Page 77 of Ashes of Betrayal

But he didn’t stir. The flickering light of the nearby brazier illuminated the sickly yellow cast to his skin, and the way his eyes had sunk into the sockets.

Straightening up, Bree turned to look at the healer. The woman’s expression was grim, her mouth pinched. “I’ve used all the cures for poison I know … but nothing is working.” She paused then, her brow furrowing as her pale eyes bored into Bree. “It’s Nightbane, you say?”

Bree nodded, even as dizziness swept over her. “It’s the poison Shee archers most commonly use on their arrowheads.”

“I’ve seen dead warriors with yellow skin after a skirmish with the Shee,” Eldra admitted, her frown deepening. “And withbadly festered wounds … however, it killed them long before I could be of any help.” She paused then. “What comes next?”

“Shortness of breath … until you are left gasping for air.” Dread caught in Bree’s throat. “Death comes swiftly after that.”

“Surely, you must know the cure?” Lara spoke up then. Standing behind the healer, arms folded, her gaze cut into Bree. The princess’s eyes were red-rimmed. A bandage wrapped around her throat after her brush with Gavyn’s blade.

Bree’s pulse accelerated. She’d spent most of the afternoon hunting through her memories for one, but the answer had eluded her. “I’m not like you, Lara,” she admitted huskily. Indeed, the princess had spent many mornings with Duncrag’s healers, learning how to mix ointments and tend ailments. “My grandmother was a healer … I should have paid more attention to her.”

“Think,” Lara shot back, her tone steely now. “You’re Cailean’s only chance.”

Sweating, Bree glanced over at where Eldra also watched her, a blend of distaste, fascination, and concern in her gaze. “Surely, your people have many cures to counteract poison’s gall?” she asked.

Bree stilled.

Poison’s gall.

An old rhyme, one her grandmother had sung to her when she’d been a youngling, surfaced then. She hadn’t thought of it for over two centuries.

Breathing fast, she closed her eyes and traveled back through the years to her bower, where an older Shee female with a mane of white hair bounced a youngling upon her knee.

Eyes squeezed shut, her voice faltering slightly, Bree began to sing.

“Whin for iron’s bite.

Mallow for fever’s burn.

Sorrel for the bloody flux.

Yarrow for soured wounds

Wormwood for poison’s gall.”

Her eyes snapped open then. That was it. She swiveled back to Eldra. “Wormwood root, pounded to a liquid and poured into the wound.”

“Wormwood?” Eldra scowled. “Never heard of it.”

Panic fluttered in Bree’s chest. “It’s a common enough herb.”

The healer took a step forward, her tall frame bristling with urgency now. “It’ll go by another name here. Describe it to me.”

Bree raked a hand through her hair. “It’s green and leafy … and appears in large dense growths.”

“That describes over a dozen herbs. Be more specific.”

“Once a year … in late summer, it has pale yellow flowers.”

Eldra’s face was still blank.

“The leaves are bitter … but edible.” Heart pounding, Bree raked through her mind for any other details of the herb. Iron, how she wished she’d paid more attention to her wise grandmother; she’d reached over five thousand turns of the year before The Great Raven claimed her.

“Can you make the leaves into a tea?” Lara asked then. The princess’s heart-shaped face was taut, a nerve flickering in her cheek.

“Aye … it helps stomach ailments.”

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