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I look at the tinctures on the table and read through the labels. Ashwagandha, Chamomile, Echinacea, Feverfew, Garlic, Gingko. The bottles look random, but there’s an order to what’s here. And then I see one I recognize.
Valerian Root.
Its most common use is as a sleep aid.
If Aisha used valerian root to knock Ezra out, I might be able to wake him up. I chew on my bottom lip and try to think of herbs that could counter her sleeping serum. I notice a vial with fresh Goji berries, and an idea takes hold. It’s a stretch, but it’s worth a try.
I take Bash’s cloak off and then get to work. The berries are easy enough to manage. I shake three into a nearby pumice bowl and scan the herbs on Aisha’s table again. I find ginseng and guarana—two more energy boosters—and mash all three into a wicked-smelling paste. Mother would be ashamed of my execution, but this should work for all intents and purposes.
I cross the room again and pull Ezra’s bottom lip down. The stench of rotting flesh is worse than before. By the looks of the black spots on his gums, I’d say the curse is spreading, and all Aisha has done is placate the symptoms. Heat swells in my palms and I remind myself to take a deep breath. Bash’s healer might be useless, but I’m here now. I’ll wake Ezra and then unbind the curse once we’re home. Somehow…
I rub the paste on the inside of Ezra’s bottom lip and wait for my tincture to take effect.
“Come on,” I whisper anxiously. I chew on my lip and wait for what feels like an eternity. I wait, and wait, until finally, Ezra’s eyes snap open.
But he just lies there.
His chest rises and falls in the same rhythmic pattern as when he lay under her spell. A full minute passes without change. I glance at the tapestry, fearful Aisha will cross through and catch me. If I can get Ezramoving, we can sneak out the window and run, but every minute lost is one needed to put distance between us.
“Ezra?” I take his hands, determined to bring my friend back to me and pull him upright.
Ezra lets me move him; his body is malleable, but his eyes are hollow. They’re still black, although there’s a little color to them again. Just a speck of white here and honey brown there. It’s not much to work with, but I take it as a sign that he's still in there, somewhere.
Ezra’s gaze moves slowly, eventually meeting mine and, stars above, the relief I feel is enough to give me hope. We’re going to be okay.
“You good, buddy?” I whisper.
I sense the shift in the air before I see it and by the time I realize what’s happening, it’s too late.
Ezra lunges forward and falls off the table. I try to catch him, but he’s dead weight in my arms. We crash to the ground. My head hits the floor hard, and the pain spreads like poison in water. My vision clouds, and in the few heartbeats it takes for the fog to clear, Ezra climbs onto my hips. His hands come to my throat again, and stars, dammit, it’s like we’re back in the Red Keep.
I buck my hips to throw Ezra off balance and he barely moves. He shifts, but I can’t take control with his weight so far back. I try a different tactic and grab his right arm with both my hands when I buck my hips. This time, I’ve inhibited his ability to recenter himself and caught him off guard. Ezra’s weight shifts and I use the momentum to push him onto his side and get out from underneath him.
With a handful of paces between us, I run through a series of options in my head, trying to find one where I don’t have to kill my best friend or call out for help.
“You are mine!” Ezra shouts, his eyes laser-focused on me as he charges forward.
Ezra’s shoulder hits me in the stomach, and we’re on the floor again. I have no weapons and no physical advantage. What’s left of my skirt is pinned under Ezra’s weight, so even if I could get free, I’d trip as soon as I got up.
I only have one option if I don’t want to die tonight, and I hate that there’s no choice but to use it. I open the mental door, locking my magicback, and let heat gather in my palms. It bursts through my veins in a hot wave I can control, but barely.
“I’m sorry,” I say, tears rolling down my cheeks as I press my hand to Ezra’s face. It’s the only skin besides his hands not covered by his long-sleeved shirt or coat.
Ezra screams in pain and jumps back. He bumps into the table at the center of the room, moving it a few feet across the floor, and knocks over a stack of books.
Bash rips past the tapestry and takes all of a second to look at Ezra and then me before rushing him. They roll on the floor, wrestling until he has Ezra pinned to the ground, unable to move.
Aisha is hot on his heels, her eyes flaring when she sees the mess we’ve made. “What did you do, you stupid girl?”
She unlocks a drawer in her credenza and shuffles through the contents until she finds a yellow vile. She pulls it and a needle out and kneels at Ezra’s side. He thrashes under Bash’s weight, but within seconds of Aisha’s needle piercing his skin he’s unconscious again.
“What did you give him?” Aisha demands, capping her needle and setting both it and the now empty vile on the credenza.
Riot and Bash lay Ezra back on the center table. They straighten his legs and arms, making him the perfect subject for their healer to do with as she pleases once we leave. The thought is unsettling. I don’t trust the Crown, or his healer, to do what’s best for Arcane’s people when its subjects are able-bodied.
But cursed? The Crown would likely kill the infected out of fear the curse could spread by mere proximity.
“I could ask you the same!” I fire back while running a mental list of herbs with yellow flowers. Lemon. Vanilla. Dandelion. None of those would knock Ezra out. Chamomile? No, not on it’s own.
