Page 117 of The Prince and the Ice King

“No time!” Reardon screamed as he threw them from him, simultaneously hurling a concoction to the floor that burst with a cloud of thick smoke.

The guards scattered, and Reardon pushed onward. It caused more pain than he had ever known, but he knew this castle better than any guard. He could get to the alchemist tower blindfolded; through smoke was easy.

The physicians had been sent away, not a soul left in the tower when Reardon reached it—but his work was gone too! Lombard must have returned and destroyed it all.

“No,” Reardon lamented, resting against the worktable with a suffering sag. There were barely any ingredients around to be of any use. He needed alchemist supplies. He needed….

Master Wells’s shop. It wasn’t far from the castle, but the journey would still be arduous. Royal tunnels led from the palace, like the secret tunnels in Jack’s castle, and could bring Reardon close, but he had to hurry and be discreet. Lombard could have the whole kingdom against him.

Every step was agony, and covering himself with his cloak to hide the dagger put stinging weight on it, yet Reardon persisted, vision swimming all the while, until he met the cold air of the brisk winter morning. It wasmorning, but it was late. Lombard might have already left.

Hurling himself onward, Reardon snuck around everyone he could, hoping that those who spotted him didn’t recognize who he was in such a rumpled state.

He found the shop blessedly unguarded but locked as he’d requested. Thankfully, Zephyr and Nigel had taught him a few tricks for remedying that, and he’d come prepared. Once inside, he raced to find everything he needed. He knew his way around this place almost as well as the castle, and soon had the poison simmering, adding in Wraith’s Teeth that immediately began to melt.

Before the ice was gone, Reardon had to transmute the entire potion once more in order to create a proper antidote. With such singular focus, the pain that lingered was not nearly as important as his goal. He couldn’t be certain how much time passed before it was all complete, but with a triumphant puff of smoke rising from the vial, he knew he’d succeeded.

“Yes!”

“What are you doing?”

Reardon spun, cringing at not having taken the movement slowly. It was Wells, standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to his private quarters with wide, accusing eyes. “Please… I had to—”

“You are bewitched, aren’t you?” Wells backed away. “The Ice King controls your actions and would have you poison us all….”

“No, I—”

Reardon fell forward at moving without thinking, the cloak already loosed from so much shuffling, finally unwinding from his shoulders and falling open.

Wells gaped—and turned to run.

“No!” Reardon snatched the antidote and sprinted after him, gritting his teeth as the pain renewed tenfold. “Please! It’s for my father!” He ran, but the pain spiked so terribly, he stumbled over the unwound cloak and crashed to his knees, barely keeping the antidote from crashing to the floor with him.

Pained breaths kept Reardon from passing out, but he saw the darkness encroaching.

“Lombard… did this to me…please… please believe me….” As Reardon pitched forward, a sudden firm pair of hands grabbed hold of him.

“That can cure the king?”

“Yes….” Reardon looked up, still swaying within Wells’s hold. “Forgive me for believing you caused this. Lombard made you look guilty, but I should have trusted you. Whatever else you believe… please make sure my father gets this.” Reardon thrust the vial toward Wells with a shaky hand. “If something happens to it… use Barclay’s notes, transmuted into fire, then add Wraith’s Teeth. Before the ice melts, transmute it again.”

“Barclay’s notes…?” Wells repeated, accepting the vial with deeper remorse.

Reardon handed that to him as well.

“He’s safe then, at that castle?”

“He is.”

“There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of him. I knew, so much longer than I admitted, about his visions. I didn’t want to turn him in, but a customer was beside me when Barclay saw something and blurted what he’d seen without thinking. I feared if I didn’t act first I’d be called a conspirator. I am so sorry….” He was a good man, always had been, if somewhat stern. Now he looked filled with the shadow of regret.

Reardon understood. “He forgives you, but you owe him, happy though he may be, and heishappy. If you don’t trust me… trust him.”

Wells gave a solemn nod and helped Reardon to his feet. “I will,” he said, and seemed as though he might try to pull the dagger from Reardon’s chest.

“You can’t.” Reardon pulled away from him and moved to the door. “But I swear my mind is my own. Thank you,” he said, before hurrying outside.

A solid body stood in Reardon’s path, and he crashed into it and nearly ended up on his knees again.

---