by Sofia Daniel
The top half of his tattered overalls fell away, only to reveal a strong, unblemished body. I ran a hand down the thick, downy covering over his muscled chest and sighed. “How am I going to find an injury under all that fur?”
“I couldn’t smell blood,” said McVittie. “His injuries are probably magical.”
“Then we’d better call someone,” I said.
“And have them tell Lady Gala your whereabouts?”
My shoulders drooped. “Pokeweed got injured because of us. If we had told him our plans before setting off, he might have suggested keeping Prince August in another tree. Or warned us about the guards.”
McVittie bowed his head. “Who do you suggest we call?”
“I have a few friends.”
After settling Pokeweed on my bed, I found one of his jackets, slipped it over my shoulders, and set off down the tunnels in the direction of the remedial building. I wasn’t completely sure that I was going the right way, so I exited via the nearest tree and found myself standing at the border of the part of the woods that backed onto the stables.
Wild horses grazed within a meadow that stretched around the back of the stables and the remedial building, along with a few sheep and goats.
Keeping my head high, I crossed the meadow in case an invisible guard was on the lookout for clues related to the disappearance of Prince August. Nobody grabbed me as I passed through the paved patio and into the remedial building’s stone hallway.
Inside the gymnasium, remedial students dove off high boards and landed on nets that stretched the entire length and width of the vast room. I glanced around for signs of Flora but instead found Mr. Whittaker standing by the door.
“Sir?” I whispered.
He turned around. “Can I help yo—” His eyes widened. “They told me you were dead.”
“It’s a long story.” I shot a paranoid glance at the students, who all seemed too busy leaping and bouncing to notice any newcomers.
His brows furrowed. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to be here?”
I pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. “Something’s happened.”
He followed me out and gestured for me to walk upstairs to the common room. Upstairs, Flora sat alone in the dining area with a steaming cup of tea, and I remembered Helen mentioning something about her never having developed wings. She gave us a cursory glance and returned to staring at her drink.
“Flora?” I asked.
She raised her head and squinted. “Do I know you?”
As I walked past the lounge area, she stood and took a few tentative steps. Recognition flashed in her dark eyes, and she rushed across the room and wrapped her arms around my neck.
“Unity!” she said with a sob in her voice. “I thought you’d been executed.”
“Sorry for not telling you sooner,” I whispered into her hair and hugged back. For me, I’d only left for a few days, but it had been three months for everyone else. “I was trapped in some kind of dream.”
“All this time?” She drew back, her eyes bright.
I nodded.
Mr. Whittaker took a seat at Flora’s table. “What’s going on?”
I bit down on my lip. Telling them about my abduction of Prince August might make them accessories for not immediately reporting my confession to the guards. I skipped that part and the bit about Pokeweed making a changeling out of my hair and blood to fake my death.
“Guards surrounded Pokeweed and attacked him all at once.” My throat thickened as I said the words. “He’s unconscious, and I’m not sure how to wake him.”
Mr. Whittaker shook his head. “I don’t know why they don’t leave him alone.”
“Why do they attack him in the first place?” asked Flora. “He’s harmless.”
The remedial teacher ran his fingers through his hair. “Pokeweed once mentioned everyone’s curiosity about the species of his father. Some of the rumors going around are awful.”
“Could you bring Healer Tarax to the huge apple tree?” I asked. “I’d go into the main building myself, but—”
“Someone would recognize you and tell Lady Gala,” said Flora.
Mr. Whittaker stood. “I’ll contact him now through the talking mirror. If he’s not with a patient, he usually comes straight away.”
With a long, relieved breath, I also stood. “Thank you.”
Flora scrambled to her feet. “Is there anything I can do?”
“When Pokeweed gets better, I’ll come round, and we’ll catch up,” I said with a smile.
By the time I returned to the orchard, Healer Tarax paced outside the tree, clutching an overstuffed bag. The white-haired male gave me a nod of acknowledgment and asked, “Are you here to let me in?”
Nodding, I pressed my hand on the knot and guided the healer upstairs to the room where I’d left Pokeweed.
He paused at the foot of the bed, examined the remnants of his overalls, placed a hand in the center of his chest, and sighed. “I’m glad you called and didn’t try to heal this yourself.”
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“Someone attacked Pokeweed with a deadly poison called nightsbane. The only reason I suspected it was his general healthy appearance.”
“I don’t get it.” Why would a poison make someone look better?
“Judging from the patterns of the scorch marks on the tree and the tattered state of Pokeweed’s attire, I expected him to be in significantly worse condition.”
“Right…” I nodded, still not quite understanding what he meant.
“You see, nightsbane is an intelligent poison in that it improves the victim’s condition while exacting its damage on the internal organs. Until nightsbane has done its job, the victim appears completely healthy.”
McVittie jumped on the bed and sniffed at Pokeweed’s head. “That’s why I couldn’t smell any wounds.”
“Nightsbane would have diverted some of young Pokeweed’s magic to heal those.”
“Then why is he unconscious?” I asked.
Healer Tarax shook his head. “Whoever did this to Pokeweed must have also placed him in a deep sleep, expecting someone to revive him with effervescent salts.”
My throat dried, and I stared down at Pokeweed, who looked so peaceful. “And that’s bad?”
“For someone under the influence of nightsbane, it means a quick and painful death. If I revived him, he would have three hours of peace before the nightsbane consumed his body.”
McVittie narrowed his yellow eyes. “It’s a good thing you knew to check for that poison, then.”
Healer Tarax flinched at the suspicion in the cat’s words. “It was a favorite in the Court of Queen Maeve until people started getting paranoid about being in excellent health. I check patients for it routinely.”
I sat on the edge of Pokeweed’s bed and clutched my churning stomach. Condemning someone to a painful death went beyond hatred for their physical appearance. This was probably the work of the Duke of Nevermore, who wanted revenge on Pokeweed for having been born.
“What’s the antidote?” I stared at Healer Tarax’s medicine bag, which he still hadn’t opened.
The white-haired faerie’s posture drooped, and he clasped his hands over his solar plexus. “There is none,” he said in a broken voice. “The best I can do for Pokeweed is to hope that he doesn’t awaken.”
Pain rippled through my insides. This couldn’t be right. Pokeweed hadn’t done anything to hurt anyone. He was just a gardener who did odd jobs around the academy and only defended himself when the bullying got physical.
Palpitations seized my heart in several clenching blows. I doubled over, my ears ringing, my eyes stinging.
“No.” The word came out in a strangulated cry, and I gazed up at Healer Tarax, my only source of hope.
He bowed his head, breaking off eye-contact. “If it’s any consolation, Pokeweed won’t feel any pain in his unconscious state. When the poison has done its job, he will simply crumble into dust.�
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Chapter 10
Despair crushed my spirits like an avalanche, and I leaned forward, resting my head in my hands. My best hope of saving Pokeweed was the wishbone, but I had no chance of breaking Lady Gala’s curse on the princes without Pokeweed’s help.
“You can’t let him die,” I said.
Healer Tarax patted me on the shoulder, but I barely felt his touch. My entire body had become numb, save for the stinging of my eyes, and the crumbling of my heart.
“Even if I knew of a cure for nightsbane, whoever poisoned him will strike again,” said the doctor. “It takes a very powerful and skilled user of magic to administer it in a way that doesn’t poison anyone else.”
I raised my head. “It was the Duke of Nevermore.”
The healer cleared his throat and stared down at me with watery eyes. Maybe he knew something of Pokeweed’s parentage. Maybe he didn’t want to speak badly of someone so highly ranked within the Royal Court. Whatever his silence meant, he was either unable or unwilling to do any more for Pokeweed.
Eventually he said, “I’m afraid that young Pokeweed had several enemies in the guard.” His words were so slow, so carefully enunciated that it was obvious that he was being vague enough not to get himself into trouble. “For reasons I cannot fathom, they found his breeding an affront to all things high faerie.”
“Nothing wrong with fur,” said McVittie. “I thought Pokeweed was very handsome.”
I swallowed hard at the cat’s referring to Pokeweed in the past tense.
Healer Tarax shrugged. “Unfortunately, high faeries don’t share your aesthetics.”
Pokeweed’s chest stilled, and I placed my hand over his heart to check that he was still alive. A slow, steady beat reverberated against my palm, almost like he was asleep. Had this been how he had felt when Lady Gala had attacked me? I couldn’t imagine sitting at someone’s bedside for three months, wondering if they would ever open their eyes.
“Can you wake him and ask which high-ranking faerie was responsible for the attack?” asked McVittie.
“It’s kinder to let him sleep,” replied Healer Tarax. “The last moments of nightsbane are incredibly horrific, and I wouldn’t wish them on such a gentle soul.”
My fists clenched and I ground my teeth until my jaw ached. If I ever got the chance, I would track down every single guard who so much as insulted Pokeweed and send them to the Dark Fae Prison. Those wicked, malicious creatures would suffer ten times the torment they subjected Pokeweed.
A loud bang from upstairs sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. Prince August had probably heard us talking and was trying to get free. I glanced at Healer Tarax, who continued to stare down at Pokeweed through sad eyes. Was the ward Pokeweed had set up on the top level of his treehouse still working through his unconscious state?
McVittie leaped down from the bed and trotted to the spiral staircase. “Right, then. If there’s nothing you can do for Pokeweed, you’d better leave.”
“Very well.” Healer Tarax bent to pick up his medicine bag.
“Sir?” I placed a hand on his arm. “If anybody asks—”
“I only met a talking cat, yes.” His eyes twinkled. “Although I’m delighted to find that rumors of your immolation were proven false.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
He gave me a jaunty salute and headed for the stairs. “I’ll see myself out.”
McVittie bounded after him, saving me the trouble.
I turned back to Pokeweed, who hadn’t moved since I’d laid him out on the bed. How long would he sleep like that before the poison took effect? For his sake, I hope he wouldn’t wake.
His chest barely rose and fell, and I placed my hand back over his heart to feel the comfort of its beat. My spine slumped with defeat, and fatigue swept through my insides.
“I’m so sorry, Pokeweed,” I murmured. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
He continued to lie there on his back, unresponsive down to the unmoving brown-and-orange wings that stretched out beneath his back.
I curled up on Pokeweed’s side, placed my head on his broad shoulder and my arm around his waist, inhaling his earthy scent. If I held onto my friend, would that stop him from crumbling into dust? My fingertips sank into his soft fur, and his warmth radiated through my skin.
Beneath that fur was a hard, muscular chest with nipples that pebbled under my touch. It might have been my imagination, but Pokeweed’s heartbeat quickened. I moved my head to the center of his chest, where the sound echoed through my ear chamber.
Pokeweed’s abs were tight and covered in more of the same, soft fur. I ran my hand further down and traced my fingers across the waistband of his overalls.
A soft weight landed at my feet. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
I raised my head. “Huh?”
McVittie scowled. “You’re groping Pokeweed. I can see where your hand is going.”
Heat surged to my cheeks. I snatched my hand away, my heart clattering, my eyes wide. “I was just listening to his heart.”
“Oh?” The cat said with a sneer. “If I’d arrived a few minutes later, where would I have found your fingers?”
I sat up, and my gaze swept across Pokeweed’s unconscious form, stopping at where his white overalls stretched over a thick, slumbering penis with a prominent head. “That can’t be right. I would never—”
“Take Prince August something to eat,” said McVittie. “I’ve heard shock makes people act in peculiar ways, but touching a male on his deathbed is plain perverted.”
My hand swept over a bulging bicep. “McVittie…”
The cat hissed. “Clear your head, and come back with a bit more respect for the dying, eh?”
McVittie’s words hit like a slap, but they’d been well-deserved. I pulled away from Pokeweed’s large, warm body, pressed a kiss on his cheek, and hurried down the stairs.
The last person I wanted to see was Prince August. He’d probably heard the entire conversation, and after what I had done to him earlier, he would probably call me cock-hungry or something equally as insulting. Instead of giving him lunch, I walked to the downstairs wall and opened a door.
The scent of burned apples mingled with woodsmoke, and warm sunlight filtered in through the singed canopy of the huge apple tree. Stepping out into the parched earth, I glanced in the direction of the pond for signs of the soldiers but found nothing but a peaceful orchard.
Birds chirped overhead, signaling their return to a tree that was no longer burning. Maybe Pokeweed had put out the fire with his magic before falling into unconsciousness.
I walked around the perimeter of the thick trunk, my feet crunching the charred branches. It made sense that they wouldn’t return for Pokeweed. Whoever had been in command of them must have withdrawn the troops, satisfied with the success of his assassination.
“There she is,” said a distant female voice.
Flora and Mr. Whittaker approached from within the meadow of giant garlic flowers. As soon as I raised my hand, they picked up their pace and jogged through the orchard.
“How’s Pokeweed?” The remedial teacher ran a hand through his golden hair.
My gaze dropped to the ground, where a thick root snaked out from under the soil. Its bark had been burned off, exposing its glistening, white core. “One of the attackers administered a deadly poison. There’s no antidote.”
When neither one of them replied, I peered up at them through my lashes. Flora stood with her hand over her mouth, and Mr. Whittaker with his over his chest. He stepped back, shaking his head from side to side.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“But I don’t understand how the life-water failed. It works on everything.”
I reared back. “What?”
“Didn’t Healer Tarax give him any?” asked Flora.
“He said…” My shoulders drooped. The healer hadn’t tried anything or suggested any cures except effervescent salts, which would acc
elerate Pokeweed’s death. “Have you heard of nightsbane?”
Mr. Whittaker shook his head.
“My father used to joke about it,” said Flora. “If someone turned up looking nicer than usual, he’d asked whether they’d checked themselves for nightsbane. It’s supposed to be nasty, but he never said that life-water couldn’t cure it.”
I stared from Flora to Mr. Whittaker. They both looked as perplexed as I felt.
“Why do you think he didn’t want Pokeweed healed?” I asked.
Flora rubbed her chin. “If someone high up wants him dead, what do you think they’ll do to the healer for undermining their handiwork?”
“Bloody hell,” I muttered. “You can’t trust anyone around here.”
Flora spread her arms wide. “That’s how things work in the Royal Court. Everyone’s stabbing everyone in the back, and those who aren’t are keeping in the shadows to avoid becoming collateral damage.”
“Right.” Paranoia prickled against my skin, and I glanced around the orchard for eavesdroppers but found only neat rows of apple trees.
“That’s why father survived so long,” said Flora. “Nobody ever notices the horse breeders.”
Mr. Whittaker and I exchanged the same look. Neither of us wanted to ask Flora what had happened to her father. All I knew was that he had died, and her human mother had sent Flora to the academy for a chance of a better life. Guilt skittered through my insides at having lost her father’s cloak in the Spring Court.
“Where can we get this life-water?” I asked.
“This way.” Mr. Whittaker headed toward the field of giant garlic flowers. “There’s an aquifer that runs beneath the rock from the palace to all major settlements within the Prudence District, such as the Plaza, the major Courts, and the Royal Fae Academy.”
I glanced from side to side, my skin pricking with the kind of self-awareness I’d expect from a prey animal in a nature DVD. Anyone could be watching us. Using the trees as cover, I followed Flora and Mr. Whittaker. As soon as we reached the shade of the giant garlic flowers, a sense of ease swept over my skin.
