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Dvain begins stammering, and I shake him.
“Do not feign ignorance with me. Open this door, now.” I command, and something in him shifts.
He nods, standing up straighter, and taps on the wall seven times with his good hand. A second later, he pulls one of the vials forward on the shelf. The entire thing rattles and moves backward, revealing a winding staircase in the floor.
I shove the little man in front of me on the narrow stairs in case there is another hidden door at the bottom.
Gunnar and I exchange a look before I descend.
“Stay here in case something goes wrong,” I tell him, following Dvain down into the dark.
What greets me at the base of the stairs isn’t at all what I expect. It is a normal looking room. A study, of sorts, not unlike mine back at Alfhild.
“What --” I begin, but Dvain cuts me off.
“This is where I perform my experiments, nothing more, My King,” he says calmly, reaching for something on his desk.
I grip the hilt of my sword tighter and point it in his direction, but he holds up his hands in a show of innocence.
“This is the last time I will ask you, and you had better have an answer for me. Where is my wife?” Each syllable is clipped with my ire.
Dvain stumbles backward into the shelf behind him and his good arm knocks over a large vial of swirling purple liquid.
I dart forward to stop him, to prevent him from poisoning us all, when purple and green smoke appear from the mixture on the floor. The concoction swirls up into the air, stretching out like fingers.
His good hand flies to his mouth while he clutches his injured one to his chest.
Instantly, I follow suit and cover mine as well, refusing to take another breath. Gunnar and Khijhana rush down the stairs, alerted by the commotion, and I don’t have a chance to warn Gunnar before he’s inhaled some of the poison.
Within seconds, the room begins to tilt and sway. A battle cry erupts from Gunnar’s lips as he swings his sword at some invisible foe.
Khijhana’s eyes widen, and she bares fangs that stretch out a meter long. Then, she roars and her shape changes to that of a wolf. When I blink, there are more. A pack of wolves.
My wolves.
And standing in the middle of them is me, wearing the canine mask I don for court.
The wolves surround me. They’re in the doorway, multiplying and growing to unimaginable heights. I stumble backward to get away from them and crash into a wall as the reflection of me holds a sword to my throat.
Hallucination.
None of it is real.
I’ve accidentally dosed myself too many times in my experiments. I know this feeling well, and I know I can think my way through this.
Dvain’s voice echoes around me, taunting me. I can’t figure out exactly which of the six versions of him I see is true.
Holding up my sword, I swing at the first one, and the smoky mirage disappears. He laughs, stoking the flames of my rage.
Gunnar is next, but there are four of him, and he is terrified. Each version of his body is larger than the last. His axe is in his hand, dripping with a green liquid as he holds it high in the air, charging at something in the distance. I rub my eyes, and he wavers, dissolving into purple mist.
Amid the chaos, Zaina’s voice calls to me, and I swear she is right next to me. Her voice is so clear, just behind me. I spin around to find her, but she is everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Gunnar is next to me, confused and choking. I lean in to help him, but his face changes back to the alchemist’s and he’s laughing instead.
I kick him away and hear Zaina call out to me again. She’s so close. I know she is.
Something slams up against me and I stumble backward, smashing through a wall or a door until I hit the floor on the other side.
