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Galen could barely picture it, and he shuddered, imagining so many falling ill.
Azriel looked downtrodden. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help.”
Galen knotted their fingers together. “You had plenty to do here. Mr. Browning and his apothecary might not have fared well, had it not been for you.”
“Nor you,” he replied, because Galen tried to help as much as he could. “And I suppose you’re right.”
Especially when Azriel had noticed the rash on Mr. Browning’s hands. It lent a blue cast to the skin that alerted Azriel he’d caught violet fever, likely from one of the many customers he’d helped.
With Galen’s assistance, Azriel immediately got to work, consulting one of the apothecary books he’d been smart enough to bring along. He concocted an elixir using a bit of Dragon’s Blood—hoping to preserve as much as he could for the others who’d inevitably need it. It was Galen’s idea to separate the roots and nurture the seedlings that had sprouted in water.
Mr. Browning seemed very grateful, not only for the help with the illness, but also that he could recover comfortably while Azriel ran the apothecary in his absence.
Townsfolk were encouraged to stay home, and he and Azriel began visiting residences of those suffering the worst to deliver what they could until the transmission seemed to lessen. Though they had no way of knowing if the sickness would return, so until then, they would make sure to have enough of the remedy on hand—and they would be able to have even more now, with the supplies Sparrow and Wren had brought with them.
“And what of the others?” Azriel asked.
“Bellamy also fell quite ill, but nothing Madam Langley tried worked.”
“Is he all right?” Galen asked, alarmed.
“We hope so,” Sparrow replied. “Though he’ll probably never speak to Oscar again.”
Galen arched an eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oscar apparently began believing his own stories. Perhaps he’d become feverish as well,” Wren said with a smirk. “He took it upon himself to locate Bellamy’s beloved and inform him of how ill Bellamy had become.”
“Oscar was likely hoping Bellamy would have someone with him…in case the worst happened. It’s romantic, really,” Sparrow said dreamily.
Galen had had that thought about Oscar on more than one occasion.
“What happened?” Azriel asked.
“We don’t actually know. It was as if Bellamy was stolen away in the middle of the night,” Wren said, leaning closer. “Perhaps this Ashwood fellow thought he could care for him best.”
“Except that Bellamy was essentially hiding from him,” Azriel said, his hand coiling into a fist. “Maybe for good reason.”
“There was something else there too, in Bellamy’s aura,” Galen said, hoping to lessen Azriel’s unease. “He seemed quite lost…and forsaken. So maybe there needed to be a reckoning between them.”
“Perhaps.” Azriel relaxed a bit. “Please send word when you hear.”
“We will,” Wren promised.
The room grew quiet, until Azriel asked the question they’d been leading up to, and Galen braced himself for it. “And the constable. Did he…”
Wren nodded grimly, and Galen held in his gasp.
“That’s another reason Madam Langley insisted we visit. She knew you would be worried about the outcome.”
And she was right. There were several nights when Galen had found Azriel awake and pacing the cottage, outside in the wildflower field, his gaze lost in the stars.
“It was the moon-flower tea,” Wren said, his tone adamant. “Madam Langley made us promise not to leave here until you understood that he drank a potent amount that evening. It was not your doing.”
“You might’ve knocked him unconscious to save Galen, but he was already well on his way,” Sparrow said. “He was always insisting on more tea and risking the outcome, no matter how many times she’d warned him. It could’ve happened on any other night.”
Azriel didn’t respond, only stared at them, panting softly.
“You are safe,” Galen said close to his ear. “You are free of him.”
Azriel released a jagged breath and momentarily shut his lids, before a small smile finally touched his lips. It did not reach his eyes, and Galen knew they would have more to discuss, just the two of them, later. But for now it was a start, and it felt good, easing the shackles of their constant dread.
“Will you stay the night?” Galen asked as they began clearing the table.
“We would love to,” the twins said in unison, and Azriel smiled. Galen had forgotten how they sometimes seemed to be of one brain.
After dinner, they walked to the livery to speak to the driver about their journey back home the following day. They enjoyed some lemon tarts from the bakery before it closed for the evening, while the owner’s daughter flirted with the twins, clearly enamored, and who wouldn’t be? They brought so much light wherever they traveled.
That evening, to Galen’s astonishment, Azriel brought out a bottle of spirits, and the four of them watched the sunset from under the willow tree, toasting Mr. Blackburn and his Arthur.
