Lady Death's Diary: Chapter 16 (Patreon)

The stench of vomit and lye assaulted my nose as soon as I opened the door to Emilia’s room. Her chamber adjoined my own, albeit significantly smaller in size. The décor, however, rivaled that of any noblewoman’s boudoir, filled as it was with castoffs luxuries gifted to me by members of Court. Emilia had cooed over that lacquered armoire in the corner, its black doors painted with twining rose vines. “The design is so elegant, my lady,” she had exclaimed. “Lord Gremel’s page says this style is all the rage in Fengal. To think he’d bring you one back!”

I had shrugged. “It’s yours if you want it.”

Emilia had smiled in that self-satisfied way she did whenever she thought that she had oh-so subtly manipulated me. “You’re too generous, my lady,” she’d said.

If only I could be certain she’d smile that way again, she could have every blasted piece of furniture I owned.

Emilia’s body lay motionless upon her bed. Her face was waxy and sallow, far paler than her usually rosy complexion. Her normally immaculate updo lay loose in limp strands across the pillow, matted with sweat and sick, and her lips were tinted blue. If she still breathed, her inhalations were so shallow that her chest didn’t appear to rise. I stepped closer, fighting back a wave of nausea that arose from the sour smell and my own fear. Despite my many deaths, I had never seen a corpse.

“Is she . . .” I couldn’t finish the question.

Hamen knelt on the floor, clutching Emilia’s hand as if his grip alone could tether her to the world of the living. He lifted his head as I approached. Our eyes met; his were weary and rimmed red, testament to how long he’d been keeping vigil.

“She lives.” His voice broke, and he swiped a hand across his face. “For now.”

I locked my knees to keep them from buckling beneath me. The Silent Fourth hadn’t claimed her yet. Triad allowing, it would stay that way.

“When did her symptoms first appear?” I asked.

“Several hours past, she voided herself before falling into a slumber.” He tenderly brushed away a hair from his daughter’s cheek. “She hasn’t stirred since.”

I closed my eyes and reached out with magic towards Emilia’s frozen form. Poison lingered beneath the surface of her skin, like sap oozing under bark, an unctuous corruption attacking healthy flesh. Reopening my eyes, I took Emilia’s hand from Hamen and examined it. The white crescents of her nails were cracked and yellowed.

Aspswort. My own concoction, the one I’d devised in my last life, had used but the barest hint—in larger doses, the thistle’s extract was fast acting and usually fatal. Aspswort was the reason that the jester’s ferret had died. To my knowledge, there was no cure, magical or otherwise.

A salty droplet of blood pooled upon my lip from where my teeth had bit down. I wiped it away, not caring that it stained my sleeve red. I could mend a horse’s leg, cast an illusion, and slow down a fire.

But I didn’t know how to save Emilia.

“I should get Lady Delphine,” I said.

Hamen grabbed my arm, preventing me from leaving. “The Court Sorceress was already here,” he said. “She gave Emilia some foul looking mixture that forced her to purge again, then left to brew something that she claimed might help.” The apple of his throat bobbed, and his grip tightened around my wrist before he remembered my station and released it. “My lady—I know it’s inappropriate to ask—but I think Emmie would appreciate it if you stayed. She looks to be resting easier since you entered.”

There hadn’t been any noticeable changes in Emilia’s condition, but I empathized with her father’s urge to convince himself otherwise. I sank down onto my knees besides him.

“I’ll stay as long as she needs,” I promised.

The small shift of Hamen’s mouth was a ghost of a genuine smile. Neither one of us spoke after that, instead devoting our gazes and thoughts to the girl lying on the bed.

My calves were beginning to cramp by the time Delphine returned with a small ceramic teapot. The right side of her silk robe was crusted with bile and whatever else had been in Emilia’s stomach. It scared me that Delphine of all people had considered the situation too urgent to take the time to change.

“Tru.” Delphine handed me the kettle as I stood. The steam rising from its spout smelled like peppermint tea but caused my eyes to burn. “It’s good that Hamen sent for you.”

Hamen lowered his head as if ashamed. “Apologies. I know it’s your birthday, my lady.”

“Emilia would want me here,” I said firmly before he could apologize, “so here is where I should be.” I hesitated before resting my hand atop his slumped shoulder. “I won’t let her face this alone. She . . . means a great deal to me.”

He looked up at me. Tears flowed down the crevasses of his wrinkled cheeks. “She knows, Lady Vitrula.”

I blinked back wetness beginning to blur my own vision. Crying was a ridiculous waste of time, and time was something Emilia didn’t have. “How do I help?” I asked Delphine.

“We need to make sure Emilia drinks the entire brew without choking. If she inhales the liquid, she’s as likely to die from drowning as from the poison.” Delphine appraised me critically. The kohl around her eyes had smudged into smoky shadows, emphasizing the bags of worry beneath, but she nonetheless exuded competence. Hope crept into my heart, only to be instantly quashed by Delphine’s next words: “I’ll need you to stop her lungs.”

“You intend to cut off her breath?” Hamen gave voice to my thoughts. “No. You’ll kill her. No!”

Delphine’s lips pursed. “For a moment only. Once Tru stops her lungs, I can coax her throat into swallowing.”

“She needs air,” he protested weakly. “She needs to breathe.”

I tried to summon up my confidence; upon finding my reservoir depleted, I settled for faking it. “She needs our help, Hamen.” My voice came out sharper than intended, weighted with an echo of my father’s strident authority. “Lady Delphine has my trust.”

My feigned assurance managed to calm him down. Hamen used Emilia’s bedside to leverage himself off the floor. He went around to the foot of her bed, removing himself so that we had access to his daughter.

“Save my daughter,” he begged, forgoing his customary inclusion of my title. “Please.”

Delphine stepped briskly into Hamen’s vacated space. “This will be easier if we prop her up.”

I helped arrange the pillows around Emilia to bolster her upright. Her skin felt clammy, her bared arms so pale and bloodless that my fingerprints lingered behind. My jaw clenched in an attempted to appear collected for Hamen’s sake. I wanted to weep. Stop her lungs, Delphine had said. How? Even with the sorceress to guide me, such a task seemed impossible.

Delphine took the kettle from my trembling grip. “You can do this,” she said, low enough that Hamen couldn’t overhear. “Remember our lessons.”

I nodded. Her eyes drifted downwards to my still shaking hands.

“Tell me now if you are incapable,” she said bluntly. “Your nerves will cause this to be riskier than doing it by myself.”

I averted my eyes, casting them downwards to Emilia’s prone body. Stains from sweat and other bodily fluids darkened the cream silk sheets upon which she lay. Those sheets had been my engagement gift from a visiting Fengali princess, woven from the unique golden cocoons made by the country’s silkworms. Another gift Emilia had repossessed, albeit this one without my knowledge.

It should be me, lying on those sheets. The thought entered unbidden but once arrived, refused to depart. I’m the one who’s supposed to die. Not Emilia. Not Theo. Not anyone else. Me.

I shuddered. Maybe, in the end, I wouldn’t be able to save myself. But right now, Emilia needed me. I met Delphine’s expectant look and took a deep breath. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’ll need to visualize her lungs, as you did with Dragon’s leg,” she said. “Instead of healing, however, you’ll cast the slowing spell. You’re adept at that charm, thankfully.”

I nodded. My first spell remained the only one that didn’t leave me with a migraine. Months ago, it had saved my life by slowing down the flames enough to escape. With Delphine’s help, it would save Emilia as well.

Delphine continued, “You’ll need to stall her breaths long enough for me to ensure she drinks the entire potion but not so long as to make restarting her lungs impossible. Meanwhile, I’ll manipulate her throat to swallow.”

“What spell will you be casting?” I asked.

She shook her head slowly. “No spell can control a body’s natural reflexes. Unfortunately, this will require brute force magical manipulation.”

My eyes widened. I’d read of magic being worked without proper incantations in some of the books Xander had sent. By all accounts, it was not only difficult, but immensely dangerous. Delphine planned on taking direct control of Emilia’s body—no wonder she wanted my help.

I placed my hand over Emilia’s torso. Reassuringly, my sense of touch detected what my sight could not. Her chest rose and fell beneath me—the movements were slight, but they were there. I timed my own breaths to her shallow gasps.

My eyes drifted shut, and a vision began to paint itself upon my inner eyelids. Cherkov’s Anatomical Depictions, page 68. The human lungs. They expanded and contracted within Emilia’s chest, fluttering weakly like the wings of a dying butterfly.

“Keyp.”

The wings slowed, stopped. The gentle undulation of Emilia’s breathing beneath my hands sighed still.

I waited.

Sounds came as if I were underwater, or inside Emilia’s very veins. Delphine administering the antidote. A soft kissing sound her fingers forced apart chapped lips. Muffled waves as the pot tilted. The clink of the china spout bumping against Emilia’s teeth.

Delphine tapped my shoulder. “Release her.”

I unraveled the strands of magic I’d woven inside Emilia, painstakingly untangling the shroud of energy wrapped around her lungs. When the last thread was untied, her chest once more began its steady rhythm.

“Now we wait,” said Delphine.