Jessamine
It doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. How could she poison Kier? How could she want him dead? How? Her own son? My heart is in my throat as I put all of my strength into raising him off the floor. He’s heavy. Too heavy.
I stiffen at the sound of footsteps behind me and my body falls into a defensive stance. That is until I catch a whiff of Az’s scent of summer and crackling fire. “Princess?”
“Oh good,” I whisper, breathing heavily. “Help me lift him up. I believe our assumptions were awfully wrong and…” My eyes sting and I swallow, catching Kier as he flails in my arms. “Help me lift him, Az!”
Az runs to join me, pulling Kier off me and panic clutches at my heart when he coughs something that reeks of copper. “Jess,” he whispers weakly, raising his head, and the idiot gives me a toothy grin. “You don’t look like you hate me anymore.”
“Where is the way to your room from here?” I ask. I would know, but only the royals were ever allowed down the secret passageway.
His brows furrow and he shakes his head. “Dunno.”
I grip both his cheeks, forcing him to look in my eyes. He blinks slowly as I repeat the words to him. “Two turns right,” he answers and starts to scrape his skin again. I pull his arms down and he snarls at me, his eyes devoid of any recognition. They are bloodshot and weary. I recognize the poison, having seen the symptoms once in a visit to infirmary while I worked as a maid. Bloodfire, made from Dreamthorn, sunscorch blooms and belladonna. First, delirium. Second, the internal burning and the agonizing pain that follows. Third, the frantic tearing of the skin and what we like to call ‘the fire madness’.
The rest are much too gruesome to describe. The physician had said, most don’t make it to the fourth stage before they tear out their throats.
It’s an ugly way to die, and if Kier’s already this far, I wonder how much she’s dozed him with. I need to get him in the tub first.
Az starts down the path and as we step over the body of the man whose skull I believe Kier broke, it occurs to me that his chambers happen to the least safest place for him right now. If she was this determined to kill him, then she’d just as easily finish the job in his chambers.
“Is there anywhere I can take you that’s less conspicuous?” I heard once that Kier’s father had taken to staying in rooms underneath the palace, hiding in the catacombs right before his executions. Perhaps, the rumors were true. He could stay there and recover until he’s completely out of danger—because there’s simply no other choice.
He’s not dying on me now. I won’t allow it.
Kier doesn’t respond. His breaths are too silent and my throat closes, fear causing my hand to dart forward and strike him across his cheek. Hard. He jerks, his head rising a little. His eyes are red and silver lined. “I’m…tired. Thirsty.” He sniffles and Az groans when Kier pulls on the tail of his braid really hard. “Get me so wine, will you?”
“Kier, are there rooms below the castle?”
He whimpers and itches his neck. “Father had several. I don’t…I don’t like…” His voice breaks. “He’ll hit me again.” He begins thrashing, succeeding in throwing Az off him. My back slams into the wall and his arm presses against my throat. He breathes hard, shaking his head, back and forth. Then he gags, letting go of me as he falls again. “I won’t go there.”
I kneel by his side, cradling the back of his head. He lets me, leaning against my chest, awfully comfortable with rubbing his cheek against my breast. I whack him in the head and he peers up at me like child that has been scolded. “Soft,” he croaks.
“I’ll let you touch them all you want if you take me there,” I lie.
Conflict creases his forehead, but then he nods and stands too fast, only to fall again, but Az is there, grabbing him. He points left, and I follow, walking for a time per his directions until the tight space gives way into what resembles another hallway of the castle. Other than the dust, it looks perfectly fine. Just abandoned.
Az sneezes, walking down the hallway, passing door after door, until he reaches one of Kier’s choosing. I push the door, waving at the dust that falls from the door frame. I inspect the room and it’s rather odd to find everything intact. Just dusty. Someone’s been maintaining this room in particular, and I catch a whiff of Kier’s scents on the sheets as I change them.
I have so many questions, but now is hardly the time.
Az drops him on the bed and he swerves, just in time to empty out the contents of his stomach into a chamberpot I found in the bathroom. I pull his hair back, patting gently on his back as he retches, and retches.
My gaze lifts from him and I notice Az has gone green, possibly seconds away from puking. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It fucking reeks. How can you stand it?”
My temper flares. “Get the hell out if you can’t stand it. Get me blankets and a fresh change of clothes from the other rooms…” I rattle off other details. I can’t risk Renae finding out we were here, so a visit to the pack doctor is out of our options. I still need tonics and herbs. Urgently. It’d require him sneaking out.
I can’t be in here for long either or they’ll notice I’ve been gone. If only there were a way in and out that wasn’t the main entrance. Renae would have them on the look out when she realizes her plans failed. I still can’t get over the fact that she’d harm Kier. He’d be devastated if he found out.
Kier’s hot fingers land on mine when he drops back on the bed and he raps, “Pocket. Key. Study. Two doors. Hidden…shelf.”
I find the key in his left pocket and stare pleadingly at Az. He nods and leaves. A moment later, I hear another door creak down the hallway and then, silence erupts. Broken only by a sob breaking from my lips as I stare at him, his temperature pale, and his body trembling violently.
His eyes crack open at the sound, the hazel of his eyes blending with the red around them. Pain is etched on his face and when he tries to speak, nothing but a rasped noise escapes his throat. He reaches for my hands and squeeze tightly, as if to tell me he’s fine. I don’t believe that. He doesn’t either.
I don’t know what to do with the ache and heaviness in my heart. It’s easier to hate him when he’s hale and hearty, sweaty and imposing, strong and utterly annoying. But now, laying on this bed, whimpering, sobbing, puking, I can’t hate him. I can’t not care for him. I can’t not love him.