Page 77 of Burn

A wily grin crooked the jester’s lips. “A raptor delivered it last night. I ground one of the rose thorns and added it to her mixture, per the woman’s instructions. As I said, the thorns’ essence resists the effects of fire, which alleviated your pain. The other ingredients in Jinny’s remedy did the rest.” He offered me the note. “She sent three. This one is yours.”

The elder woman had been doing this routinely, sending tidings to each of us. Yet I hadn’t feasted my eyes on one of her letters in the months since my disinheritance.

After breaking the wax seal, I let my gaze fly across the contents. Jinny’s handwriting was as brisk as her grit, but the words filled me with wistfulness.

Spring’s flora has the most nefarious poisons. Summer’s heat makes for pestilence. Winter’s got cures for both.

But remember this, Miss Briar Patch. None of them have empathy. Autumn is where you truly heal.

Hold that knobby chin high, and take care of my boys. And for shit’s sake, keep swallowing them bundleberries.

Yours, Jinny

Laughter skipped from my mouth. My chest lightened. Jinny knew how to combat Willow Dime’s effects, lest it should be consumed by someone with a susceptibility like me.

Poet explained that he’d sent a raptor to carry his message. The elderly woman who’d raised him had responded quickly, parceling a remedy with the avian.

However, tension still lingered in the jester’s expression. Royals were raised to be aware that all solutions either came at a hefty price or with a time limit.

“I’m still in danger,” I concluded.

Poet’s jaw ticked. “Aye, Sweet Thorn. You are.”

My fingers grew clammy, but I held fast to the jester as he explained. The rose thorn and restorative from Jinny were enough to dilute the Willow Dime, mitigating but not flushing it out completely. It was a temporary fix, not the solution. The woman’s generous concoction would stave off the ramifications for a while. But not forever.

“You’ll feel better,” Poet imparted. “Only to suddenly, out of nowhere …”

As he trailed off, I weathered a splash of fear. This, followed by something stronger, braver. “We need a true antidote,” I said.

“More like a process than an antidote,” he shared. “According to Jinny and the Court Physician, what you need requires treatment administered by someone who knows how to do it efficiently. The procedure is otherwise risky. You might call it critical, if not administered by an expert hand—someone familiar with such deadly symptoms.” Poet’s voice turned purposeful. “Both are on their way.”

An antidote. An expert hand.

If both were coming, that should be good news. Poet’s expression indicated it was. But again, I thought of that hefty price.

What was this costing? Who was coming?

Then I knew. Only one court had the skill to cure the most fatal of ailments. And only one Royal was a master at it.

One cruel heir. One cold prince.

Winter.

26

Briar

“Not him,” I demanded, shaking my head. “Not Winter.”

Poet scrubbed his face. “’Tis already done, sweeting. Without his help, I risk losing you. That’s a dealbreaker.”

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

The jester leaned back and stared at me, waiting for more. Outside, leaves shook against the morning breeze, producing an audible shiver through the courtyards. I hesitated, then glanced away, focusing on Poet’s ribbon bracelet.

It was unfair to judge a person I’d only encountered once. Likewise, it was wrong to interpret rumors and hearsay as truth, especially as a Royal. And if recent events had taught me anything, one couldn’t know the true heart of a ruler without peeling back the layers. I knew what it was like to be condemned, and so I weighed my thoughts as judiciously as possible, all the while recalling that one incident. That one time I’d met the Prince of Winter.

“I was fifteen the only time he came to Autumn,” I told Poet. “Jeryn was sixteen, yet a mere glance from him had chilled my blood. His silence spoke volumes, and those austere features intimidated anyone who braved his stare. But more than anything, I remember the lifelessness in his eyes, like a barren landscape. I failed to register any emotions from him, which never surfaced even when …” I cringed, then lifted my gaze to the jester. “I saw him disembowel a man.”

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