She wanted to doubt herself, to regret her choice to let Blair take poison for her. But when she touched the small blisters on her forefinger and thumb, she was reminded of who she was. She knew the antidote for Aethyn, if she would only trust herself and let her knowledge and years of training flow through her now.
She turned to David, who stood at her side, solemn with dread.
“Can you bring me a small iron pot, full of water that I can boil over the fire, a knife, and a wooden board to cut on?” Sidra asked.
David nodded. He strode to the doors that fed into the kitchens, and Sidra began to drag her chair closer to the hearth.
“Let me, Laird,” Blair said to her, but his voice had grown hoarse, and he grimaced as he cleared his throat, as if it hurt to speak.
Sidra studied his face. The Aethyn dose in her cup must have been potent because Blair’s color had already blanched. An icy sweat was breaking out over his face.
“I need you to sit, Blair,” said Sidra.
Jack had already delivered a second chair, anticipating what she would need. His expression was grim, his eyes alight with guilt as Keiren also sat down before the fire.
“What can I do?” Jack asked, desperate. “I never wanted—”
Sidra took hold of his arm. “It’s all right. They agreed to do this, knowing the risks.” And yet the guards’ cooperation didn’t make it any easier to watch their distress. She knew Jack’s guilt, because she felt it too, sitting in her heart like a stone.
She held the bile down, clenching her teeth. Looking at Blair and Keiren, she thought, You will not die. Not beneath my watch.
David returned with three servants who were carrying the things she needed. Then Sheena stepped forward and handed Sidra her satchel of supplies. She now had everything she needed, and easing to her knees, she prepared a workstation on the floor.
But before she began, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the vial. She held it up to the light, studying how its color had changed. Before, it had been clear and odorless. But after she added a piece of fire spurge to it, a reaction had occurred: the liquid had turned blood red and warm to the touch.
She had thought of the spurge only after hearing Adaira’s explanation of Aethyn’s side effects, how it had turned her cold, as though ice had gathered in her veins, weakening her heart. What better way to counter poison of ice, she had realized, than with poison of fire? She had also deduced, after not seeing the spurge in David’s herbarium, that it was an entirely eastern plant. It made sense now that the Breccans had failed to find an antidote to the poison that often plagued them.
Sidra opened her satchel. She withdrew the spurge, biting her lip as it burned her hand with blisters. She worked quickly, uncertain how long she had. She cut the spurge into strips and set them in the pot of boiling water, which hung over the hearth fire.
Only then did she become aware of the crushing silence in the hall. The Breccans were watching her with mouths agape, as if they couldn’t believe what was unfolding. Her actions had cut down their protestations of innocence like a sword. Even Innes and Adaira were transfixed by her.
The enormity of what she was doing didn’t hit Sidra until she removed the pot from the hearth and poured the essence of the fire spurge into two clean cups. She waved away the steam, which scented the air with smells like burning heather and myrtle leaves, like a midsummer bonfire. She thought, If I am right, I will have changed the west.
There would be no more Aethyn doses. No more pressure on Adaira to take them, then writhe on her bedroom floor in pain for hours afterwards. No more young girls like Skye dying from a nobleman’s scheming for power. No more innocent guards having to risk their lives as cupbearers, far from home.
The essence was finally cool enough to drink.
Sidra took one of the cups and brought it to Blair first. She could see his strength waning, his life ebbing. She thought of how tirelessly he had served her, accompanying her on her patient visits, lifting her up when she needed it, catching her when she was weary, and taking her weight when she limped. How he had forgone a life of marriage and children to devote himself entirely to the guard and the east.
She blinked back her tears as she set the cup to his lips. “Drink, my friend,” she whispered, and her prayers became a wildfire, burning through her mind.
I cannot bear to see this man die for me. Please let him live. Let me be right in this one thing.
Blair closed his eyes and weakly sipped.
Sidra coaxed him to take three more sips before she set the cup aside. She took his bleeding hand in hers. Blue jewels were scattered over his lap and winking at his feet. Sidra waited to see if she would feel his blood forming into jewels in her palm, cold and jagged.