18

After a long but uneventful day's journey, with only a small break to have Walder's dinner for lunch under the generous shade of an elm tree, I was certain that the hardest part of this impromptu adventure was over.

Tonight, we were going to get some proper rest in a secure location, and tomorrow morning we would be in Thaloria. Apollo and I would say our goodbyes, and I would go home and finally sit down to make some serious decisions about my life.

I could have never imagined that in an enchanted forest occupied by evil fairies, demonic wolves, and heartless men, the greatest agony would befall me from something as small and insignificant as a dragonfly.

The little thing didn't mean to hurt me. It had a broken wing and could not fly straight. It staggered through the air. I barely saw it coming. It simply crashed on me—bam—right on my collarbone.

The pain was sharp and instant, like getting stung by a bee. But more than the unexpected ache, it was the sudden, shocking rush of fear that made me cry out as the recollection of Apollo's warning slammed into me as fast and hard as that injured dragonfly: Don't ever, ever touch a dragonfly…You'll get dragonfly fever and die.

Apollo heard my cry and veered. "What—"

I met his eyes, dazed and shocked. Then his gaze dropped to my clavicle, where the dragonfly had left a searing red mark. I watched him, immobile with horror, as he lunged forward and wrapped me in his arms just before the whole world fumed and tipped to its side. And then I couldn't see anything at all. My eyes fell shut. My body slipped off my hold and tumbled into a pit of fire. A shockwave of heat rushed through me, brutal and delirious.

Distantly, I could hear Apollo screaming while shaking me violently—Nepheli! Nepheli! Nepheli!—but I could not respond. My tongue became a furious flame in my mouth. I was burning, bubbling, sizzling from the inside out so rapidly and intensely that I thought the star in my veins was the sun itself rising on the horizon of my body.

"Nepheli, please, please don't close your eyes, darling. We're almost there," Apollo was panting with each word as he ran, ran, ran through the forest with me bundled in his arms, a breathing ball of fire. I frightened myself thinking I would burn his hands, blazing as I was, and I tried to push out of his embrace, but it was pointless. The flames, licking me from the inside, had turned my limps to ash. I was crumbling, piece by piece.

"Please, Nepheli, I beg of you. Open your eyes. Come on, darling, open your eyes for me."

I wanted to obey, but my eyelids had melted, and like candle wax on paper, my eyelashes were glued together.

With incomprehensible difficulty, I forced my lips apart and felt as though I breathed out a lump of fire. "Apollo… I think…dragonfly fever...dying," was all I was able to mumble.

"No one is dying," Apollo growled and ran faster, so fast that I could only hear the hiss of air as he pulled it into his lungs. "Look, Little Butterfly. Look, we're here. You're going to be okay. You'll go home tomorrow. I promise you, darling. I promise you." He sounded as manic and incoherent as the swirl of my thoughts. Words slowly lost their meaning. There was only the fever eating at every part of me.

"Isadora!" Apollo's voice came loud and broken, and my eyes ripped apart.

The first thing I saw through the white-hot blur of my vision, was a granite staircase bedecked with ivy and yellow moss leading to giant double doors, the glossy black surface looking like a portal to another world. Above, the setting sun blazed garish and cruel. Blood-red sweeps of clouds. A wildfire of a sky. And Apollo on his knees, leaning over me, panting and wild, his skin gleaming with sweat. He placed me down on the mat of moss and pounded his fists on the door. "Isadora! Isadora open the door!"

The door opened, but my consciousness fell shut.

◆◆◆

"You said fifteen minutes."

"I said it would take about fifteen minutes."

"Are you sure you gave her the right antidote?"

"Apollo Zayra, you did not just ask me that!"

I had a hard time believing that only fifteen minutes had passed, for I felt as though I'd been awakened from a week-long dreamless slumber.

My muscles were stiff and heavy, my skin was clammy and cold, and my eyes had trouble adjusting to the light as it blazed down from…Was that a glowing caterpillar that dangled over my head?

I blinked a few times and realized that it was only a caterpillar-shaped light. I lay there for a few seconds on what felt like a velvet couch and just stared at the odd ceiling light, devastated by a dead-butterfly-floating-on-the-surface-of-a-pool kind of feeling.

Finally, I managed to bring a hand to my clavicle, expecting to feel the dragonfly's mark, but the skin was smooth and empty under my fingertips. For a moment, I panicked, thinking I'd lost my pendant, before I remembered blearily that I'd tucked it in my dress pocket earlier. I released a relieved breath between my teeth, and with all the strength I could siphon from my groaning bones, I pushed on my palms and sat up on the fainting couch.

It took some effort to spot Apollo through the cheerful chaos of the unfamiliar room. The place was crawling with curiosities. Glimmering vials filled with liquids of every color imaginable, pans and pots, wands, and measuring cups were sprawled all over the floral carpets and the green wooden furniture, some even dangling from the caterpillar ceiling lights.

Apollo and the girl—his cousin probably—kept muttering furiously to each other with their backs turned on me.

I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles, swallowed down the horrible tangy taste in my mouth, and cleared my dry as sandpaper throat. "Um, hello?"

"You see!" the young woman exclaimed, swiveling on her heel. "Fairydust, ginger root, and a dollop of wasp honey. It always does the trick!"

Apollo's grey eyes fell on me like a cold shower. It was a different kind of coldness than his casual indifference, though. His jaw was tight, his brows bunched, his mouth pulled into a rigid, downward line. "You okay?" he rasped.

I brushed a few damp locks away from my face and managed a nod. "I…" I wasn't sure what to say. I was nonplussed, shaken. He had saved my life. Well, the antidote had saved my life, but if Apollo hadn't gotten me here in time…

The girl got right into my sphere of vision, commanding my attention. She didn't look older than twenty-five, delicate-framed, with an open, heart-shaped face. She had Apollo's coloring; bronze skin and two long braids of thick dark hair, but her eyes were big and gentle in a lovely shade of hazel, unlike Apollo's feline grey-blue eyes that always struck you with a sense of debauchery.

"Thank you," I finally breathed out. "I am eternally grateful to you. Whatever you gave me saved my life."

"Oh, don't mention it! It happens all the time. I got stung by a dragonfly twice this month. Apollo is just being dramatic. I'm Isadora, by the way, but friends call me Isa," she said all in one breath in a high, mellifluous voice.

Isadora Zayra, as Apollo had explained to me during our little picnic earlier today, was his uncle's one and only daughter. Prince Sirus, the Queen's older brother, died a few years ago from a major heart attack, leaving Isadora not only the estate but also his title and position in the court. But according to Apollo, Isadora preferred leading a quiet, secluded life here in the Dragonfly and only visited the Palace on exceptional occasions.

I'd wondered if it was dangerous for a human woman to live alone in this wild beast of a forest, but Apollo had assured me that Isadora had plenty of magic in her veins—a gift from her witch mother, who had tragically died in childbirth—to render the manor impenetrable to all kinds of intruders.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, treading across the overflowing space to an oval table where a large cookie jar, a ceramic carafe, and a few empty glasses were lined next to a basket filled with tiny heart-shaped vials. She filled one glass with water, put a couple of cookies on a napkin, and came to offer them to me. "Here, it will help with the antidote's aftertaste."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Apollo interjected, still standing in the furthest alcove of the room with his cape drawn back and his arms folded tightly before his chest.

"Yes, I'm just a bit rattled. The fever was…horrible. I thought I was going to die," I admitted with a shudder.

Apollo flinched as though I'd said something to offend him. I was too exhausted to ask about it, so I merely raised the glass to my parched lips and drank the whole thing in three long gulps.

As I stretched over the arm of the couch to leave it on the small end table next to it, I almost knocked a little purple jar down.

"Careful!" Isa squealed and lunged to catch it just in time.

"I'm so sorry," I blurted out.

"No, I'm sorry for the mess," Isa sighed as she showed me the golden annulet that encircled her pointer finger. Curiosities often bought their merchandise from potion-makers, so I recognized the magic object immediately. Potion-makers wore annulets like this one to prevent themselves from getting affected by the potions they created. Once the potions were bottled, they were safe to be around, but they could be quite powerful while still simmering on the stove. A full-blooded witch would not get affected by her own concussions, of course, but witches were mostly focused on creating spells and curses rather than bothering with the tedium of potion-making. It was common for humans with a bit of magical inheritance, though, to choose the profession of potion-maker, which demanded some magical ability but was not entirely dependent on it.

And indeed, Isa explained while I munched on the sugar cookies: "I'm a potion-maker, you see. I have a Shop in Thaloria, but I fulfill most of my orders here since the manor has way more storage for my herbs and dusts. Plus, it is far safer than making these things in a tiny Shop in the city. The potion-maker next door once blew off his Shop's roof trying to make a courage potion for a marriage proposal. I swear, he still screams every time he hears something pop." She sucked in a quick breath, wincing to herself as she turned to Apollo. "Sorry… I'm rambling…I'm still shocked to see you here. How long has it been this time? A year?"

Apollo exhaled. "One year, eight months, and twenty-five days. But who's counting?"

I gulped down the little sound of disbelief that threatened to escape me. Was Apollo really counting the days he spent away from his family? Had Walder been right, after all? Was the Prince of Broken Hearts actually lonely?

To my further bemusement, Isa's face hardened, accusation rising in her eyes. "You didn't even write us this time. We've all been worried sick about you, Apollo."

Apollo gifted her his usual blend of cool indifference and wry amusement. "Now, that's a terrible way to waste your time."

Isa clenched her jaw as she met my gaze. "Why don't I show you to the guest room? You need a warm bath and some rest," she suggested, and scrambled out of the room before I could even thank her for her hospitality.

Warily, I whispered to Apollo, "Hey, are you sure we're not imposing? She seems a little… overwhelmed. And not to mention busy."

Somehow, I knew he was going to lie to me even before he opened his mouth. "Don't worry, that's just Isa."

A shiver crawled up my spine, and it had nothing to do with my almost dying from dragonfly fever. Something was wrong. I tried to put my finger on it, but I couldn't. I was used to watching Apollo go through emotions—or I should rather say, reactions—faster than he was probably going through lovers. He should be calling me darling by now and teasing me about my terrible luck or making some self-deprecating joke about the way he'd overreacted.

But he looked too shaken to simply move on this time. Was he truly so worried about me, or had something happened while I'd been passed out? Or, better yet, was this all a game to him? Pushing me away, then whispering sweet nothings to me in the dark, then trembling for my life as though it meant something to him, then his coldness all over again, his silence like a frostbite on my heart. It was too much to both burn and freeze in one day. I needed something to console me now. A word. A touch. A look. I would be content with only one soft look from him. I would not ask for more. It would not even mean anything. It would just be a kindness.

Was it really so hopeless of me that I craved his kindness, knowing what he was?

"Apollo—"

"You need to rest," he said curtly before slipping out of the door.

An anxious feeling overcame me. The butterfly in my pocket burned. The stardust in my veins hummed in something like a warning.

◆◆◆

The bedroom was a wilderness of fabrics. Rich floral tapestries on the walls, elegant upholstered furniture, and buttery plush bedclothes. But not even the unexpected prettiness couldn't put my mind at ease. A keen sense of apprehension bubbled in my bloodstream as Isadora flung back the heavy drapes and opened the windows to let some fresh air into the room.

"Are you okay, Isa?" I asked carefully.

Isa gave me an absentminded smile over her shoulder. "Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

She returned her attention out of the window. The grounds of the manor were in springtime bloom. Almond trees and daffodils and neat rosebushes as far as the eye could see, bees gorging themselves on pollen, and butterflies fluttering from blossom to blossom. The air was sweet, but it wasn't a floral sweetness. It was the scent my cauldron exuded after a generous serving of stardust. Magic.

I pressed my lips together and tried again, "Apollo said you're okay with us staying here tonight, that we aren't imposing, but—"

Isa whirled around. "Apollo is heartless. He doesn't care if he's imposing."

Her curt tone unsettled me almost as much as the hurt expression on her face. I struggled to find a courteous enough reply. "Oh, I see. Well, then—"

"I'm sorry," she interrupted, her cheeks as red as the roses in her garden. "Of course, you're not imposing. You just shouldn't listen to everything Apollo says."

She went to leave.

I got in front of her, my pulse picking up. "Wait, what do you mean?"

Isa sucked in a breath and bit into her bottom lip in something like regret. "I know how Apollo can be. Believe me, he's practically my brother. I grew up idolizing him. I know he's charmed you."

I opened my mouth to disagree, but Isa held up her hand and continued, "Don't deny it. You're falling in love. It's obvious from the way you look at him. And I know you don't want to hear this. But please be careful, Nepheli. They don't call him the Prince of Broken Hearts for no good reason."