Page 140 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes and took a slow breath. I just needed to think. Eilir had taught me so damned much about Grimmoria, its pantheon of gods, and its people. An answer had to be there somewhere; I was just so fucking tired.

“Halfway through, Miss Wynn.”

There was no point in holding back my frustrated whine, and I could’ve sworn Malakai chuckled at it—as if that was any goddess-damned help to my mind, or to my fingers that drifted back to the bottle with white death written on its paper. Something about it was clearly agitating some part of my memory, far more than the other two. I just couldn’t figure out if it was simply because the name seemed too on the nose for something that would make me ill.

Or maybe my hypothermic body was just looking for a swift end.

“I’d suggest making up your mind with some urgency.”

I braved a glance at the sandglass, and thanked the damned goddess I did.

As the last handful of grains slipped into the lower half, Eilir’s lesson from just the previous afternoon came fluttering back into my mind. White death was what Umbrites called their act of cremation, from the way flesh burned white under nytefire, and the pale ash that scattered on the wind after a pyre.

The odds that we’d just discussed it were unfathomable to me, and perhaps I was forming too loose a connection between the heat of a pyre and a warming tonic, but I didn’t get to overthink it a moment more.

“Your time is up, Miss Wynn,” Malakai said, far more sternly than he needed to. “Drink.”

I took the time to shoot him a scathing glance before I uncorked the white death bottle and shot it down back in one gulp. The thin liquid tasted a little metallic, but not like much else. I couldn’t fathom if that was good or not until the shifter lord smiled and dipped his head just as a blissful wave of warmth rolled up from my stomach and spread out through my limbs.

“My sincere congratulations on passing your second trial.” He swept a hand toward the door. “Someone will fetch you from the hall and take you for respite.”

Goddess, the last thing I wanted to do was get off the cot, despite its lumpiness. Well, maybe it was the second-to-last, because I wasn’t keen on listening to the dulcet sound of disqualified contestants heaving their guts out behind me.

I rose on legs that were unsteady but no longer freezing and trudged ahead, sending a half-assed wave back at the arrogant shifter lord as I leaned on the door panel and slipped out into the hall.

I tensed at the shrill squeal that followed.

“PRINCESS!” Eilir shot at me in a blur from a short distance down the hall.

The sprite’s entire wooden body collided with my chest with a damp thud, and their wings fluttered over my face as they tried—and failed—to get their arms around me. “I was SO worried,” they warbled. “The ice. I—I…”

Eilir made an ugly sound and clutched me tighter, but Gallan just laughed as he emerged behind them at a much more casual pace.

His silver eyes glinted, and a grin stretched across his face as he took my chin and gave my face a once-over. “I, for one, didn’t doubt you for a moment, my dear princess. Two for two, just like I knew you’d be.”

“Yes, you did!” Eilir cried. “You were just as worried as I was!”

Gallan just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Come now.” With great effort, he pried Eilir off me and shooed the sprite away. He slung one of my arms over his shoulders next, pulling my body into rather unwilling motion. “We’ll stuff you into some dry clothes, get the witch to patch you up like new, and you can park your ass on something comfortable while those last two do their runs and drink their potions.”

“I think I could use a nap more than anything,” I rasped as I leaned a little harder against him. “Maybe for a few days.”

Gallan chuckled. “Oh, yes. You definitely need a nap. But just a quick one. We’ve got plans tonight.”

“We do?”

“Of course we do!” He gave me a tight squeeze, which did little good for my tremor-wracked body as we turned down a corridor. “Me. You. The rest of the prospects. Anyone else who wanders into The Busty Wench to celebrate two successful Agōn Ferr trials with us.”

Celebrating. At a tavern.

The thought nearly brought a tear to my eye.

When was the last time I’d celebrated anything? Before my father died, surely, but I couldn’t place a specific event. It was a damned good thing we were about to fix that, even though a few days of sleep would’ve been the smarter thing to do. “That sounds incredible. I definitely could use a meal then, and maybe⁠—”

“Enora, wait!”

That was the last voice I wanted to hear, even if my rage had been tempered to bone-deep exhaustion, spread thick with the warmth from that damned tonic.