Page 93 of A Reign of Embers

Marc studies the vial in my hand. “We’ll send out people who are still well to find more of the flowers.I’llgo if you need me to.”

“No. We can’t. They only bloom when it’s quite warm. We get them for just a few weeks in Accasy. Even down here, the blossoms won’t be showing for at least another month or two.”

Evando stands up. “I’m sure there’s someone on staff who has a gift for encouraging plant growth.” He pauses. “Hopefully as yet unaffected by this illness.”

We can’t count on that. And then there’s the matter offindingthe persinam plants to begin with—I haven’t seen any on the palace grounds.

I rub my head against the renewed ache, and a few of his words strike against my mind like a flint. In the spark of inspiration, I see rats scurrying around a statue.

The words tumble out of their own accord. “Maybe there’s a faster way we could expand the cure. If I combine my talent… Is Farro still well?”

Evando’s eyebrows jump up, but he strides to the door. “He was the last time I saw him. What do you think he can do for us?”

A crooked smile crosses my lips. “He can give the sense of abundance, of his allies havingmore. Maybe in combination with my gift, Elox and Prospira will see that we can actuallymakemore out of the ingredients we have.”

As Evando sends someone off to find Farro, Marc focuses on me. “Do you want to start the brewing? Is there anything else you’ll need?”

“I have most of the ingredients here… A bigger cauldron would be better. I’ll need to boil water. And garlic—they’ll have plenty in the kitchen…”

I sway, and he grasps my shoulder.

His thumb strokes across the peak. “Hey. If you tell me what needs to be done and then rest?—”

A choked sort of laugh breaks from my throat. It hurts when I swallow. “I have to be doing the brewing. Both so I can combine gifts with Farro and to make sure I pick up on any subtle steps I might not have seen when trying to picture the whole process. I can make it through.”

My husband’s jaw clenches, but the squeeze of his hand is only reassuring. “It’s incredible watching you work, even if I wish it was under better circumstances. There are larger cauldrons in the kitchens. Grab the ingredients here that you need and let’s get you down there so you have more room.”

I don’t want to lean on anyone. Once I leave my chambers, I still have to project all the strength an empress should possess.

I manage to walk steadily if slowly, chewing another scrap of waneberry leaf and focusing on my intentions. My guards know better than to push for me to speak.

Marc keeps one hand ever-so-lightly on the small of myback, pretending he’s simply protecting me from attacks from behind rather than braced to support my weight.

One of the staff has cleared out the kitchen before I get there, which is a good thing. I step through the doorway and stagger. It takes several seconds, clutching the nearest cabinet, before I can convince my legs to hold me again.

Captain Evando runs to grab me a chair. I sit at the table and start crushing the garlic cloves Marc finds on one of the countertops.

The fever creeps back through my mind, growing ever hotter. I’m only vaguely aware when Farro arrives, looking both puzzled and nervous.

Marc explains what I want from him before I need to. Farro tilts his skinny frame to peer at the little flower. “I—I don’t know if that will work.”

“We try,” I tell him, the most words I can pull together coherently, and motion to the cauldron.

Evando nods. “The water’s boiling.”

I beckon to Farro and trudge the few steps over to the large pot, carrying the vial. From deep inside me, I summon the sort-of prayer I need, hoping it’ll make sense. “These petals will heal. These petals will be more than they are. They’ll be everything we need.”

Farro’s eyes twitch, but he repeats my words and clasps my hand when I offer it. We tap our feet together the way he did with his fellow soldier in the temple of Kosmel.

A faint light, white and green swirling together, glints at the edge of my vision. With a hitch of my pulse, I toss the petals into the boiling water.

As they ripple across the bubbling surface, Farro and I keep tapping our feet in unison. I squeeze his hand in rhythmic pulses that he returns.

My guards bring me one ingredient and another. I toss them in and stir the mixture with the long ladle.

The tartly sour scent I imagined rises up as if we’d thrown a handful of petals in instead of just a pinch. A giddy trickle of relief washes through me.

“Done,” I mumble. “Just needs cooling…”

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