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“Bring him this way.”
The woman—the White Queen, I realized—stormed towards a set of double doors and flung them wide open.
We followed her into a large room filled with shelves upon shelves of glass bottles and jars and boxes of medical supplies. A large white stone exam table stood in the center of the room, and I watched Hatter and Chess guide the stretcher above it before gently lowering Ransom into place.
I didn’t know why the exam table had a wide juice canal carved all the way around it until thick, sticky black blood trickled down the sides of Ransom’s body. A hissing sound rose up from tiny spirals of steam as the hot blood hit the icy cold stone. Then it seeped into the groove before traveling to the end near his feet, where it trickled like molasses into a metal bucket.
The White Queen snapped her fingers. A white leather apron materialized and wrapped around her dress while long white gloves covered her hands up past her elbows. Eight men and women in white robes appeared, and immediately conjured matching aprons and gloves.
“We must act quickly to counteract the black magic poisoning these wounds,” she said to her team. She stepped over to Ransom’s side, gently examining the jagged tears in his wing to assess the damage. Her brow creased as she registered the extent of his wounds. The holes were melting away the flesh right before our eyes, to the point that I could see the queen through them. With a determined nod, she set down Ransom’s wing and turned to her attendants, then began issuing crisp orders to them.
“Prepare a poultice of moonflower elixir, Tears of the Fae, and six bundles of healing herbs,” she instructed one of the women, her voice both gentle and commanding. She turned to the other two women. “And I need you to fetch my stores of dragon’s blood resin and crushed opal. We’re going to need everything I have.”
While her assistants hurried off to collect the supplies, she pointed at the three men.
“Turn him onto his belly. Mind the horns. We’ll need a dedicated team for each of his wings if we’re going to any chance of saving them.”
They nodded, their faces grim with determination.
While the men maneuvered Ransom into position, the White Queen twisted a silver handled faucet and began filling a large basin with water.
“Is anyone else injured?”
I looked around at each of my wicked boys. Hatter and Callister shook their heads, but Chess reluctantly held out his arm for inspection. More of the black ooze was dripping down his wrist, staining the white cuff of his shirt.
“They shot through my paw,” he admitted. “But it can wait. Ransom needs your full attention.”
The White Queen shook her head while pouring half a bottle of milky white fluid into the basin of water.
“If we don’t treat your hand now, the poison will spread through the rest of your body. Come here so I can wash it out. One of my assistants will apply a poultice and bandage it for you.”
She took Chess’s hand and poured a ladle full of the milky white water over it. A loud hiss filled my ears and it took me a moment to register that it wasn’t coming from the hot blood hitting the cold stone. My heart clenched when I realized the source of the sound.
It was coming from my fierce Cheshire Cat.
If the simple act of washing out a single wound from an arrow had caused him that much pain, what would it do to Ransom, when he had dozens of injuries?
He’d be in agony.
As if reading my thoughts, the White Queen looked up at me.
“You should leave now.”
“Let me stay with him. Please,” I insisted. “He risked his life to save us!”
She shook her head of long, dark purple coils that seemed to defy gravity. Although her face was kind, her voice was firm.
“The best way to repay his sacrifice is to give me and my apprentices enough room to work. Chess can keep him company.”
“Take good care of him,” I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper.
One of the apprentices turned to me, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. Queen Amari has healed far worse.”
I bit my lip, watching as the men carefully extended each of Ransom’s battered wings onto a pair of long, narrow tables. His face was pale beneath the blood, and his eyes squeezed shut from the excruciating pain.
“Shuttlecocks and teapots...” Hatter breathed as he placed a hand on my lower back. “I’ve seen lace with less holes in it.”
His comment wasn’t much of an exaggeration.
