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“I know.” She holds the bottle over the spoon, then pulls her hand back. “You already owe me for sending a message to the Dragon Queen.”

“You sent the message to the Dragon Queen?” Cordelia asks.

“Tommy told the bees what was happening, and the bees told me.” Orla swirls the bottle. “My message got there in time, it seems.”

“Orla, the elixir.” I wave the spoon. “Please.”

She still keeps it out of my reach. “This means you owe me two rounds of Queen’s Quest.”

Cordelia tugs on my arm. “What’s Queen’s Quest?”

“A lovely game where you move pieces across a board while trying to knock the other player’s pieces off,” Orla says. “You’ve never heard of it?”

These two are killing me. “I’ll play two rounds of Queen’s Quest with you. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” She pours some elixir into the spoon, and I hand it to Cordelia.

She turns her nose away. “No, that is horrid.”

“We have to drink it.”

She swallows it down, and I do the same, gagging. Hints of garlic claw their way down my throat like stinging nettles as Orla hands us each a poultice to smear on our wounds.

“We’re going to turn in for the night,” I rasp, the concoction scratching the walls of my stomach. I’ve already depleted my energy using my aether to transport us, and Cordelia needs to get off her feet.

“Oh no, you’re not sleeping in here. You’re going to be sick all night.” Orla points to the side door in the kitchen. “Go to the greenhouse and share the hammock. That way, if the elixir doesn’t work, the sun will take care of things.”

A thread of Cordelia’s anxiety runs through the aether. “Are we going to burn in the sunlight?”

“The elixir will probably work. Don’t worry,” Orla says. “Anyways, I’ve got to get back up to the lighthouse. Here’s some bread to eat after the medicine has done the trick.” Orla gives me one of the loaves from her basket. “It’s lavender, your favorite.”

I gather some blankets, and we all file out of the kitchen. Orla heads to her post to keep the beacons burning through the night, and I lead Cordelia back to the greenhouse.

It’s slightly warmer inside the transparent building. Wrought-iron frames hold glass panels in place, the high peaked roof allowing plenty of sunlight in all year round.

Rows of green leaves sprout from long raised beds, and trailing flowers dangle from hanging baskets.

“I thought you hated lavender,” Cordelia says as I pile blankets onto the hammock slung across the bars running below the pitched ceiling.

“I developed an aversion to it recently.” The hammock dips beneath me, and I keep it low for her to climb in, pulling her back to me.

She nestles in close, then sits up. “It’s because of Darcy, isn’t it? You’re–” She dry gulps and grabs her stomach.

I rub her back, spotting a large clay pot below the bench. “It’s ok. I’ll be right back.”

I can’t travel instantaneously again until I’ve recovered some strength, but I run to fetch the pot as fast as I can and place it beside the hammock. She rolls off and moves to her hands and knees, retching.

I hold her hair back. “I am jealous.”

How could I not be?

A few minutes pass before she finishes and wipes her mouth. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you felt that way about me?”

“Because my feelings are irrelevant.” I don’t deny that I have those feelings, that I’ve had them for years. “They could never amount to anything.”

“Why not?”

“For all the reasons you already know—the nature of our arrangement makes them inappropriate. Besides, you’ve never thought of me that way until recently.”