Page 34 of The Enemy's Daughter

“He has some work to do with the elite guard.”

Elite guard. Is that what Tristan and that team of soldiers call themselves? My pulse quickens at what they might be doing or planning in regard to the clans.

The woman reaches for the tray now that I’ve stopped eating. I grip the edges tight. “Please don’t take it away.”

She drops her hands. “Of course. I was only going to move it to the table. There’s a mug of fesber tea there. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you there’s also white thistle in it. Be sure to drink it. It’s done wonders for Tristan.”

So my suspicions were right—or at least that part. They did find the antidote, and Tristan has recovered significantly in a matter of days. My eyes water at the first ray of hope that soon I’ll get my body back in working order. I’ll need it to be able to make my escape.

My wary gaze returns to the woman. I see why Tristan chose her; her gentle face and cheerful demeanor are disarming. She’s too happy to be a slave—she must have upper-class connections. “I’m going to need many more cups of this.” I take another sip of the tea. It’s bitter and disgusting, and I find it hard not to gag. I choke down another swallow.

“I can help with that.”

I eye her. “Are you familiar with plants? I’d like to add honey and a couple of other herbs to speed up my recovery.”

She chuckles. “The honey’s no problem. The plants... maybe you can draw me a picture, and I’ll see what I can do.”

She smiles, and I return it. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Enola Apelles. You’ve met my husband—Vador.”

I was right. Upper class. I try to imagine this vibrant flame of a woman in her white denim and jovial disposition with the stoic soldier. It’s intriguing. It also shows her in a new light—Enola’s had access to information from Tristan’s inner circle.

Perhaps two can manipulate.

“I imagine you’ve heardallabout me.”

Enola laughs, her eyes crinkling in a way that makes me think she does that a lot. “I’ve heard a bit.”

“Like me asking Vador to talk me through how to connect with Tristan?” An honest chuckle leaks out of me, and her smile grows bigger too.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed.” She pulls at the blanket, straightening the corners. “All of this is new; why wouldn’t you ask?”

Hoping she’ll reveal more, I choose my words carefully. “The first time I heard about thismagicconnection was when I was dying on this bed. I still don’t understand it.” What is it? Where did it come from?

How do I break it, so I’m not tied to any man but Liam?

“Yes, well... as you’ve seen, it takes time to learn to navigate it. It can be overwhelming at first. Did you know that only the sixteen founding families of Kingsland and their lines get to experience it? It’s a real privilege. Many people would sell their souls for the ability to heal, an indispensable protection in this dangerous new world. Then, of course, there’s theclosenessit allows between you and your partner, which protects your bond. An intimacy so unique it’s... unearthly, wouldn’t you agree?” Enola’s eyes take on a knowing look.

Heat crawls up my neck. I hate that people know that I’ve experienced thisintimacywith Tristan. That I’ve felt his emotions. The innermost part of him. But all I can do is make sure it never happens again.

“Now”—she claps—“shall we get you washed up?”

I lift my head at the topic change. “Um...” The idea of a freezing cold bath is up there with being poisoned again. I gulp a few more swallows of my tea. “I’m not sure I have the energy.”

Her hand cups my elbow, as if preparing to help me stand. “Then we’ll make it quick.”

With Enola’s help, I shuffle into the bathroom. It’s embarrassing how starved for oxygen I am, but she doesn’t comment. She starts running the bathwater, then motions to Tristan’s white shirt that I’m wearing on top of my nightgown, as if asking if she can undo the buttons. I nod, too winded to care.

“You like this type of shirt?”

I shrug. “It’s... soft.”

“Ahhh.” A smirk pulls at her lips as she slips it off my shoulder. She tosses it toward the counter. Pills ping loudly off the cold stone-like floor as they slip out of the pocket. We both go still.

Fates, fates, fates.

“What are these?” she asks, bending over to pick them up.

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