Page 37 of Quest

A few meters away I spotted a cluster of broadleaf fennel, its yellow flowers bobbing gently in the light breeze; known for its anti-inflammatory properties, it could reduce some symptoms of poisoning. Nearby, shadowroot—distinguishable by its deep purple leaves—grew in abundance. While not as potent as the herbs in my original recipe, it was known to be a mild antidote for toxins. I gathered as much as I could carry.

I returned to the prince and laid out the herbs with shaking fingers. My mind raced as I crushed the leaves and flowers, trying to calculate the right proportions to mimic the effects of the more potent antidote. Under my breath, I whispered old apothecary songs my father had taught me, each note a plea for their potency to increase.

Mixed with a bit of water from my flask, I fashioned a paste. It was a far cry from the antidote I would have preferred to make, but it was the best possible option given the circumstances. I applied the mixture to Prince Darcel’s lips, coaxing him to swallow despite his weakened state.

“Stay with me,” I urged, my voice steady even as my hands trembled. “This will slow the poison.”

As the minutes ticked by, I chanted every spell I could think of that might drive out the toxins. Prince Darcel’s breathing gradually eased and the pallor of his skin gave way to a faint flush as the color slowly returned to his cheeks, the first sign of recovery. Relief washed over me in an overwhelming wave, but I kept vigilant, monitoring his every breath, ready to react at the slightest change. In that desperate hour as I sat beside him, watching for signs of improvement, I fully realized just how much I had come to care for him beyond the confines of our quest.

After what felt like an eternity he finally opened his eyes, meeting my worried gaze with a weak smile, his own filled with gratitude and something softer, more tender. He offered a rueful smile. “Seems I owe you my life. Thank you, Ren.”

The use of my assumed name reminded me of the barrier still between us. My heart wrenched, but I tried to disguise the emotion by waving off his thanks with a shy smile. “Just returning the favor.” Guilt stirred, weighing every word with the secret I struggled to keep hidden.

But it was becoming more and more impossible. The deepening of our connection as I sat watching over him as he recovered—a bond forged through care and crisis—caused me to instinctively hide behind the briskness I often used as a shield against my vulnerability. Now that the crisis had passed, I felt a rush of anger.

“Thefavorfor a nobody like me nearly cost you your life. This is what you get for being so noble.” I couldn’t believe the prince had sustained yet another grave injury on my behalf in so short a time.

He chuckled, far too used to my brusqueness to be bothered by it anymore. “Glad you’re so worried about me. Guess you don’t hate me after all.”

Hatewas the last thing I felt, a truth that grew more alarming with each moment we shared.

As the remedy began to take effect, the prince slowly regained his strength. His pride urged him back to his feet, but when he attempted to rise I pushed him back down.

He sighed. “You never turn down an opportunity to fight me on something, even when I’m in such a delicate condition.” But he obediently remained still.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t resist the smile tugging on my lips, even though now was not the time to engage in the banter that had become both familiar and comforting. “I beg you to humor me, considering it’s my fault you currently find yourself in such a state. Once again you were forced to come to my rescue. I’m sorry you got injured due to my folly.”

He dismissed the gravity of the situation with a shrug. “It’s an honor for a leader to help a comrade in need.” Despite his attempts at gallantry and reassurance I wasn’t fully appeased.

I lowered my gaze. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Your able nursing proves that you’re anything but. I told you before that we each have our unique strengths—each member of this group is necessary to the success of our endeavor, but none of us are equipped to handle every challenge that comes our way.”

While I valued my skills, I wanted to be more than an herbalist, a subconscious desire that had grown ever since our first meeting when he’d refused to allow me to accompany them because I was a girl. As much as I cherished each moment of his rescue, they only confirmed my fear that he had been right to deny my participation.

I kept these secret fears safely locked away, but I sensed his thoughtful study as he searched my expression. Though he didn’t say anything more, I could tell my words had bothered him.

The prince winced slightly as he shifted his position, trying to hide his discomfort, but his stoicism could no longer fool someone who had been as close to him as I had over these past several days. I followed his gaze down to his leg, where the fabric of his trousers was darkened with blood. With his poisoning previously dominating my attention, I’d nearly forgotten about his injury.

“Let me see that.” I did my best to keep my voice firm despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach. I had never been good with wounds, which had always been my father's domain back in our apothecary—I dealt with the salves for ailments while he directly dealt with a patient’s treatment. The one time he’d needed my assistance in a surgical procedure had nearly ended in disaster when I grew faint.

Prince Darcel managed another weak smile. “Two favors from you in one day. I count myself fortunate.”

“Considering you saved me twice in just as short a time, I must pay my debts.”

The prince reluctantly pulled back the fabric to reveal a deep gash on his thigh. My stomach lurched and a wave of doubt washed over me. Was I capable enough to handle this? Despite these fears, the need to care for him propelled me forward.

“We need to get this cleaned and dressed,” I murmured, more to steady my own resolve than to inform him. Scouring the area once more, I crouched to gather moss, my fingers brushing over the damp earth as I searched for yarrow flowers, knowing their styptic properties would help prevent infection and stem the bleeding.

I spotted a cluster growing at the base of a gnarled stump, but unease prickled at my skin as I reached for it. The plant was twisted and stunted, its normally vibrant leaves tinged with an unhealthy black, the curse leeching the life from it, rendering them unusable.

I hastily rummaged through my satchel for the yarrow I had gathered earlier. Relief washed over me when I spotted some dried sprigs I’d overlooked in my first panicked perusal, these ones thankfully untouched by the corruption that had seeped into the land. This would have to do.

I paused upon noticing some leftover ironbark shavings, a component that would add strength and resilience to the antidote…though using it would nearly deplete a key ingredient in my disguise, putting me at risk of exposure should I fail to replenish it. I hesitated but the moment was fleeting, the risk of getting caught nothing to the value of Darcel’s life. I would sacrifice my greatest secret if it meant saving him.

I crushed the leaves and bark together, mixing them with a bit of clean water from my flask to form a paste. I gently cleaned the wound with water—wincing at the stark red of his blood against his pale skin—then applied the herbal paste. He stiffened and his jaw locked, tensing against the pain.

His discomfort only heightened my anxiety that I would mess up, hurting him further. My hands shook as I applied the concoction, the urgency making my movements clumsy.

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