Page 113 of The Princess Knight
“I had always noticed her.” Kían’s thumb rubbed Sárait’s wrist. They didn’t look up. “I didn’t realize she noticed me as well. Not at first. It was only after that first conversation—when I got to see the way her eyes lit with passion and hear her laugh—I started to have hope. I didn’t want to mess it up. It felt too delicate. Too... precious. And there was still a part of me that didn’t think she could actually see me.”
“She saw you. All the time,” Clía said, her voice thick.
“I know that now. I’m glad she’s braver than me, or else I wouldn’t have had this glimpse of joy.” Kían’s smile was a brittle thing. It looked as if it could snap under a strong breeze.
These past few days, Clía had been beaten and insulted, betrayed and mocked. She had dealt death and felt herself fall apart.
She would not lose someone else.
Her gaze fell again on the repetitive motion of Kían’s thumb. With each motion, the cuff of her long sleeve seemed to shift, revealing more of her arm. Clía looked closer, her eyes catching on the subtlest detail.
On the skin of Sárait’s wrist was a small red dot.
“What if it wasn’t a common poison?” Clía said slowly. “What if it was venom?”
Niamh’s stormy eyes met hers. “What are you thinking?”
Clía held out her hand, motioning to Kían. With a questioning glance, they placed Sárait’s hand in hers. Even up close, the dot could almost pass for a birthmark, but Clía had seen Sárait’s wrists enough while they sewed together to know that such a mark hadn’t been there before. It was a puncture wound, almost healed.
“The onchú!” Excitement and anger warred in Kían’s voice. “When we brought the head back, the venom could have been collected and, later, injected. Healer Ó Scanniall!”
The healer rushed into the room, startled. “Is everything all right?”
“We need an onchú antivenom. Do you have any?”
She looked among them, confused. “No, I don’t think so.”
Kían didn’t wait for her to say more, striding out of the room. Clía, Niamh, and Healer Ó Scanniall scrambled to follow.
The healer’s study was small, walls covered in shelves. Vials, books, and jars littered every possible surface. A stone worktable was in the center of the room.
“The ingredients are common enough—I’m sure you have them.” Kían scanned the shelves, picking up vials as they went. “Ah, here we go.”
They brought their collection to the table. When they saw Clía’s face, they smirked. “What? I am more than my beauty, you know. We need six drops of winter cherry oil.” Kían handed Ó Scanniall a dark vial. “And a few pinches of echinacea tincture. After that, mix in some stargrove bloom.”
Ó Scanniall didn’t question the noble, and took the vials, one by one, before pouring them into a glass in careful measurements.
“You have this memorized?” Niamh asked, brow raised in skepticism.
“After everything that happened, I couldn’t just sit here, useless. I started researching possible antidotes. My memory has always been remarkable, if I say so myself, but it helps that this recipe was uniquely memorable, considering the close call in the Ghostwood,” Kían explained, then continued to rattle off instructions for Ó Scanniall to follow. The healer offered a few adjustments, to better cater the concoction to assist with Sárait’s condition, and before long, a deep and murky green liquid sat at the bottom of the glass.
Kían took the glass from the healer, returning to Sárait’s side. With gentle hands, they opened Sárait’s mouth and poured the liquid inside.
Several moments passed in silence, until...
A flutter of lashes. A gasping breath.
Sárait was awake.
Clía felt her heart go still at the sight of her friend’s dark eyes opening. She’d missed their warmth. She’d missedher.
Kían sat on the bed beside Sárait, hand resting on her shoulder. “Easy,” they cautioned. “You’ve been asleep for a while. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been trampled by a horse. What happened?” Sárait’s voice was hoarse.
Ó Scanniall returned with a glass of water. Sárait nearly drank it all in one sip.
“You were poisoned,” Clía explained.
