Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 85

Silently I step forward, seize a fistful of her hair, and poke the letter opener against the sensitive place on her throat where the blood pumps close to the surface.

“Be still,” I warn her. “Don’t scream.”

“Princess,” she breathes, in a tone of both delight and alarm. “Aren’t you a clever little thing?”

“I’m a dangerous little thing,” I retort. “I want an antidote, a cure for both me and Kyreagan. Right now.”

“You must understand, I don’t harm humans,” she says. “I am first and foremost a healer, a mender of damage. That’s why I wouldn’t let Rahzien use my skills against Elekstan during the war.”

“So you’ll kill animals or dragons, just not humans.”

“Exactly.”

“And what about binding my life to Rahzien’s? Keeping me from escaping, ensuring that if he dies, I will too?”

“That was also for the greater good. The sooner Elekstan bows to him, the fewer people he’ll have to kill to secure their loyalty.” Her voice warms, turning almost tender. “Besides, you’re good for him. Maybe you don’t realize it yet, but he likes you. Cares about you. With your influence, he could be a better man.”

“Making him a better man isn’t my responsibility. It’s his.” I dig the point of the letter opener a bit deeper, until a drop of scarlet blood beads on her skin. “Rahzien thinks he’s perfect, transcendent, all-deserving. But he’s a filthy murderer, a psychopath. Enough about him—give me the cure for the poison you put inside me. Or tell me when it will wear off.”

“It won’t,” she says. “The ingredients were bound with perdura root and the spell was carved in petrified wood. Now Kyreagan’s poison—that’s a different story. I had to concoct it quickly, so it should wear off in about a week. He’ll be dead by then, though. Without the ability to shift into his natural birth form, the energy sustaining his human form will dissipate, and his organs will shut down. He’ll basically begin to dissolve from the inside—at least, that’s what I suspect. I’m rather interested in how it will manifest.”

“You’re sick.” I tighten my grip on her hair.

Cathrain laughs, a twinge of pain in the sound. “Not at all. I have a healthy curiosity about the human form and its potential. Imagine it—having the power to perceive the inner workings of the human body. Imagine being able to sew veins back together, knit broken bones, and close open wounds, purely with your own magical energy. Then think of all the ways that the application of subtle, complex magical poisons can be used to alter the body’s responses to certain stimuli and conditions. I’ve been a healer and a poisoner for decades, but only in the past few years have I given myself the freedom to conduct more experiments, to truly explore the potential of my gift—ahh!” She cries out as I cut her beneath the chin, a shallow, vindictive swipe of the letter opener.

“Shut up,” I tell her. “Not another word unless it’s about curing me and Kyreagan. Where do you keep antidotes?”

“I never make antidotes.” Her voice is shaky with dread now.

“I don’t believe that.”

“I never use poisons without thinking it over carefully first and confirming my own intent,” she says. “Which means I never regret it, and I never need to undo it.”

“You’re saying you can’t fix me? Or Kyreagan?”

“I don’t have antidotes.”

“Can you make some?”

“I told you—I’ve never concocted any such thing. Learning how would take days… I would need supplies I don’t have—special ingredients—”

I ram the letter opener into her round shoulder, right through the embroidered shawl. Then I yank the weapon out of her flesh and set it to her throat again while she whimpers with pain.

I should feel worse about what I’m doing. But after everything I’ve endured, this tastes like redemption, a keen rush of power through my veins.

“I’m not letting you leave this room for ingredients or anything else,” I say. “There’s plenty of magical shit here. Use what you’ve got, and make something that will counteract either Kyreagan’s poison or mine—preferably both. Understand?”

She nods.

“Good. No false moves, or I really will kill you. I’ve been here too long—I want to get home.”

I pause for a second, stunned because just then, when I said home, I meant Ouroskelle.

“Fix Kyreagan first,” I tell Cathrain.

“Of course. I’ll need a few things from that shelf.” She points.

Reluctantly I back up, allowing her to rise from the chair. As she does, I lunge across the table and grab the large knife I noticed earlier. Having the knife in one hand and the letter opener in the other gives me an increased sense of security.