Page 95 of Court of Secrets and Flames

Timing.

The lone archer hiding in the shadows, so soon after I took flight. The kidnapping in the gardens. Now poison in a pastry I alone would eat at the meal. A cold dread settles over me, the pieces falling into place with a chilling clarity.

We reach my chamber, and Blair crosses the threshold, depositing me on the bed.

The healer arrives right after, his footsteps brisk and efficient amidst the chaos. He assesses my pallor and the tremor in my hands with a clinical detachment before murmuring promises to return shortly with something to ease my suffering. Relief is a distant promise, and as he departs, I’m left with the stark reality of my situation.

But not alone.

Blair leans over my bed, holding my hand and assuring me I’m going to be okay. And through my blurred vision, I spot Rhiann and a flurry of maids approaching. She’s running.

Rhiann never runs.

Her wrist presses against my forehead. “She’s freezing! Blair, if you could carry her to the bathing chamber, we can take care of the rest.” Rhiann’s voice wavers in and out in time with the rushing in my ears.

I’m moved then, and the sudden pain that tears into my stomach has me vomiting even as my teeth start to chatter.

“You’re safe now, Lark.” Blair carries me across the room, the resolve in his voice a bastion against the darkness. “You’re in good hands with Rhiann.”

And in that vow, I find a shred of solace, a sliver of safety in a world where trust is a luxury I can ill afford.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The morning light creeps in, too cheerful for the pain still curling within me. Mother’s fingers brush against my forehead, her touch light as a sigh. My eyes flicker open, and she’s there. Not just a desperate dream of comfort.

Her presence is a silent sign of safety. She dips a cloth into the wash basin, wrings it out gently, and places it on my forehead. While the coolness doesn’t reach the fire in my gut, it still soothes the ache in my head.

I blink away the foggy ache that clouds my vision and find her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Mother…?”

“Oh, Lark. I nearly lost you. They said if you’d taken a bigger bite…” A tear escapes, trailing down her cheek. “All I ever wanted was to keep you safe.”

I reach out, weakly grasping for her hand with mine. “Not your fault.”

She catches it and presses it to her lips. “Do you feel any better?” The worry behind her soft voice roars as loud as any dragon.

“A little.” It hurts to talk. I remember the healer checking my throat and saying the lining was torn and bleeding.

I turn my head to avoid retching again. My mother came sometime during the night. After the healer brought the first tincture of herbs but before the sun came up.

Though things will never be the same between us and we still have issues to work through, I can’t deny that having my mother here caring for me brings me comfort. She and Leesa took shifts sitting in a chair by my bed all night, swapping out cold cloths on my head and wrist and warm ones on my back. Thankfully, I’ve thankfully managed to keep this fourth nightgown clean.

So far.

The bittersweet beverages the healer insisted I try to drink did not stop the vomiting, which the healer deemed necessary to rid me of the poison. At least it’s helped with the cramping. A small gap separates the curtains hanging around the bed, allowing a partial view of the chamber. The brocade drapes framing the windows remain open and permit enough light to see.

In the sitting room, Blair’s low tones mingle with a guard’s clipped responses. A stranger in a cook’s apron stands with them, wringing his hands. He’s unfamiliar, a new face amongst those I trust.

“Blair?”

Mothertsksat me, shifting from her chair to the edge of my bed. Clearly she does not approve of my calling a man to my bedside.

Still, she helps me sit up, pulling the blankets over my shoulders once I am braced against the pile of pillows the maids brought in overnight.

“Right here, Lark.” He appears at the foot of the bed.

“Update?” I wheeze out the single word between swells of nausea.

“Don’t push yourself, dear.” Mother stays awkwardly on the edge of the bed, keeping herself between Blair and me as if to guard my modesty.

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