“Gilead would probably know. I have my guesses, but nothing certain,” Sainte answered.
After a stiff sigh, I offered Ethyan a small smile. He sat beside his sister, his arm splinted and secured with a sling. I couldn’t help but notice how his uninjured hand stayed close to the hilt of his throwing blade. His accuracy wouldn’t be as great with his left, but he could still inflict some pain if needed.
Lyana, sitting up, lacked her usual cheery demeanor, but her gaze showed awareness. Our efforts to keep her clean and prevent infection improved her mental state. She fought us the first few days, draining her strength, but it only ignited the fire she needed.
Ethyan sent a nervous glance Sainte’s way before nodding toward the door. “Is that bastard trying to kill her now?”
“He already had the chance,” Lyana murmured.
Guilt consumed me with her soft voice. Where was the fierce girl I roamed the streets with? The one who would’ve faced a battalion of Wynterian soldiers for my sake? Where was my best friend and her spitfire attitude?
Oh, right. My brother crushed her spirit with unknown torment.
“I doubt he would,” I said, approaching the bed on slow, cautious steps. “You’re still of use to him.”
When her ocean eyes filled with fear, I grasped her hand in mine.
“I won’t let him near you,” I assured her. “The threat of causing you harm is his way of controlling me, and he knows that. What he did—”
She shuddered, biting her lip.
“—He’s sick. Demented and disgusting. But intelligent. He wouldn’t kill you when he can still use you against me.”
“We shouldn’t be here,” Lyana breathed, tears filling her eyes.
“This isn’t your fault.” I rubbed her cold hand, drawing her distant gaze to mine. “He is ruthless and will exploit anything and anyone to win the crown.”
She fell silent, unwilling to speak. The bruises around her neck looked worse, though severe injuries often did before they improved. The gash at her temple and a few along her thighs required stitches. Her sunken black eyes worried me the most. She wasn’t sleeping well, if at all. She wouldn’t allow me or Ethyan in the bed with her at night.
That loss of closeness stung the most.
This was my fault.Mybrother did this to her, and now—she couldn’t even stomach my comfort anymore.
A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts, and Urien slid inside. Gilead lingered in the hall, her quiet voice carrying a hint of concern as she spoke to that other healer. She took the teapot from him, her movements stiff and deliberate. When her eyes met mine, jaw clenched, Urien let her in and shut the door behind her.
“The Priests of Togamar know nothing of this,” she said sharply, then set the pot on a small table, eyeing it as if expecting it to transform into a serpent and strike.
A terrible preface for whatever else she had to say.
“What are bitter waters, Gilead?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to regain composure. “A tea brewed from wyrmwood. It has certain… properties that cleanse a woman’s womb.”
“He’s worried about a bastard,” I spat.
Lyana withdrew her hand from mine, tucking it beneath her blankets, her gaze distant. She was shutting us out, distancing herself.
Curse my brother a thousand times over.
“So it would seem.” Gilead perched on the edge of the bed, studying Lyana. “There are other methods, all I would choose, but the prince regent denied them.”
“Why?”
She understood my question, and our eyes met, confirming the truth. There was something ominous, dangerous about the tea, a side effect that would harm her. Another string for him to pull to hurt me.
Gilead’s lips pursed tight. “It only takes a single dose.”
Confusion clouded my thoughts. The tonics, teas, and tinctures I heard of to avoid unwanted pregnancy were used daily as a preventative. There were potent options as well, taken up to ten days after intimacy—never in one cup.
