Page 92 of The Last One
“Olivia and I helped,” Philia adds.
“And then we found the camp again,” Olivia says. “And we got all our things we’d left there, so it wasn’t a total waste.”
I can’t feign excitement because nothing they retrieved helps me. How important are blankets, carrots, and tunics when the piece that keeps me more than warm and nourished—my amulet—is still lost in the woods? Nothing matters if I’m dead.
“Veril says you’re healed enough to start walking,” Jadon says.
I stretch my stiff, achy leg, but the pain stops at my hip, rather than the top of my head.
Jadon holds up a piece of paper. “Veril’s sending us out to gather plants for tonics. When we return, I’ll help you start regaining your strength. You’ll be reluctant to use that leg or turn your hips, so you won’t be able to wield a sword as effectively as before. But you shouldn’t just rely on your hands. They’re unreliable.”
I push out a breath. “Sounds good. Makes sense.”
He strides to the door but stops with his hand on the knob. “And we’ll keep looking for your amulet.” His eyes meet mine. “I’ll find it. I promise.”
A moment later, Jadon and Olivia join Philia outside. I hear them talking as they set off on their task of gathering Veril’s ingredients. Once their voices fade away, I wheel myself into the sitting room.
Veril is standing over his worktable, grinding something in one of his many stone bowls. “Don’t trust anyone to bring you that which makes you whole. They may notwantyou whole.” He nods toward the window. “Especiallythem. Depend on you and you alone. No one else. You must even learn to heal yourself without aid from others, even me. You must also learn how to mix tonics that are not meant to heal but are meant to lessen any threat against you. There’s so much knowledge awaiting you.”
“Teach me, then,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Teach me as much as you can in the time we have together. I want to be able to heal myself and, since you won’t say it, to make poisons.”
“We’ll start now, then.” He beckons me. “Roll up to the table, dearest.”
I roll right up to the worktable, so excited that I’m vibrating.
“Have you made potions before?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Even with the memory tea, I still don’t remember my life before. There are glimpses, yes, but they’re not ordered enough to make any sense. I’ve even forgotten my born-day, but I know that I love honeycakes, although I don’t recall if I’ve ever baked them. I know that I’ve seen burnu and sunabi before my arrival in Maford, but I don’t know when.”
I press my fingers against my achy forehead. “It’s all in here—I just need something to help bring it out. That’s why I need your help. That’s what Ithoughtyour memory tea would do, instead of presenting me with even more riddles and making me sleep.”
“You need to sleep,” he says. “Sleep helps recovery.”
I chew the inside of my cheek as Veril goes back to grinding whatever is in his stone bowl. “I know we’re protected here, but Elyn will be able to find me when we leave. Do you have a spell to make me invisible? To protect me in case she discovers me?” I tuck my shaking hands in my lap.
He raises his eyebrows. “That’s one of the tonics I aim to make for you, but only if your companions can find boar’s tusk.”
“Good.” I take a deep breath, and my muscles relax. “What about other protections?” I ask. “Can you make something to combat my Miasma?”
He rears back. “Dearest Just Kai. You don’t have Miasma.”
“I’m exhausted and weak. My chest feels tight and I want to cough—”
“You were attacked by otherworldly,” he says firmly. “Your injuries aren’t the same as if you’d been bitten by a dog or even fell out of a tree. Your body is trying to figure out how to keep you from dying, and if that means limiting your breath, then it will limit your breath. Stop pouring worry into your bowl. You have plenty on your plate.”
Outside the sitting room windows, the world turns white as a thick fog blankets the cottage and gardens. Points of light flicker through the mist, drifting along the path just traveled by Jadon and the girls, then moving toward the window before halting. Something—orsomeone—is out there, waiting, watching. What does it see right now? Me sitting here in this chair? A chasm where a cottage once stood?
Panic grips me, making my head spin, and I fight the urge to curl into a ball. I don’t move—moving could expose me. And so I hold my breath and wait.
That light glides across the garden, moving away from my companions and disappearing into the dense forest. The fog begins to thin until the bank becomes wisps, and the wisps fade into memories.
“See?” Veril says from his chair. “The enchantment is still working.”
“You saw it, too,” I whisper, feeling nauseous. “That fog? The light?”
He tilts his head. “Nothing escapes my notice, dearest. Once again: you have enough worry on your plate. Eat what you have first before returning to the realm’s banquet of bother.”
Silence slips through the cottage, and the walls flicker with shadow and flame. The air shimmers, and I spot a silk strand of a spiderweb drifting past me. I take deep breaths as I watch it and I wonder about the spider who spun it and I wonder if she hates having to build a web every day that must be then rebuilt every night. Does that spider—a creator—ever become frustrated with the realm’s banquet of bother?
