Chapter 43: Poison

Later that night, The Grand Hunting Lodge was alive with light and music.

Long tables lined the hall with an abundance of food and wine. Chandeliers of antlers and candles lit the place up as everybody mingled.

Emeric entered.

Nyxie rode on his shoulder, her wings tucked in and her dark eyes scanning the place.

He drew stares and whispers but he was used to it now. No one approached him still.

Guess they knew better than that now.

He found a seat near the edge. Not too close to the center and not too far.

He sat at the empty table and watched the room go back to its original form.

Vespera Pendragon was across the room. She was watching him.

What was her problem with him anyway.

Kaelen was nowhere to be seen.

Good.

A servant approached Emeric with a silver tray and a goblet of wine. She was young and — she had a hood cover her head but he could see a pointy silhouette behind them.

Was she an elf?

She was an elf with a collar attached to her neck. A slave.

Something about it annoyed him but he let it pass.

"Compliments of the house, my lord."

Emeric took the goblet, staring at it for a moment before downing the entire thing in one drink.

The wine was sweet and warm. He set the goblet down.

Then he felt it, a part of his body twitched.

Something was wrong. There was a peculiar coldness spreading from his stomach, his vision blurring as the feeling travelled. His limbs were heavy.

He tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t obey.

The music continued as the room seemed even more alive now.

He tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t move.

Nyxie made a sound that sounded as distressed as he felt right now. She nuzzled his neck but he couldn’t respond to her.

I’m fine. He wanted to say but the words wouldn’t leave his lips.

He collapsed.

The last thing he saw was the crowd turning. Stunned faces stared at him but the high pitched ringing in his ear did not let him focus.

That’s when he saw him. The man had a hood and he was staring directly at him.

Emeric could only make sense of the lower half of his face. He knew it because there was no mistaking the direction he was looking even if he couldn’t see his eyes.

Was he smiling?

He definitely was, but Emeric could not make out his whole face shape.

Was he dying? He’d been poisoned. It was the drink. It had to be.

He couldn’t hold on anymore. He tried to hold on to his consciousness but it was a losing battle.

Then everything went dark.

***

The house was quiet now, Isolde thought, wheeling herself into the living room.

Tatia had left an hour ago per her usual routine since Emeric left. She clocked out at Five o’clock, same as the other days.

She’d gotten to know through their sessions that she worked at an orphanage.

Isolde sat by the window, watching the evening light fade. Long shadows stretched across the floor in the quarters.

Tatia had warned her to keep mobile.

"I’ll be back in the morning. Seven sharp. Don’t skip your exercises."

The therapy sessions had become routine now.

Every morning, Tatia would arrive and would help Isolde with the stretches. It was slow, painful work of keeping her muscles from wasting further.

It hurt as usual but according to Tatia, it was working.

Her legs were getting the tingling sensation back. It was more than she had felt in years.

The muscle atrophy had seemingly slowed down.

Tatia said that was progress in itself.

Isolde didn’t know if she believed her.

Tatia had explained during her second visit that they would advance to healing classes.

Her core had been damaged in the accident that led to her being paralysed. They had to first heal her body, or at least slow down the deterioration of her legs and back. Isolde was not counting on walking again but she had to at least be hopeful for Emeric.

He was going through so much to get her care.

Tatia had a water affinity. Water users were healers amongst other things. Although her condition was a lot more severe.

What she said after the session stuck with Isolde:

"Your core," she had said. "It’s damaged. But that’s not all."

Isolde had waited.

"There’s something else. A foreign mana. Tangled with your own."

Isolde’s heart had skipped.

"What do you mean?"

"I don’t know." Tatia had opened her eyes. "It’s not natural. It’s not from your injury. It’s something else."

"Every time your body tries to heal, this foreign mana pushes back."

Was this why she was not getting any better? Because of this foreign mana in her body.

The fire was low and the house was eerily quiet.

She thought of Emeric.

He had been gone for three days. He would be back tomorrow. He had promised.

She closed her eyes. Remembered the way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he said her name like it meant something.

She loved him.

She knew that now. She’d known it for weeks, maybe longer.

But she hadn’t said it. She was afraid.

Afraid that if she said it, he would realize what he was signing up for. A crippled wife and a woman who may never stand next to him as an equal.

She was afraid he would leave, or worse —he would stay out of pity. She was afraid.

The pain hit her suddenly.

A sharp stab in her chest, right at her core.

She gasped, her hands flying to her chest and she gasped for air. Her breath caught in her throat somehow.

Something was wrong.

She didn’t know what it was but she could feel it inside her

For a second, she thought she was going to die. But as quickly as it came, the pain subsided.

She let out a slow breath, as if testing the waters.

She was fine.