Page 67 of A Queen Of Broken Realms
I roll my eyes. “I get your point, but this was definitely not of his making. He doesn’t seem to know it exists.”
“Maybe you should tell him. Ask if you can look again.”
“The only way I can find out more about it is if I open the structure of it, and I’m not really sure I want to do that. It doesn’t give me good vibes,” I say, a little shudder flowing down my arms. “Besides, I don’t know that Wynter would be a big fan of me rooting around in his noggin.”
“Probably true,” Ediye says as we look over at Wynter as she hovers over an ancient book splayed open on the dining table next to a set of scales and small bottles of powder and liquid, her pen scratching across a notepad. “They seem a little protective of one another.”
“Whether they both want to believe it or not.”
We watch in silence for a long moment as Wynter reads a through the heavy text, or at leastpretendsto. Every few minutes she steals a glance at Roman. He does the same when he seems to think it will go unnoticed. Whenever their gazes happen to connect, they both look away.
“How much do you think she knows?” Ediye whispers. “She obviously realizes something is wrong and he’s struggling with memory, otherwise she wouldn’t have been looking for the ingredients she obtained from Mr. Hassan’s. It was everything she required for the potion to heal damaged memories.”
“Good question. She obviously knows something is missing. But maybe she doesn’t know something else has been put into his head to replace what was lost.” Our focus is pulled to the door as Cyrus enters with Davina, two additional guards remaining at the threshold to guard the hall. “Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she knows it all, but would rather not see.”
Ediye and I exchange a dark look before she rises to assist Wynter while Davina takes a seat to my left on the couch, the musky undertone of her usual lilac scent the only betrayal of her trepidation about the weight of the position she’s about to take on. When Wynter is ready, she and Ediye join us in the living room, Ashen and Roman trailing after them, their earlier levity gone in exchange for reserved concern and wary glances.
“Are you ready?” Wynter asks to Davina. The young apothecary grips a vial of shimmering liquid in one hand, one of fine grey powder and a glass of water in the other. Ediye stands close by with the book clutched in her fingers, the scent of dusty skin rising from the ancient leather pages. Ashen sits in an armchair with his whiskey as Roman stands off to the side, his back against the wall as he regards the unfolding scene with stern vigilance, his gaze resting on Wynter but always shifting away before she looks in his direction.
“Yes,” Davina replies, and though her voice is calm, her eyes aren’t. They dart from one person to the next until they rest on me.
“You don’t have to do this, Davina,” I say. A thousand worries seem to crash on my shoulders. Maybe she’s not ready for this. She’s been through so much already. No matter what I feel about Davina and her history with Ashen, this is too much for me to ask. What if she feels like she couldn’t say no? But Davina turns to me and smiles, and I think maybe I see a little excitement beneath the nerves.
“I know I don’t have to. But I want to.” With a final, fleeting smile, Davina squares her shoulders and shifts her attention to Wynter. “I’m ready.”
“I’ll give you a nod when it’s time to drink the liquid. You’ll want to lie down, but you need to stay awake and take the powder when I tell you,” Wynter says, passing Davina the vial of liquid. She turns to me next, giving me the ampule of powder. “Your job is to keep her conscious until she consumes it.”
“Got it.”
“Okay. Here we go.” Wynter turns toward the book in Ediye’s hands. The chant begins. The air seems to change around us, shifting like dust motes shimmering in sunlight. The liquid in the vial coats the glass with a viscous glimmer as Davina rolls it between her fingers. Wynter finishes the first page of text and then casts her gaze to Davina with a nod.
Davina pulls the stopper from the vial. The scent of sugar and smoke drifts toward me. My spine straightens as something diaphanous settles into my thoughts, something familiar hidden in the scent.
Davina knocks the liquid back. Time seems to slow. The pace of heartbeats, the rhythm of breath, the shifting of muscle and bone. Cubes of ice clink against Ashen’s glass as he leans forward in his chair. But it’s Roman’s eyes I meet across the room. He can smell the nuanced secrets that drift on a current of air, just like me. And as I meet his eyes, I know I’m not the only one who feels something is amiss.
“Lu?..” Ashen says from his chair as my brows draw together.
In an instant it’s too late to answer. Davina slumps, her shoulders falling. Her vertebrae seem to unlink beneath the hand I place on her back. Her eyelids flutter and start to close.
“Keep her awake,” Wynter barks.
I do the only thing I can think of in that moment. Something that feels oddly cathartic.
I slap Davina across the face.Hard. Probably a lot harder than necessary.
Davina’s eyes clear from her haze and she manages to shoot me a questioning frown before I slap her again. You know, for good measure. Purely for Resurrectionist purposes and not for any residual jealousy. That kind of behavior would be super un-Queenly, after all…
She’s starting to look a little glassy-eyed.
I slap her again.
“I think she’s good,” Ediye hisses.
I shrug, giving Davina a poke to the ribs. “What? Wynter said to keep her awake.”
“I’m good,” Davina slurs, batting my hand away when I move to give her a few love taps to the cheek.
Wynter gives me a disapproving shake of her head and refocuses on the book, continuing her chant. I keep my attention on Davina, nudging her whenever her eyelids start to droop, slapping her only once more when she starts to slump.Fine, maybe twice. Or three times.
