Page 33 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

“ P oison,” Yuven says as he tosses open cabinets. He grabs bottles and tins, bumping tinctures out of order, not even bothering to close doors. “I need to see him as soon as possible.”

I’m breathing hard from the run to the castle and then even harder from the near heart failure I had when I couldn’t find Yuven in his quarters or the herb garden.

I never expected him to be anywhere else.

I finally found him speaking with Lissy, his maid, in the flower garden by the falls.

They looked cozy watching the rain from under a canopy, and Yuven wasn’t impressed when I first interrupted.

Once I explained, he started muttering herb names I’ve never heard of and walking as fast as I’ve ever seen his gangly legs carry him.

“We need to get Clarion,” he says.

“There is no time.” I shake my head, impatient. I’m already dancing to the door, hovering back and forth, waiting for him to collect his things so we can go.

He finally looks up after having stuffed the last tin in his leather pouch. “Pippa, this could be fatal. I won’t know what we’re dealing with until I look at Galinor. We need Clarion.”

“First, let me take you to Galinor’s tent, and then I will go for Clarion.”

How I am going to pull him away from the tournament without causing a scene, I’m not sure. Right now, Clarion has half a dozen patients with minor wounds from the joust.

He nods and follows me out the kitchen doors. We cut through the gardens, and luckily everyone is watching the joust, so we don’t have to explain our rush. It seems like it takes forever to reach the tents, but we finally make it.

Bran is still on guard, and he looks relieved to see Yuven behind me.

“He’s unconscious,” he says, his voice low as he steps away so we can enter. I stop abruptly when I see the amount of bloody rags they’ve already gone through. Yuven bumps into me and then shoves me out of the way.

As Bran warned, Galinor is lifeless, now stretched out on a cot.

Marigold leans over him, pressing a bandage to the wound to slow the flow of blood.

She looks up when we come in, and her eyes are red and puffy.

Percival pulls Galinor’s tunic over Archer, who already wears the prince’s armor. Archer looks grim.

Yuven rushes to Galinor’s side, and Marigold scrambles back. I look away as he pulls the bandage aside, but it’s not soon enough. The wound has spread. It’s now a great gaping lesion of red, and the blue bruise has stretched from his side to his back and his abdomen.

“Pippa, get Clarion now. ”

“I already sent Alexander for him,” Percival says, glancing my way. “We were getting worried when it took you so long.”

My throat is closing, and I choke a little. “I hurried…”

Percival leaves Archer’s side and takes me by the shoulders. “We know, but we’re running out of time. His pulse is weak.”

“What is it?” I ask, aghast. “What did Lionel put on the dagger?”

Bran pokes his head through the tent. “Archer, they are ready for Galinor.”

All our eyes turn to Archer. He nods once and turns to Percival. “Thank you.”

“Don’t let Lionel win.” Percival slaps him on the shoulder once, his face grim.

Archer’s eyes meet mine as he leaves, and as he passes, I press my embroidered handkerchief into his hand. He raises an eyebrow, gives me a shadow of a smile, and then leaves.

The tent flaps blow in the wind, and I’m torn between rushing after him to see how he does and staying with Galinor. I resist the urge to follow—I know where I’m needed. I find a seat next to Galinor.

Yuven glances at me. He’s opened a bottle of a wretched smelling gray liquid, and I work hard not to gag. He hands me a soaked rag. “Hold this to the wound.”

I take it, my nose wrinkling. “What was he poisoned with?”

He sifts through his pouch, mixing this and that with his mortar and pestle. Ignoring my question, he motions to the powder he’s mixed. “I need cider or wine—anything to mix this in.”

Percival and Marigold scramble around the tent, searching for a bottle of anything liquid.

“There’s nothing here!” Marigold exclaims. “Bran, we need something to drink!”

“Just a moment,” he calls back, and then his shadow disappears from the front of the tent.

“Creeping wortcane,” Yuven says, looking back at me. “I’m almost positive.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a mushroom that grows in marshes.” He gives me a hard look. “It’s native to Vernow.”

I glance at Percival. His jaw is hard, and he drums a nervous finger against his crossed arms.

“Will he be all right?” I ask, my voice small. Marigold and Percival look over.

Yuven’s eyes meet mine, and they look pained. “I’ll do my best.”

Marigold lets out a sob but chokes it back and turns away from us. Percival looks as if he’s about to say something, but Bran bursts into the tent with Clarion right behind him. He hands Yuven the bottle of wine and then steps out of the way.

Clarion comes over, his white eyebrows knitted together in concern, and I pivot out of his way, careful to keep the foul-smelling rag pressed hard against the wound.

Yuven and Clarion begin to discuss the lesion in rapid, unfamiliar medical words.

I do understand the gist of the conversation, though.

The poison is killing the skin around the slice—that’s what the purple bruise is.

His skin and muscles are dying. Clarion agrees with Yuven’s assessment of creeping wortcane.

Apparently, it’s a poison that not only eats away at the skin, but it keeps the blood from clotting as well.

The concoction I’m holding against the wound is supposed to counteract that.

Already, I notice the blood has slowed and is thicker than it was only minutes ago.

Outside, there is a loud cheer from the arena. I bite my lip, straining to hear more, but now there is only muffled applause. I wait, on edge, willing Archer to return to the tent quickly.

Bran competes after Archer, so he’s left again. Alexander has taken his place. Marigold sits in the corner, looking like she’s reliving every horrible memory from her already difficult life. Percival paces. Yuven mixes his concoction in the wine, and Clarion continues to examine Galinor.

A thought keeps nagging at me, and in the painful silence of the tent, I finally acknowledge it. If I had announced Lionel as my chosen last night instead of hiding in my rooms, he wouldn’t have done this. This is my warning.

This is my fault.

I glance up as Archer strides through the tent, his helmet still on to hide his identity. He pulls the helmet off as soon as the flaps swing shut. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “How is he?”

“Still unconscious,” Percival answers.

“The wound is clotting,” Clarion says .

I swing my head down, and sure enough, the bleeding seems to have finally stopped. We’re all quiet.

I wonder if it’s too late to feel relieved.

“Did you win?” Percival asks, almost as if it’s an afterthought.

“Yes.”

“The next round will decide who places,” Percival says.

Archer nods but says nothing more.

Yuven hands me a goblet filled with the herb-laced wine. “Help me, Pippa.”

I take the goblet, wondering how I’m going to get him to drink it. Yuven tips Galinor’s head up and opens his mouth.

“It will choke him,” I protest.

“It won’t. Do it, Pippa.”

I hold the goblet to Galinor’s lips, which are turning a frightening blue color, and pour a small amount of the liquid in. Yuven tips his head back so the wine goes down his throat.

“Again,” he says. Together, we pour more of the liquid down Galinor’s throat. “That’s enough for now. It will help his body fight the poison.”

Clarion wraps the wound again, but this time the outside of the bandage stays white and clean. “There is nothing we can do now but wait. If he’s strong, he’ll pull though.”

I hate waiting.

Clarion stands and eyes Archer in Galinor’s armor. “Prince Percival, I assume this is to be kept quiet?”

“If you would, Master Clarion. ”

“Of course,” the physician says with a small smile. “I must go before they come looking for me.

Percival thanks Clarion, and then the physician leaves. We all turn to Galinor, watching him expectantly.

Yuven notices and gives us a wry look. “It will be awhile before we can hope to see much improvement. If we’re lucky, he’ll wake by nightfall.”

I groan and stand to wash the blood from my hands.

Alexander steps into the tent. “Pippa, you need to get back. Leonora just came to tell me they’re missing you.”

“All right. I suppose there’s no use all of us sitting here, anyway.” I glance at Galinor and then back at my brother. I give Archer a weak smile. “Congratulations, Archer, and thank you.”

I squeeze his hand, wishing I could do more, and then leave. I weave through the tents, feeling numb. Many people wave to me, and I return their greetings, somehow smiling back. The rain has let up, and more villagers are wandering around, walking through the squishy, wet meadow grass.

“How is he?” Leonora whispers as I find my seat next to her.

“Yuven has stopped the bleeding and given him something to fight the poison. Clarion says all we can do now is wait.”

Leonora wrings her hands in her lap. “Wait for what, exactly?”

“For him to either wake up…”

Her face falls, and she finishes for me, “Or not.”

I’m thankful for the trumpet’s call, announcing the third round .

Leonora takes my hand and squeezes it. “Archer was magnificent,” she says, her voice too quiet for anyone around us to hear.

“I missed it,” I murmur.

“You’re here now.”

With only six competitors left, this round decides who places. Archer, Rigel, Lionel, and Bran are all still in the competition. I was hoping Lionel would have been knocked off while I was tending Galinor, but unfortunately, he remains.