Page 32 of Sons of Sorrow
“Swallow,” Luna commanded. “Every last drop.”
And swallow Evander did, practically sticking his tongue out as the last bit of crimson potion slipped from the phial. He coughed, then grinned up at the sky. Whether that was the venom creeping through his veins or the second healing potion doing its work, I couldn’t say.
“Oh, wow,” he mumbled, pushing himself up as the sisters eased off him. He rapped the side of his head with the heel of his palm. “I feel a lot better already. My mind is — yes. I can think clearly now.”
I scoffed. “Clearly enough to realize that initiating an attack on a potential guardian was a bad idea? All by yourself, too, and without coordinating with the rest of us. And to think there was a time I believed you were smarter than me.”
Evander scowled. Oh, he was back to normal, all right. “You’ve all been yammering about it anyway, haven’t you? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we get out of here.”
“And what have we accomplished?” Bruna asked. “We’ve depleted some of our resources, and we still don’t have a Heart of the Flame. That wasn’t a guardian.”
Evander threw his hands up, springing to his feet. “And just how is any of that my fault? It was Locke’s familiar who said that he sensed a guardian nearby. Well? Where is it, then?”
“I don’t get it,” Satchel said absently. He’d found a dry twig, poking at what was left of the hydraling like it was roadkill. “I can still sense guardian energy, like it’s right here. Maybe it’s underground?”
“Hey, stop poking that,” I said.
Ember, who had found his own stick, narrowed his eyes at me defiantly as he gave the hydraling corpse another poke. These little jerks.
Sylvain approached the corpse, crouching to get a closer look. “Interesting, though, that this creature doesn’t appear to have been touched by the Withering. That’s an encouraging thought.”
“The same happened in the Oriel of Water,” I said. “I assumed there was so much elemental wetness in the dimension to cancel the Withering out completely. Either it hasn’t made its way here, or our efforts with the Wispwell actually have helped to control the spread of the plague.”
“Well, okay.” Luna cleared her throat, flipped her hair. “I guess that’s one thing that the Wispwood is good for. We had a case of the Withering over at the Iron College and — well, thanks to the Wispwater, nobody had to die or anything. So thanks. I guess.”
I glanced at Bruna, unsure of who Luna was actually thanking. She shrugged, but the smile on her face was clear enough. She didn’t get enough of this warmth from Luna on a regular basis and was more than happy to take any scraps.
“We did it together,” Bruna said. “Locke, Satchel, Sylvain, Namirah — the entire academy helped in our fight against the Withering.”
Wood scraped against dirt as Ember made random scratches with his stick, pretending not to be interested in the conversation. Except his face was turned toward us, even when his gaze was on the ground, his pierced, pointy ears pricking up to listen.
“So what’s the Withering?” he asked, with all the sullen disinterest of a teenager.
“It’s this weird curse,” Satchel said. “Dries people up from the inside out, but it also makes them really, really mad. Increases their power, too, makes them much more dangerous. So a regular wizard would become a super-wizard. Even someone like Locke here would pose a major threat.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, ha-ha, Satchel. Very funny. Maybe don’t bite the hand that invests in your tailoring company.”
Satchel laughed. Ember’s stick kept on scraping. His eyes darted between our faces and the hydraling corpse on the ground. I could only imagine the thoughts running rapidly through his head.
“Hello?” Evander sang, hands on his hips as he forcibly reinserted himself into the conversation. “Weren’t we just talking about Satchel’s guardian sense being on the fritz?”
Satchel’s lip turned so far up I thought he would conjure one of his needles, just to sew Evander’s mouth shut.
“Actually, we’d moved on from that,” Bruna said. “To the valuable topic of collaboration and cooperation, Evander, which you should know all about, being a Wispwood alumnus. And a summoner, at that.”
“Cooperation?” Luna chuckled. “Oh, please.”
And Luna was back.
“That’s right,” Bruna said, stamping her foot. “Cooperation. You know, the value of helping each other out? Even Evander Stink over here, even when he’s being a total jerk.”
“Very uncalled for, Professor Hernandez.” Evander shook his head. When he thought no one was looking, he pinched a bit of his shirt and sniffed, just to make sure.
“It’s just frustrating,” Bruna continued, her hands balled into fists, her face scrunched. I wasn’t used to seeing her get this worked up over anything. “And you know it, Luna. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but this stuff matters to me. Maybe if I knew what I know now, maybe if I could have helped Dad, before he — oh, gods.”
Bruna covered her face with the back of her hand, sniffling. Sylvain crossed over to her in a few long strides. He rubbed her shoulder, offering his when she leaned in to cry. Luna lifted her hand, like she was about to comfort her sister, but dropped it again. Affection didn’t come easily between the Hernandez sisters, and I could finally see why.
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Luna said, a little terse, yet somehow softer despite her icy aura. “He was very, very sick. We were just kids, Bru.”
