“How aggressive is that poison?” I asked.
“Incredibly,” Nyfain mumbled. “It was made to kill quickly and gruesomely.”
I bent over him, getting right in front of his face. “Do you know how much of a crowded everlass plant to use with a gruesome and aggressive poison? Did your mother ever mention it?”
His lips stretched into a sublime smile, so full and soft. I remembered the feel of them. The rush of his kiss.
His voice rumbled even though it wasn’t much more than a whisper. I could feel it in my chest, as though it were tethered there. “You just figured that out on your own, didn’t you?”
“I’m right, then.” I blew out a breath. Then pointed at Sable. “Go sing that song to the crowded everlass plant.”
“You are such a clever girl, Finley,” Nyfain went on, reaching out his hand. I took it—too warm to the touch. His fever was raging. “I half suspected all this time that someone had been feeding you our family secrets on the sly. Preposterous notion, but all the same…”
“He’s headed into delirium with the fever,” Hannon warned. “If you are going to do something, do it now.”
“But here I am, watching you figure out the cure to save me. I wasn’t going to tell you. Mostly because I don’t actually know the details, but also because my mother passed the secret down to me, and I swore only to tell my family line if they were dragons. Unbelievable. You’ll do things with everlass the faeries have only dreamed of.”
I shook his hand. “How many leaves?”
“For this, probably two. But start with one in case you have a very pissy plant.”
I squeezed his hand and returned it, belatedly realizing that he hadn’t opened his eyes once through our whole exchange.
Back outside, Sable was singing to the plant in pitch-perfect soprano. She was unconsciously playing with the leaves as she did so, and I couldn’t help a grin at the thought that she was doing something Nyfain’s mother once had. I wished I could’ve known his mother. Or her people.
I’d think about the absurdity of knowing a queen another time.
“Thanks.” I ducked down beside her and then paused. I hadn’t asked whether they should be dried first. Then again, I didn’t have time to dry them anyway.
I plucked one of the healthier ones because I knew the withering leaves were even more unpredictable. If I didn’t use enough, I could always add more. Too much, and I’d need to reach for a shovel.
“Here goes nothing,” I said, working the everlass like I might for any ailment, only now adding dashes of other herbs. I worked outside in the fresh air, keeping focus.
“He’s bad, Finley,” Dash said, at the back door. I hadn’t heard his approach. “Hannon says you have very little time.”
“Cuntcicles,” I muttered. I’d been working over an open flame. This was going to be hot. I grabbed a tea mug and scooped up the contents.
Back in my room, Nyfain was groaning with his hands splayed off the sides of the bed, the backs of his fingers resting against the floor. The black of the poison had crawled nearly across his back and was working on his shoulders. His head felt like a furnace.
“Slap on some bandages; he needs to turn over onto his back and sit up.” I put the antidote （hopefully） on the table and hurried over to help Hannon with the bandages. Once we had Nyfain’s wounds covered up, I moved his legs to the ground and then pulled on the strength of my animal to help Hannon gently lift him.
“Since when are you so strong?” Hannon asked.
“There’ve been a lot of developments. Now is not the time. Also, did you know that people in the castle put on animal costumes and— Never mind. Now is definitely not the time.”
My arm ached and my legs burned, but I ignored the pain. We got Nyfain on his back, but he wouldn’t wake to sit up. His eyes fluttered, and he moaned.
“Okay, it’s going to be fine. Here we go.” I sat him up and then swung my leg over the bed behind him. I leaned against the headboard and had a startled Hannon help lean him back against me. I held out my hand, and Sable gave me the mug.
“It’s still too hot,” I murmured, then took a second to blow on it.
Nyfain groaned, and his hand came up toward my arm holding the mug.
“No, no. Someone grab his arm!”
Hannon reached over and took it, holding it down. Nyfain’s other hand came up, searching. Just barely, I heard, “Finley.”
“Okay, it’s been enough time.” I leaned closer to his ear. “You have to drink this, Nyfain.” I infused the command with the strength of my animal, who was doing the mental equivalent of wringing her hands. “Drink this, Nyfain.”