Page 62 of Nocturn

I did not know sense, or anything, my breathing would not return to normal. Fire seared my insides, gnawing at every particle of my body. My consciousness faded. It was a blessed relief from the searing agony wrapping itself around my veins and twisting them.

A pinch on my chin roused me. Drusilla stood so close her breath wafted across my cheek.

“He did not send you to me to heal,” she murmured, a perplexed look on her face. It slowly morphed into something else. Not satisfaction, not cruelty, something closer to worry. But not for me. She watched the doorway as if she could still see him.

Whatever was between them was not simply fealty.

She faded, giving way to the haziness circling my vision.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Gift

Ishot upright, running my hands down the front of my dress to shove at the flames devouring my skin. Agony seared through every sense I had, refusing to abate.

“Amara!” Branwen kept repeating, standing an arm’s length away.

Her broad features wavered into view, dawnlight falling across her scrunched expression. I whipped my head around. The window stretched up behind me, and I swept my gaze around as I sat up. A thin layer of fur lay scrunched beneath me on the bed in the feeder wing.

Breaths sawed from my throat, a remnant pain coating the inside of my mouth. Al and the injections. Nothing had felt like that. Nothing.

I pressed my hand to my pumping chest, attempting to regain myself. The fabric against my skin was not the corset. I tugged the flowing cotton. It was a sleeping gown. Pure white, with frilly lace framing the cuffs of the sleeves.

“Vera and I changed you the night Officer Egan brought you in here unconscious. You slept so long, I did not believe you would survive.” There was no hint of playfulness. A hunger cramp twisted my belly.

“How long was I slumbering?” I asked in a rough voice. My throat spasmed as I swallowed.

“Close to a sennight.”

I choked on my inhale, jerking my legs to the side, pushing under me to stand. Dizziness clouded my vision. I began to topple over, but Branwen gripped my forearm. That would explain the overwhelming soreness in my limbs.

The substance Al had injected me with had rendered me ill for too long. Nocturn loomed even closer. My shoulders stiffened with the realization, and a wave of discomfort followed. I winced, biting back my hiss of pain.

“You must take care,” Branwen chastised and urged me back into sitting. “We have been feeding you crushed fruits as best we could, but you have not had a solid meal in too long.” She spoke as she went to her bedding and returned with a plate of bars made of oats and honey.

I plopped down on the comfortable bed.

“Have I . . . relieved myself?” A swell of mortification turned my face hot.

Branwen shook her head. “A trial potion was administered to pause all function.” She waved her hand around her lower belly. “In reality, it aided that you were not able to eat much.”

“A trial drug?” I licked my lips. “Was Al the one to create it?”

“Al? That’s the old alchemist’s name?” She mused as if speaking to herself while she rubbed her arm. As if she had experience with his particular brand of injections.

“Do you know him?”

She waved her hand. “In passing.”

But it was very clear she had seen him. I could only deduce that she had not been allowed to say anything. “He was the one to inject me.”

Her gaze flicked away.

“Do not be too concerned. A doctor was here to watch if you had any adverse reactions to the trial drug.”

“A doctor?” Not a healer or the alchemist? A blueblood human who studied anatomy was plausible. Very often seen in villages where there was no access to healers who were also bluebloods with the ability to heal, but there were not many. A doctor was also the final resort for help. Normally the more impoverished went to them . . . including redbloods.

Branwen shook the bar wrapped in thin parchment.