Page 52 of Heart of the Summer Queen

“Three leaves are all I require,” the witch says. “Picking any more than this risks the plant shriveling and dying. Given that I know no other locations in which it grows, killing this one would be a great inconvenience.”

I nod. “I’ll be careful to take no more than three leaves.”

Satisfied with my response, the witch rises and returns to her shelves, rummaging through them until she locates a small vial of a pale-yellow liquid. “I’d imagine you will want this.”

I peer at it curiously as she approaches. “What is it?”

“Setarrel Stalk,” she says, passing it over to me, “the antidote to brambleweed.”

“An antidote?” I exclaim.

“For the poison, of course.”

Well, that’s the danger I was expecting.

Grimacing, I glance across at Elaric. He looks even less pleased by this whole matter than he did to begin with. Except he looks far from surprised by the mention of poison.

“Beware the thorns,” Belinda says. “One prick can paralyze even a grizzly.”

eighteen

“Are you sure about this, Adara?” Elaric asks once we’re back in the carriage. Belinda’s woods whir beneath us, leaves rippling like emerald waves.

I keep my gaze fixed on the window, staring out of it rather than at him.

I can’t blame him for questioning this plan. It comes with substantial risk. I’ll have to trust that the antidote Belinda has given me will ward off the brambleweed’s poison and count on her wanting the leaves urgently enough to ensure I return with them. At least the antidote she gave to Elaric years ago for the wyvern venom worked.

But the danger of retrieving the leaves pales compared to what will come after: Slaying Isidore.

Our only alternative is to return to the Crystal Palace together and pray true love can somehow find us. It would be far safer than battling a witch. Yet as Belinda said, there’s no guarantee fate will ever deem us to be truly in love.

I smother every doubt in my heart as I say, “Nothing will change my mind. One way or another, I will save my sister.”

“I understand,” he says. I don’t miss the glimmer of pain in his eyes.

And you.

I close my eyes gripping the window ledge.

I’m doing this for you, too.

Having spent all day trekking through Belinda’s woods, sleep comes easily, cramped though it is on the bench. Elaric doesn’t again raise any concerns over my plan to slay Isidore, not even throughout the rest of the following morning.

We reach Brimlore Forest the next afternoon. The dense fog shrouds the trees, making it difficult to see much of the world below. Drops pitter-patter overhead on the carriage roof like the clinking of bells. We circle the forest thrice before halting.

“I can’t see the lake anywhere,” Elaric says.

“I doubt we’ll see through the fog,” I say, leaning over and looking through the window, “and it’ll be dark soon. Maybe it would be best to find somewhere to take shelter for the night? Hopefully by morning, the fog will have lifted enough for us to find the lake.”

Eager though I am to retrieve the brambleweed and return to Belinda, I have little desire to wander around the entire forest all night, especially in the rain.

Elaric frowns. “Stopping for the night may prove problematic.”

“Why?” I ask.

“In Belinda’s woods, her protective wards suppressed my magic. Here, that will not be the case.” Elaric gestures out the window. “See? Already my presence is causing the raindrops to freeze, and we’ve yet to reach the ground.”

As I look out, I see that what he says is true. The raindrops transform into hailstones as they fall, not even requiring his direct touch.

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