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“There are still two left. It should happen any day now, if the pattern holds.” There is a sadness in his voice, and Dvain rests a placating hand on Einar’s shoulder.
I force down my revulsion at the false kindness.
The king sighs.
“There are still the stem and thorn. It’s not a method we’ve tried yet.” But even he doesn’t sound overly optimistic.
“We’ve been over this, Son.” Dvain sighs. “The poison is far too potent there. You could die in the process. You could kill yourself and them if you’re not careful. Alchemy is an exact science. Not magic. There are only facts in this case.”
Einar nods, his eyes pinching tighter.
I feel my chalyx stiffen beneath my hand, her body rumbling from the perpetual low growling she’s been doing since we got here.
It’s more than her not liking him. It seems every time my feelings intensify, hers do as well, as if we’re linked on a deeper level. If I’m not careful, she’ll give away every single one of my thoughts, even if my carefully controlled expressions don’t.
I focus back on the conversation at hand and desperately try not to allow myself to feel anything. Good or bad.
“Besides, as you said, there are two petals left. That means we have two more chances at this. I am working with my contact in Socair to see if we can get our hands on another rose. We have time yet.”
Einar’s fists slam down on the table, making everyone in the room jolt from the sheer force.
“That is the one thing we do not have.” His voice is full of rage, sadness, and something else...defeat.
“I wish you would just allow me to test the flower myself. With the equipment I have --”
Einar cuts the man’s words off with a shake of his head.
“I appreciate the offer, but the rose stays with me.”
Dvain and Einar speak about several of the recent ingredients he has tried, and the one they settle on having the most promise is the ‘hydrolysate extract’. The alchemist hands a large vial of the sparkling blue-green liquid over to the king before we turn to leave.
Which isn’t soon enough for me. Every second we spend in the man’s presence makes me feel like I have another layer of grime on my body that I’ll never be able to wash off.
We take an alternate route home so as to not pass by the dragon's cave again. Einar says that it adds an hour onto our journey, but I am too distracted by my thoughts to notice. Besides, it is still so much shorter than the journey here was.
We ride the hestrinn as fast as we are safely able, which leaves little room for conversation.
It's just as well. I can hardly form coherent thoughts in the wake of everything I have discovered in the past two days. More than once, I shudder at the memory of the vile man's bespectacled face, prompting Einar to ask me again if I am cold.
I assure him I am fine, but I am certain he sees it for the lie that it is.
All the broken pieces of my life are converging in the worst possible ways, swirling around me like one of the deadly sandstorms I remember from my childhood, and I am standing in the middle, as I did then, powerless to stop it all.
I am anything but fine.
“I’m surprised your ambassador is not Jokithan,” I finally manage when we stop to water the hestrinn.
“He practically is. My grandfather gave him citizenship forservices rendered, and that was several hundred years ago.”
My jaw drops. Several hundred years of terrorizing innocent victims. Einar notes my surprise.
“The average Jokithan doesn’t live nearly that long, but I imagine he has concocted some sort of fountain of youth for himself.”
I think of Madame, the way she hasn’t aged even as much as Einar has when she has undoubtedly been alive longer, and I nod my agreement.
“But he’s here,” I muse aloud. “Not in whichever country he is an ambassador to.”
“That was only luck on our part,” the king responds. “He comes back every few months.”
