Fyar turned slowly towards Killian. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Poisoned,” Hokda confirmed. Then, he popped the top off of the teapot and began digging through the tea leaves that had steeped the liquid into a deep honeyed amber, strewing them all over Fyar’s desk.
“My documents,” Fyar lamented pitifully. “My desk.”
“Shut up. I need to focus,” Hokda snapped. He was hunched over the desk, examining each and every leaf, picking it up and rolling it between his fingers, searching for the bad apple of the bunch. He came up a few minutes later, two budding flowers pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Got you.”
The air turned serious.
“Tell me,” Fyar commanded.
Hokda shook his head, his eyes trained on the flowers. Distracted, it was as if he didn’t hear Fyar at all. A whisper to himself. “No. That’s not possible.”
“Hokda.” Fyar’s voice was harsher, more urgent.
The healer picked a few white petals and popped them into his mouth, chewing it, before spitting it out. The healer turned slowly, meeting Fyar’s blazing eyes. “Anafei.”
There was a there-and-gone twitch in Fyar’s eye, but otherwise he didn’t react. He went as still as a marble statue. Voice calm and steady. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Fyar and Hokda stared at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.
This poison—anafei—clearly meantsomethingto both of them. Something more than just a poison. It felt like a piece of the puzzle just clicked into place for them, the timeline and procession of events made clearer.
Killian, on the other hand, was still thoroughly in the dark. His gaze pinged back and forth between the two frozen elves.
“And?”
Hokda opened his mouth, then closed it again, and turned his gaze to the floor. Speechless for once in his life.
Clearly, Killian would get no answers from him. So he turned to Fyar. “Am I missing something here?”
Fyar simply stated facts, “Anafei is a rare and potent flower not native to Netyere. The flower is poisonous while the root is an excellent stimulant. It’s a surprising choice, to say the least.”
“You don’t dose yourself against anafei,” said Hokda. A statement, not a question.
“No, I don’t.” Fyar raised his chin. “They did their research.”
Unease wormed in Killian stomach. He was being purposely evaded. They knew more and were only giving him just enough to satisfy.
“I’ll go brew an antidote,” Hokda said. “Just to be sure. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Fyar and Killian watched the healer pack his things and go in silence.
“I’m tired,” Fyar announced when the door had closed. “I’ll sleep now.”
Killian helped the king to his feet, kept him standing when he stumbled and led him the distance to his bed, easing him down onto the mattress. He used pillows to prop Fyar up and then tucked the blankets around his legs.
Standing at Fyar’s bedside, his hands folded behind him, Killian couldn’t help but ask, “What is it you’re not telling me? I can’t do my duty properly —to find and punish this traitor whopoisonedyou—if you’re keeping secrets.”
“My secrets are not the ones that will doom us.”
“We shouldn’t have secrets at all,” Killian hissed. Fyar blinked at him. Pointed. “Not about this.”
“What you don’t know will not impede your investigation into this night. Carry out your duties and find who slippedthrough our defenses. The rest can wait for tomorrow.”
