Harrow snarls at me. It’s echoed by Hook’s growl, low and fierce. Harrow blinks, startled, focusing on the wolf for the first time. He points and lets out a blurt of laughter.
“Wait… Is there actually a wolf there? Or am I hallucinating again?”
“There’s actually a wolf there.” I pull away carefully, situating him and making sure he won’t keel over before I get back. “I’m going to get something that’ll make you better. Please don’t pass out in the next five minutes.”
I move deliberately through the greenhouse. I pluck aloe, dandelion, red clover, milk thistle, nettle, and a large bunch of basil. Back in the laboratory, I mix them all with turmeric, honey, dried ginger, and willow. As I inspect my concoction, one other idea crosses my mind.
Hallucinating again, he said. Harrow continues to sag. If I don’t get this in him soon, he’ll be a puddle on the floor. Possibly a dead puddle.
I don’t know what he ingested, but I run back out and carefully take a single leaf from the heartroot plant. Willow said that it enhances antidote properties. If there is anything suspect in his system, it’ll hopefully help.
Holding the bunch of basil in my left fist, I place my hand on the pot. I take a deep breath and brace myself. I give life to gain a more potent mixture, I think loudly to myself.
The basil withers as I draw out the life from it. Power surges through me, mingling with my own magic. The magic swells in me and I push it through my palm on the cauldron into the mixture I’ve created.
Strengthen the herbs, I command as magic changes my mixture from a murky color to bright green. I take a tentative sniff. It smells right. Everything about it seems right.
But can I trust my instinct when it comes to magic?
I glance back at Harrow. He’s fading fast. He doesn’t even look like he’d make it until Willow is back.
I have to try.
Slowly, I ladle out a thick glob of the mixture into a cup. I’ve only added just enough water to make it drinkable. Harrow looks up at me skeptically as I present it to him.
“Are you going to kill me now?” he whispers. “Strike when I’m weak to get back at me for what I did to you?”
“Please. I have better things to do with my time than kill you.” I bring the mug to his lips. “Drink. And don’t you dare complain about the taste. You’re lucky I threw in honey.”
Honey is actually great at preventing inflammation and stinting infection. But I doubt Harrow knows that, and I’d rather he think I did him a favor.
Harrow drinks slowly. His throat bobs and color begins to return to his cheeks. I can almost see his fever breaking. He sits straighter and wipes his brow.
I move back to the pot to scoop out the second cup. I just performed magic without issue. Last night, this morning…the fizzle when I tried to make a branch in the Fade aside, I’m getting better. Perhaps there’s hope for me yet. When I’m not overthinking things or panicked, my hands seem to know what to do.
Though I know I’d be a fool to think the redwood throne will be conquered so easily. Still, it’s nice to have something go right for once.
Harrow is far more skeptical of this mug than the first. I hate the fact that I must take it as a good sign that he’s back to his ornery self.
“What’s in it?” He sniffs the mug.
“You saw everything I put in it. I doubt you’d understand the why. But you don’t need to; just drink. The more you get in you the better.”
“It’s foul.” Harrow scrunches his nose as he takes a sip of my infusion.
“But it’s clearly helping.” I fold my arms.
He resigns himself to sipping the concoction in silence. I turn my back to him and return to the journals. I pretend to flip through them, but I’m too on edge with Harrow’s presence to focus. And I keep glancing at him to make sure my magic isn’t going to unexpectedly kill him.
“Why did you heal me?” His question interrupts my thoughts and I meet his eyes. He looks much younger when he doesn’t have that wicked smile he’s been wearing since the first time we met.
“Because it was the right thing to do,” I say finally. “Because that’s my job.”
“I think my eldest brother would disagree on it being your ‘job.’”
“Eldest brother?” I arch my eyebrows, focusing on that instead of lingering on Eldas and his control over my circumstances. I’m not going to let Harrow, of all people, shake the level foundations Eldas and I are currently standing on. “There are more of you?”
“At least pretend to hide your disappointment at the fact.” He rolls his eyes. “Eldas is the oldest, then Drestin, and then me.”