed, and he seemed to fall asleep.
“How long have you known about the time-loop?” I asked Angelica.
“Is it a time-loop if it’s different every time?”
“Some things have been the same for me,” I said. “I think.”
She leaned her head back against her own tree and closed her eyes. “I’ve been aware of it since the beginning. Maybe because I was paying attention. Wilde did … something, and the world shifted around me. Everything flowed backwards. Slowly at first, then so fast that all I could see was a blur of colors. When the world settled back into place, I was at the breakfast table, listening to my parents plan out my future.”
“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?”
We both fell quiet, because we both knew the answer. How did you explain to the people around you that time was repeating? “But you acted like you didn’t know. Delilah’s ears surprised you! And you didn’t get sick at the shopping center, when Wilde altered time twice in a row!”
She shrugged. “I’ve never been sick in public a day in my life—not even a sniffle. A little time travel won’t change that. As for Delilah’s ears, well … I still had to play my part, didn’t I? Or things might not happen how they should.”
“How are things supposed to happen?”
Angelica’s expression hardened. “Wilde gaveeveryonea second chance, but the Lord of Grimnight does not deserve one. I don’t care that he’s your father. I’ll complete this quest however many times it takes to defeat him once and for all.” She stared me down, waiting for my reaction. To see if I would defend my evil father, ask for leniency or forgiveness.
I looked down at Wilde’s head in my lap, stroking his silky white hair. The bruises under his eyes had finally faded. Whatever dreams the flowers gave him, he looked peaceful, happy. Nothing like an evil mage’s apprentice. Once the old man was gone, Wilde would be free to choose a new path. “You’re right. The only thing the Lord of Grimnight deserves is death.”
Chapter Thirty-Two: Wilde
Past, Present, or Maybe Future
Lying Naked on a Bed of Flowers
Content
My eyes were closed, and wherever I was, I was too comfortable to open them. Silk sheets were below me and flower petals all around me. A breeze drifted through the room, carrying with it the sweet scent of honey.
Fingers ghosted over my leg, so light they only left the impression of touch behind. I shifted restlessly, wanting them to stop teasing and hold me. The hand obeyed my silent command and closed around the back of my calf, firm enough to feel the pressure of all five fingers. “What do you want me to say?” Treasure murmured, his breath warming the sensitive back of my knee. “Would you like me to call you master?”
I wanted him to, once. It filled my head and my heart until I could think of nothing else but his lips shaping pretty words of obedience. Back then, ‘Master’ meant he belonged to me, that I could keep him and have everything I ever wanted. Now the minions tossed the title around constantly. In seriousness and in jest, to report, complain, or question. It meant responsibility. Conformity. Dozens of people called me ‘Master’ and I didn’t want to lose Treasure among them. “Call me whatever you want.”
“Wilde,” he whispered. “Or perhaps something more intimate?” He pressed a kiss to my knee and slowly spread my leg wide so he could fit himself between my thighs. “My dear?”
