Page 22 of The Enemy's Daughter

I follow him back to the massive white bed. “He—he—he somehow took my—”

Vador stares down at Tristan. “He went too far.”

With what? How is this possible? “He somehow took the poison from me, I think. Do you have the antidote? Or a healer?”

More people rush into the room. Two of the soldiers who surrounded me in the forest. A young man whose face vaguely reminds me of Tristan. And the one who shot me with the poisoned arrow—Samuel. I lunge back from him, giving him a wide berth.

“She’s killed him, hasn’t she?” The young soldier rests his hands on top of his shorn head.

My mouth falls open. “No, I—”

Samuel releases a curse, then snatches my arm and drags me from the room. We’ve barely made it past the door when he throws me against the wall in the hallway, cracking my head. Belatedly, I realize there’s a knife at my throat. “You’re going to save him. Take it back.”

My body strains to inch away from his blade. How?

The young soldier appears over Samuel’s shoulder. “This is bad, Sammy. They’re married now. Do you know what this means if he dies? She’s theWhite Rabbit. She’s the bloody White Rabbit!”

A bolt of panic strikes my chest at hearing them speak it out loud. Tristan and I aremarried.

“He’s not going to die,” Samuel says with menace, eyes locked onmine over his very crooked nose. “Because she’s going to fix him.”

“How?” I throw my hands up. “I don’t know the song or... anything. Why don’tyoufix him?”

Samuel’s thick brows slam down. “Impossible. To use the connection, you have to be married.”

Oh.

My cheeks heat under his stare. “What about a healer? Or the antidote? It was your arrow; don’t you know how to make this right?”

“There is no antidote,” Samuel says.

“Of course there is,” I yell. “What poison was it?”

He hesitates before answering, clearly suspicious of where I’m going with this. “Dasher’s nettle.”

I swallow hard as fear lashes my insides. I don’t know the name, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like the clans ever discussed what to name things with the Kingsland. “Show it to me, the leaf, the plant. Whatever it is.”

Irritation flashes in Samuel’s eyes, but he releases my neck and steps back. “She doesn’t leave, Ryland.” He hands the young soldier his knife.

Ryland watches Samuel stalk down the hallway before whirling on me. “We don’t have time to be going around picking flowers. You have to fix him. Now.” He lowers the knife to his side as his lip quivers—a lip that looks very much like Tristan’s. Could they be brothers?

“I don’t know how,” I whisper.

“Try.”

It’s like he’s asked me to fly. To simply spread my arms and take off. Impossible. Absurd.

Still, I nod and stride back into the room. Tristan looks horrible. A vision of death. Blue swollen lips. He’s so pale, I can see his veins. But it’s the sound spilling from his lungs that scares me the most. There’s a deep crackle and moan with each breath. Even if we could get him to drink a gallon of the antidote, we’re too late. The damage is too much. He’s going to die.

And then I will, too. At Samuel’s hand.

Tristan’s eyes open a fraction and dart around like he’s searching for something. I remember far too vividly the agony he’s going through and move closer for him to hear me. “How do I take some of the poison back?”

“You would do that?” Vador asks, sounding startled.

Samuel stomps back into the room and pushes a glass bowl into my hands. “There!” he says, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. Inside is a leaf and two berries with black spots.

“Lollo sage,” I mutter. “We use it to kill the rats back in Hanook.”Thank the sweeping skies. “It’s not an anticoagulant. But it causes cell death, which explains the breathing issues. And pain. Worse, his liver and kidneys will be affected too.” My mind races. “Fesber—that’s the antidote and will help the kidneys. Use the leaves, too. They assist with circulation and oxygenating the blood. Let’s start with that: fesber tea made with the whole plant, even the root.”

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