Page 37 of Fae Mates

He followed me out and gestured for me to walk upstairs to the common room. Upstairs, Flora sat alone in the dining area with a steaming cup of tea, and I remembered Helen mentioning something about her never having developed wings. She gave us a cursory glance and returned to staring at her drink.

“Flora?” I asked.

She raised her head and squinted. “Do I know you?”

As I walked past the lounge area, she stood and took a few tentative steps. Recognition flashed in her dark eyes, and she rushed across the room and wrapped her arms around my neck.

“Unity!” she said with a sob in her voice. “I thought you’d been executed.”

“Sorry for not telling you sooner,” I whispered into her hair and hugged back. For me, I’d only left for a few days, but it had been three months for everyone else. “I was trapped in some kind of dream.”

“All this time?” She drew back, her eyes bright.

I nodded.

Mr. Whittaker took a seat at Flora’s table. “What’s going on?”

I bit down on my lip. Telling them about my abduction of Prince August might make them accessories for not immediately reporting my confession to the guards. I skipped that part and the bit about Pokeweed making a changeling out of my hair and blood to fake my death.

“Guards surrounded Pokeweed and attacked him all at once.” My throat thickened as I said the words. “He’s unconscious, and I’m not sure how to wake him.”

Mr. Whittaker shook his head. “I don’t know why they don’t leave him alone.”

“Why do they attack him in the first place?” asked Flora. “He’s harmless.”

The remedial teacher ran his fingers through his hair. “Pokeweed once mentioned everyone’s curiosity about the species of his father. Some of the rumors going around are awful.”

“Could you bring Healer Tarax to the huge apple tree?” I asked. “I’d go into the main building myself, but—”

“Someone would recognize you and tell Lady Gala,” said Flora.

Mr. Whittaker stood. “I’ll contact him now through the talking mirror. If he’s not with a patient, he usually comes straight away.”

With a long, relieved breath, I also stood. “Thank you.”

Flora scrambled to her feet. “Is there anything I can do?”

“When Pokeweed gets better, I’ll come round, and we’ll catch up,” I said with a smile.

By the time I returned to the orchard, Healer Tarax paced outside the tree, clutching an overstuffed bag. The white-haired male gave me a nod of acknowledgment and asked, “Are you here to let me in?”

Nodding, I pressed my hand on the knot and guided the healer upstairs to the room where I’d left Pokeweed.

He paused at the foot of the bed, examined the remnants of his overalls, placed a hand in the center of his chest, and sighed. “I’m glad you called and didn’t try to heal this yourself.”

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

“Someone attacked Pokeweed with a deadly poison called nightsbane. The only reason I suspected it was his general healthy appearance.”

“I don’t get it.” Why would a poison make someone look better?

“Judging from the patterns of the scorch marks on the tree and the tattered state of Pokeweed’s attire, I expected him to be in significantly worse condition.”

“Right…” I nodded, still not quite understanding what he meant.

“You see, nightsbane is an intelligent poison in that it improves the victim’s condition while exacting its damage on the internal organs. Until nightsbane has done its job, the victim appears completely healthy.”

McVittie jumped on the bed and sniffed at Pokeweed’s head. “That’s why I couldn’t smell any wounds.”