And by this time Edyon could see there was an “us.” More people had crowded in through the doorway. The physician, a young woman dressed beautifully in a pale gray silk dress, an incredibly handsome soldier with long blond hair, and, pushing to the front of them all, Tash. Edyon wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry.
Edyon took the bottle and went back to March. He held the bottle upside down, eased the cork out, and breathed a small wisp of smoke into his mouth. He leaned over March and held his lips above the worst wound made by the hook.
The smoke was hot and dry in his mouth and swirled around the wound, but also it seemed to seep into his brain. Edyon held his position, his body shaking, until he could hold his breath no longer. Then he released. The smoke curled up and away, and everyone watched it rise. The young woman reached out to touch it, but the prince held her hand back as the smoke climbed to the ceiling and then crawled across it to the corner of the window, where it found a crack and seemed to be sucked through.
“That’s impossible!”
The physician’s exclamation pulled everyone’s attention back to March. The terrible wound was already sealed and bloodless.
The young woman took her hand from the prince’s and moved forward to March’s side.
“It’s . . . it’s healed.”
“Yes.” Edyon felt himself smile.
The physician bent forward to inspect March’s skin. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It heals bruises as well, if you have a bath with it.” Edyon laughed at the memory. He needed to control himself, but he was too happy. “I’m sorry. Using it this way does make you a little light-headed!”
“Oh, now I get it! That’ll explain my ankle!” Tash said. “I’ve never smoked it, or had a bath with it. But I hurt my ankle when we caught that demon and put the bottle near the swelling. The next morning my ankle was better. I thought it was odd, and thought that maybe my ankle hadn’t been so badly hurt after all. But I remember feeling good the next day.”
Edyon had almost forgotten Tash was there. He laughed again. “The last time I had a bath was when I met Tash.”
“Yes. Imagine if that hadn’t happened. We’d be happily eating pies in Dornan right now,” Tash said, and folded her arms. “And the smoke would be with me.”
Edyon wasn’t sure where he’d be. The room was spinning and he could hardly think, but March was healing—that was all that mattered. And he felt so good. He went to Tash to hug her. He wanted to hug everyone. He pulled Tash to him and lifted her up.
“Ow, don’t be so rough!”
“Sorry.” Edyon remembered he had fought the sheriff’s man back in Dornan, and he gently put Tash down and said to the prince, “You’ve got to be careful with this stuff. It makes you stronger too. Watch this.” And to demonstrate he went to a heavy wooden chair in the corner of the room and lifted it above his head, but the prince didn’t look that impressed and Edyon felt foolish and embarrassed and also a little annoyed. Why didn’t anyone ever take him seriously? And he smashed the chair down as hard as he could. It shattered against the flagstone floor with an ear-splitting crash, cracking the flagstone too.
Silence filled the room.
Edyon laughed. “Well, it was the ugliest piece of furniture I’ve ever seen. Though I do feel the need to sit down.” And he sank to the floor.
“Did you see that?” exclaimed Tzsayn to the physician. “He smashed that chair like it was nothing.” He bent over the flagstone, tracing the crack in it with his fingertip.
The physician was bent over the flagstone too. “It heals and it gives strength! I’ve not read or heard of this before. Is it only the purple smoke that does this?” He turned to Edyon, but Edyon just shrugged.
Tash said, “I think so. It’s from the younger demons, the purple ones.”
“And how long does the strength last?” the physician asked.
No one replied. Edyon thought about his harpoon throwing; he’d certainly lost his strength by then. He said, “A day? Something like that. Not forever anyway.”
The young woman said, “But still long enough to fight a battle. The smoke would be a great asset to an army, I imagine.”
The prince said, “Giving great strength for the fight and instantly healing their wounds after. Ready to repeat the next day. That army would indeed be formidable.” He looked at Edyon. “Assuming the soldiers don’t collapse and fall asleep.”
“Perhaps it must be taken in small doses? Who knows—we’ve still much to learn about it! But this has to be what my father is after,” the young woman replied. “And that’s why his army is only big enough to hold the north of Pitoria. He’s not here to conquer the whole kingdom—he only needs access to the Northern Plateau. He’s come for the purple smoke.”
AMBROSE
ROSSARB, PITORIA
AMBROSE, TZSAYN, Catherine, and Tash had left Edyon with March and gone to the courtyard of the castle.
“I’d like to test the smoke,” Tzsayn said.
Ambrose smiled. “That’s a year’s hard labor, Your Highness.”
Tzsayn grinned back. “Actually, I was thinking you should try it. First see if it’ll heal a cut. Then we’ll test your strength.”
Ambrose didn’t hesitate. He took his dagger and made a cut across the pad of his thumb. Tzsayn passed him the bottle and Ambrose let out a wisp of smoke that he sucked into his mouth. He put his mouth over the cut.
He was soon feeling light-headed; the smoke was alive, swirling around in his mouth and into his mind. When he breathed the smoke out, he watched it rise up and swirl away into the sky.
“Rather disappointing, if you don’t mind me saying, Sir Ambrose.” Tzsayn was peering at the cut, which was still bleeding.
“Would you like to try?” Ambrose offered the bottle back to Tzsayn. He did the same exercise, and his cut too failed to heal.
“Well, it worked on Edyon, March, and Tash. Let me try,” suggested Catherine.
“No!” said Tzsayn and Ambrose simultaneously, before they turned to glare at each other.
“I think I should. I understand now. Lady Anne’s message was “demon smoke’ and “boy.’”
Tzsayn said, “Catherine, whatever you’re thinking, you’re not a boy.”
“Neither are you. You’re a man. Edyon and March are younger than you and Ambrose, and it worked on them. And it worked on Tash too. So I think boy or girl doesn’t matter, but age does. Now give me the dagger and let me try.”
Ambrose reluctantly held out his dagger and Catherine took it and gently nicked the tip of her thumb, then took the smoke and inhaled some. Ambrose and Tzsayn were both silent as she held her lips over her thumb. They were all still for a long moment, then Catherine breathed out and the smoke rose away. She peered at her finger, then held out her hand. The wound was gone.
“I could feel it! It was moving as if the smoke was seeking out the cut.” Catherine laughed. “And I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
“But do you feel stronger?” Tzsayn asked.
Catherine shrugged. Then she laughed again. “I’ve always wanted Ambrose to teach me swordplay. Perhaps now is the right time to try it.”
Ambrose smiled and glanced at Tzsayn, saying, “The side effects of this drug are certainly revealing.”
“She may have the strength to best you, Sir Ambrose. That would certainly be an interesting side effect.”
Ambrose remembered the boys at Fielding besting him. It surely had something to do with the smoke. “Perhaps I can teach you to throw a spear, Catherine.”
Tzsayn raised his eyebrows but summoned a soldier, taking his spear.
Catherine clapped her hands excitedly. “Wonderful!”
Tzsayn handed the spear to Catherine, but he seemed more than happy to show her himself how to throw. Ambrose watched as Tzsayn moved each of her fingers to hold the spear firmly, and then showed her how to stand, and then, more slowly than ever, with his arm supporting her, how to hold her arm back and throw.
Catherine was smiling and laughing occasionally and Ambrose paced around, wishing he’d just taken a spear himself. She had wanted him to teach her the sword.