Page 59 of Heart of the Summer Queen

But I’ve underestimated the length of the tunnel. As I drift farther into its depths, the passage shows no sign of ending. My lungs are already strained from before and begin tiring too soon.

Just as faintness sets in from air deprivation, the tunnel widens.

I burst through the surface and emerge into a cavern, half-choking as I gasp for air. Treading water gently, I examine the cave, my frantic breaths echoing around me.

Wet rocky walls gleam everywhere, sparkling like a tapestry of black diamonds.

I wade up the slope, leaving the water and stepping onto solid ground. As well as a prickly plant sprouting in the center, scattered bones occupy the cave.

My mouth dries as I peer at the closest heap of remains.

A human skull lies there . . .

Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, my eyes drift over to the brambleweed ahead. Whoever lies at my feet came here to harvest its leaves but were poisoned andtrapped, imprisoned by their own body until they perished from dehydration or starvation.

My fingers wrap around the small vial hanging around my neck, reassuring myself it’s still there. If I accidentally prick my finger on a thorn, I need to be quick in swallowing the antidote or I’ll join the skeletons which decorate this dank cave.

I approach warily, half expecting the brambles to suddenly rush forth with grasping, thorny tendrils. But the plant remains lifeless.

Unsheathing my dagger, I crouch before its twisted vines and gently tug a leaf upward. I slide my blade beneath it and saw its stem, severing it from the central mass.

Once the leaf is freed from the plant, I inspect its underside, which is covered in tiny bumps. Only the vines themselves bear sharp thorns. While touching the leaves seems safe enough, I must still take great care.

Gritting my teeth, I shift my attention from the leaf and return to the rest of the plant.

Three leaves is what Belinda specified. Harvesting more than that risks the herb withering and dying.

I place the first leaf beside me on the floor and set to work severing a second. This one cuts free with even less effort.

Then I move to a third leaf, but its stem refuses to give way. My blade scrapes in vain against the wood-like base.

Growing impatient, I throw more force into the sawing motion. The stem snaps unexpectedly, causing my dagger to fly from my hand.

Instinctively, I reach for the hilt.

My hand collides with a barbed vine. Pain spears through me.

I recoil sharply and cradle my hand. A deep red bead swells on the back.

A thorn has pierced my skin.

twenty-one

Dropping the leaf, I grab the vial from my neck. I need to drink it fast, before the poison seizes my muscles. If my body locks up, I won’t be able to swallow the antidote.

With my teeth, I pry out the wooden stopper, nipping my lip in my haste. As the cork falls from my fingers, I drink every bitter drop of the antidote, refusing to let even a trace escape.

Then I just stand there rigid, waiting for some sign of the antidote taking effect. Surely if it reaches my blood quickly enough, the paralysis will still be stopped?

But what if Belinda didn’t supply me with enough? What if the antidote has somehow been tainted and rendered useless since she gave it to me?

The creeping numbness provides my answer.

My fingers first succumb, morphing into stone and ignoring every demand to move. The impossible weight drags me to the ground.

I scream soundless cries, pleading for some small scrap of movement from my limbs. But no matter how fiercely I battle against the poison, my body continues to defy me.

The last time I felt like this was on my first night in the Crystal Palace, when Elaric visited my chambers and kissed me, his frost surging through my body.

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