Chapter Seventeen

The entire camp was vomiting. Okay, maybe not the entire camp. Maybe just the ones who’d been harassing me, plus a few casualties.

I shifted, cross-legged, and peered at the line of men waiting outside my tent, their arms around their stomachs, eyes watery, faces various shades of green. Fading sunlight spilled over their leather caps and quilted jackets, the meadow stretching gold behind them.

Okay, maybe it was more than a few casualties. I’d had to poison the rabbit stew before Bengt got to it, which meant everyone behind him also got sick. Not my intention, but the pockets of ragwort had been wildly effective. They’d been retching all evening.

I gave the man I was treating a mug of fennel tea. “Remember, second dose tomorrow. Next.”

It was one of Bengt’s friends, the tall one with thread-thin scars on his knuckles and a crow tattooed on his throat.

“Make it stop.” He sank to his knees and clutched his stomach. Sweat sheened his brow. “Please, make it stop.”

I kept my eyes down, shuffled a few of the bottles over the low writing table I’d requisitioned from Bo. After he’d clued me in about how reykr worked, I’d started looking for hints as to who created what illusion—a smirk here, a twitch of the fingers there. I was pretty sure he was the one who made Buttercup sprout fangs.

I pulled a smile across my face and laced my fingers together, elbows on the table. “What are your symptoms? Same as the others? Better? Worse? Do you feel like you’re dying?” Men always thought they were dying.

In response, he grabbed my bucket and retched.

“You know, I think this may be an intestinal worm. You can get them from contaminated meat or dirty water. Weren’t a few of you drinking straight from the stream?”

The man gripped the bucket, sweaty hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so wide they showed the whites. “Worms?”

It wasn’t worms. Just ragwort. But he didn’t need to know that.

I touched his elbow and gave him my best concerned face. “Never fear. We can get rid of them. My tea works wonders. Kills the worms. Do you have a mug?”

The man began unbuckling a water skin at his belt, frantic and a little feverish. “Help me. Please hel—”

He barely got it off before he grabbed the bucket and retched again. Stomach acid smeared the air, the stench like spoiled cheese. But I’d seen worse. Hell, I’d smelled worse.

I lifted the kettle and poured a braid of steaming liquid into the water skin. “Of course I’ll help. But first I need your help.”

“Anything.” The word cracked in his throat. Dirty tears streaked his cheeks. “Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll—”

I tipped the kettle upward, cutting off the braid. The skin warmed my hand, soft and supple, like the fleshy part of a thigh. I wanted to stab it. “Some men have been playing jokes on me,” I said, kneading my thumbs into the leather. “Making me see things that aren’t really there.”

He reached for the waterskin.

I pulled it away.

“It’s not me. I swear—”

Liar .

I replastered my smile, so false, so cheery. “ Of course, it wasn’t you. But if you see anyone using reykr, you’ll defend me, won’t you?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth and nodded.

“And you wouldn’t use reykr on me, would you?”

Another nod. His eyes didn’t leave the water skin in my hand. I turned it, pretending to study the line of silver fillings studding the strap. “I want to hear you swear it.”

“I swear it,” he muttered.

“Louder.”

“I swear it!”

The other men snapped their heads in our direction.

I tossed him the waterskin. “This is the first of twelve doses. You’ll need a dose every morning and evening for the next two days, then we move to evening only.”

Why twelve doses? Not sure. Twelve had been the first number that came to mind, and I’d stuck with it. Twelve doses on the regimen I’d suggested would buy me at least a week without reykr, a week where most of the men would have to visit me every day, a week to befriend them and learn about their weapon.

The man stumbled out of my tent and I called for the next to come in.

Tomorrow, I’d ask about their military service. Did they like serving under Erik? What was their role? The next day, I’d ask them about their training. What did it look like? What weapons did they wield? I’d keep asking until I got what I wanted.

I shuffled around a few of the medicine bottles I’d set out as decoration.

I had to pat myself on the back. It wasn’t a bad plan. Not a bad plan at all. In fact, this entire journey was looking up.

A shadow passed in front of the tent flap, and Erik settled cross-legged on the other side of the writing table. His eyes burned. “Isabel.”

My gut lurched.

It wasn’t a bad plan, but it had one very specific rule: avoid being caught. Erik might not be able to send me away, but he could make things worse. So much worse.

“You’re fine,” I said, nearly knocking over a tincture of comfrey. “Next!”

“You’re poisoning my men.”

“On the contrary, I’m helping them. You’re welcome. Next!”

He caught my wrist and flipped it over. On instinct, my hand curled into a fist.

“I just—” he pried at my fingers. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.” He wedged my thumb open and frowned at my empty palm.

I grinned.

He glared.

“Nothing to see. Buh-bye.” I tried to pull my hand away.

He held tight. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Great. You can hold the puke bucket.”

His lips pinched. “If you don’t tell me what happened, I’ll watch you. Put you right next to my tent.”

“I accept your offer of protection.”

His jaw worked. “We won’t wait for you. When Buttercup trots in the wrong direction, we’ll keep going.”

“Can’t.” I tugged my hand harder. “You’ve been ordered not to.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll… I’ll…” he searched the tent, “I’ll tell the camp this whole thing is a farce.”

My heart stuttered. “You wouldn’t.”

He leaned across the table and dropped his voice to a fake whisper. “Oh, yes. I would. So, tell me,” his thumb smoothed my knuckles, “what did you do to my men?” Now it was his turn to grin.

His hands really do feel nice.

Stop. Focus.

I could keep lying or I could try a plea for sympathy. My plea for sympathy hadn’t worked last night, but something told me that continuing to lie would make things far, far worse.

I stood and shook the flap closed, plunging us both into a ruddy dark. “They kept harassing me.”

He snorted. “You’re looking for revenge?”

“I’m looking for bargains. Every man I’ve treated has sworn not to use reykr. Problem solved.”

A pause, longer than I was expecting. If I squinted, I could make out the pale outline of his cheek, the slash of his jaw, gray eyes, blond hair, scary mouth.

He stood and stepped around the table, closing the distance between us. “Don’t mess with my men.”

I tipped my chin to meet him. “Maybe you should have done a better job controlling them.”

Woo him. The minister’s suggestion. And wasn’t I doing a terrible job of that? Maybe I should be nicer.

I pressed a hand to my forehead. “It’s fine. I fixed it.”

“By telling them they have what? Worms?”

I shot him a glare. “If you’re worried about the schedule, don’t. They might be a little tired, but the vomiting shouldn’t last the night.”

“Good. Because I’m holding you responsible for any delays.”

An edge crept into my voice. “There won’t be delays.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

His teeth glinted, white as his irises. Wavy hair fell onto his forehead, curling just above his brow, making him a feral, animal thing. I had the sudden urge to run my fingers through it. My hand started rising of its own accord…

I swiped a strand of hair behind my ear to cover the movement. My cheeks flamed. Shit. And now I was probably as bright as a strawberry. My cheeks flamed hotter. I ducked my chin.

Erik’s gaze flicked from my face to my hand, then flicked back to my face. His brow quirked. “Interesting.”

He turned to leave, the heat of his presence vanishing, leaving something, something—

“Wait.” I hated the note of desperation in my voice.

Erik turned, his hand on the tent flap, edging it open just enough to show the meadow beyond, lined in lemon and spun gold.

“You won’t tell them, will you?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “If I told them, they would actually kill you.”

With that, he left.

I knew I should’ve called the next man in. After all, I had an entire line of them groaning and retching. Instead, I placed my hands on my knees and took big gulps of air.

What just happened?

It hadn’t been anger. Erik’s anger was hot and round, a twist of the mouth, a tick of the jaw. This had been lighter, airier, limned like the meadow in shades of gold.

It hadn’t been anger.

It had been amusement.