Page 71 of The Edge of Darkness

Fallon grinned. “I will need to personally thank him for his hospitality. The chambers, the clothes, the medicines . . . You are both very generous, and you both have my gratitude.”

“We cannot take credit for the medicines. That is all Maeson.” I tossed a glance over my shoulder at my friend.

“She is unmatched in her skill,” Fallon agreed. “She has been making a tonic to help combat the toxin’s effects on my mind.”

“He still has moments between sleep and consciousness where he isn’t sure what reality he’s in,” Morah added.

“That will all get better with time,” Maeson said while walking over to us with a swirling vial of purple liquid in her hand. “It’s only been a week. But with this much progress already, he should make a quick and full recovery.” She took Fallon’s hand and placed the vial in it.

“Thank you,” he murmured to her before uncorking it with slightly shaky fingers, and drinking.

“What does it do?” I asked Maeson.

“It’s similar to the tonic I give to those who’ve returned from battle with mental trauma and nightmares. I use the same type of mushrooms, only, with this concoction, I’ve added a few more herbs and roots that have targeted healing properties. Being under The Proper Death for that long seems to have caused some damage to his nervous system in some capacity, so this, and some repeated sessions of therapy with Old Magic, should do the trick. Want to see?”

“Yes, if it’s all right with Fallon.”

“Of course it is,” he replied gently.

He extended his arm to Maeson and she took it gently, rotating it back and forth before settling her right hand over his wrist and closing her eyes. This time, she didn’t chant out loud like she had done over his body in the catacombs, she simply moved her hand over his skin, and a faint orange glow filled the space between her palm and his wrist. Fallon winced slightly, but didn’t complain. In fact, his body remained relatively still, aside from his breathing.

Eyes lowered to the bed, he kept his arm loose, allowing Maeson to maneuver it as she worked her way up to his shoulder. “When Maeson brought me out of the trance I was in, I was very confused,” he said quietly. Then, his voice dropped even lower, almost menacing. “For the sake of retelling my story, and for the remaining time that I have in this life, I will no longer refer to Ramil as my father. He stopped being that the moment he seized my freedom.”

He didn’t wait for anyone to respond before continuing, his voice resuming its normal tone. “I didn’t know what was happening. Ramil had kept me under poison for so long that it had encapsulated my mind in a trance. I remember being brought to the catacombs; I went of my own free will. Ramil had told me that a sickness had fallen over the city, and that I could help by channeling my power using Old Magic. I was naïve and eager to help in any way that I could. I should have asked more questions or been more cautious.” He flexed his quivering fingers around the empty vial.

“You didn’t know, Brother. None of us did,” Morah consoled.

“Still, I should have known better, given who Ramil is.” He shifted to the side as Maeson moved the sheets and placed her hands upon his flank, running them down to his hips. “When I entered the chamber, I knew something was wrong. The air was tainted, and there were guards waiting. The poison took me down so quickly that I had no idea what was happening. The next thing I knew, my power was being siphoned out of me, and Ramil was there, talking to me, telling me that I was saving thousands. And the scariest part was that he did it all with a straight face.”

He winced again as Maeson moved to his thighs, her orange light pulsing into his skin and along his nerves. “I know now that Ramil had conjured up a false reality, and kept me living in it—kept me believing I was doing something good for my territory. The space he’d woven into my mind was so real that I could smell the scents he wanted me to smell. I could feel the wind on my face. From what Morah tells me, I’ve lived eighty-eight years under the guise of poison and illusions.”

My breath caught in my throat.

The average human lived to be about sixty—if they were lucky enough not to catch some sort of fever or die of an infected wound or a blade to the gut.

Eighty-eight years spent drowning in poison . . .

I tried to find words, but none came.

Fallon seemed to understand my stunned silence, and offered a sad smile. “I know it’s a lot to process. The span of time came as a surprise to me too, because what I experienced only felt like a few months had gone by. Waking up to find that I had spent almost a century of my life breathing in poison . . .”

Morah wiped a tear from the corner of her eye before it slid down her cheek.

“My sister was just past her third century when I disappeared,” Fallon said, reaching for Morah’s face. When she met his palm with her cheek, he traced his fingers to her jaw, seeing the anatomy of her face with his touch. “And look at her now. A beautiful, strong leader, who will stage a revolution in my name.”

Tears formed in Morah’s eyes once more, falling freely this time.

“When you’re kept under poison for long enough like I was, your mind begins having trouble deciphering what is real and what isn’t. I didn’t know what was happening when Maeson woke me up. She was chanting over me, and I suddenly felt the weight of my body again and the heaviness in my head as her herbs counteracted the toxins. I was too weak to fight back or protest when I felt my body being moved, but I heard it all.” His eyes shifted in my general direction. “You went to battle for me, and I’m forever grateful.”

“Who are we, if we don’t go to battle for one of our own, or for those who cannot fight for themselves?” I placed my hand on his knee, and he registered the contact with a long blink and the dip of his chin. “I can’t even imagine the panic you must have felt while being brought back into this reality.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Try doing it without being able to see a damn thing.”

I shook my head. “That’s . . . I’m so sorry Fallon.”

“Do not feel sorry for me. You brought me back to life. I am in your debt. Simply ask, and if it’s within my power, it shall be done.”

Maeson’s lips spread into a cheeky grin, her chipper voice lightening the mood. “I’m quite fond of the jeweled earrings your sister wears . . .” She winked at Morah.