Page 100 of Kingdoms of Night

The wolves returned with more wood. They circled Feron, whimpering with concern. Buttercup looked at her, head cocked.

“He isn’t doing well. He’s chilling, so we need to make a big strong fire. Get whatever we can burn.”

They took off once again.

She crouched beside him, her hand on the ground. Already energy pooled at the base of her wrist and out along the lines of her palm.

“I know how to counter most of this, I think. But what if I don’t know all these plants? What if there’s something he isn’t telling me? How will I know what to summon up? Ah!” A sharp surge rose from the earth into her hand, then the energy ripped out.

She scowled. By flood and plague, what was that? She hadn’t even visualized the plant or spoken the incantation.

A rich-green plant pushed up from the soil

That was...odd. She’d heard of this before. A gift from the earth wasn’t something to disparage. All plants were gifts from the Creator. And this plant...she nibbled the edge. It was similar to a combination of lamb’s ear and kel bane. She almost smiled. It felt about as different from that combination as the wyrm venom had felt from hydra venom.

He groaned, writhing on the ground, muscles straining.

That fever was going to kill him.

And she needed the counter to end it.

All right. Blessing or chance or miracle. She would give it a try. Her instincts said this would work.

With her obsidian blade, she cut off the leaves. “Thank you.” She then resumed working on the tea. It had almost finished steeping. “I know you probably don’t want to drink anything else, but I promise this will help.”

She poured a few swallows into the canteen lid, slipped her arm under his head, and then set the lid to his lips. The thick liquid smelled more like fennel and licorice than peppermint, but hopefully that minty undernote would help keep from upsetting his stomach any more than it already was.

Though he initially grimaced, he drank it all.

He flinched, as if someone had struck him. “No! Don’t—don’t hit her. Leave her alone.”

He twisted again, the marks on his cheeks even more livid now.

She lowered his head back to the pillow. “Shhh. She’s safe.”

Who was he dreaming about? His daughter?

“I’m sorry, Anouk. I didn’t mean for you to—I couldn’t stop him. I’ll find a way.”

Not Annette. Who was Anouk? Her chest tightened a little. Was it his wife? Was she… had something happened to her?

She began rubbing his wrists briskly. Those dark claws had vanished for now. “It’s all right. Anouk isn’t mad at you. You did the best you could, and that was enough.”

Still, her heart twinged. Whatever had happened, whoever it was, it had been bad. And it was obvious how much it had torn him up.

Was that why he didn’t want anyone around?

“No,” he said, writhing, squeezing his eyes shut, “for Annette, I have to—”

“Your daughter is safe. Puck said so, remember?” She stroked his hand in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

“My niece,” he mumbled.

His… niece? She raised her eyebrows. Annette was his niece? He talked more, sometimes in gibberish, sometimes tumbling over the words. She coaxed more of the medicine into him, along with clean water. The wolves brought back two more loads of logs and sticks. Enough to get started.

The wood was dry, and it took the spark from the flint well. Within seconds, a warm yellow flame blossomed along the wood. It crackled and spread, curling up over the bark and branching out. And just in time.

The darkness of the night had swallowed up all but the faintest traces of sunlight.

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