“It’s alright.”
Seconds later, her chin tips down again. This time, she doesn’t yank it back up. “Nou—I mean, princess?”
She jerks. “Sorry,” she says again, but this time the word comes out slightly slurred.
“How are you feeling back there?” I turn my head to the side to get a glimpse of her. Her eyes are heavily hooded, pupils so blown I can only see a small sliver of her irises. “Shit.”
“Actually, I jus’ go’ really—dired. Are yu’ puttin’ me to slee’ again?”
“No, you’re just tired. You’ve had a long night. It’s okay. You can rest.”
Her head lolls forward, and immediately flinches back up. “No—I do’ think—I should do dat,’” she says, looking around the under city in a dazed panic.
“I promise I’ll get you back in one piece.”
“You will?”
“I swear it.” With that, her head hits my shoulder, her arms go lax around me, and even with my magic aiding me, holding her like this becomes awkward.
She starts to slide back, so I maneuver her around to carry her in front of me, hooking one arm under her legs and the other behind her back.
Scrutinizing her face, I can’t see that the poison is affecting her in any way aside from the drowsiness.
“Somebody doesn’t know how to handle their liquor,” a lady cackles from across the road. I ignore her, tugging the nought in closer to my chest as Magi leer at me. I continue through the streets at a brisk pace, uncertain what the time frame is here from unconsciousness to…death.
I cut around the garden to enter the side door of the castle closest to my chambers. I’m about to heave the door open when something catches my eye. A rope hanging from the balcony directly below mine. I unravel it from the rail and summon it to me to study it.
Is this…her blanket? Mixed with various other materials. That’s…clever. Definitely not stupid, then. I stare up at the balconies separating mine from the ground.
It’s also kind of fucking nuts.
Once back in my chambers, I lay her on the bed and pull back her cloak. Her hair flares out around her head like splayed silk. The antidote turns out to be a simple potion. It doesn’t take long to whip up, though it’s not a potion I’ve worked with directly—seeing as most people have the sense not to wander into the Blood Wood. The grimoire states a warning that it might cause temporary warmth.
The result is a thick, paste-like poultice applied directly to the wounds the roots have left behind. I unravel the ties around her arms and smooth the potion over the many welts, whelps, and cuts. Once finished, I sit down beside her and wait. It doesn’t take long.
A few minutes later, she sits up ramrod straight, chest heaving and eyes wide and wild as they flit around the room.
“Hey. It’s okay,” I say, coaxing her to lie back. She isn’t having any of that.
She pants, runs her hands over her chest, and then both of them over her face. Her face flushes a furious shade of red, but I don’t think it’s from embarrassment this time. “What did you do to me?” she accuses.
“It’s only the antidote. It might have side effects, but it will pass.” I’ve dealt with my own share of unpleasant side effects.
“I’m burning,” she croaks in a desperate plea. She rips at her cloak and tosses it onto the floor.
“Careful, don’t mess up the paste on your arms.” She ignores me, jumps from the bed, and snatches at the hem of her dress. She tears it over her head, taking some of the poultice on her arm with it. “Calm down.”
“What did you do? I’m burning,” she cries. She reaches down to tear off her slip, too, and I quickly bind my hands around her wrists to stop her.
“Don’t do that.”
“I need it—off!”
“It will pass. Just give it a moment.”
She struggles against me. “Please?”
With a sigh, I grip her upper arms and carry her to the bathroom, settling her in the tub under the spout. I keep a hand locked around her wrists above her head and twist at the tap to drench her in cold water. She sucks in a sharp gasp before her body relaxes, and she cradles her head against the faucet.
