Chapter 4: Bad Medicine

By midnight my hands would not hold a cup.

The shaking started in my fingers and climbed to my elbows, and then my teeth began to knock.

My head felt split down the middle with a hot wire.

I lay on the guest house bed with my knees pulled up, and every bit of me ached.

"It's the flask," Torvi said, from the foot of the bed. "You skipped a dose and your body's screaming."

"I have never missed a dose."

"I believe it."

She wrung a cloth into a basin and laid it on my forehead.

The water was cold and so was her hand, and I could have wept.

Torin stood by the fire with his back to us and his arms crossed.

I could feel him standing there.

It was ridiculous.

I could feel the exact weight of his shoulders, the hard thud of his heart, and a tightness in his chest that I knew was not mine.

"Stop it," I whispered.

"Stop what?" said Torvi.

"Him. He's angry."

"He's always angry."

"He's angry at me."

"Oh, honey." She sounded almost kind. "He's not angry at you. Trust me, I know the difference."

The door opened and a short, stooped woman came in, with grey hair in two braids and a leather satchel clutched to her chest.

She was Hawkscar's healer, and she smelled like pine resin and old smoke.

She did not say hello.

She put the flask on the bedside table, pulled up a stool, and took my wrist in two dry fingers.

"Open your mouth."

I did.

She looked at my tongue, then pulled my eyelid down and held a candle close.

"How long?"

"Fifteen years," I said. "Every day."

"Since you were nine." Her mouth went flat. "Show me the flask."

Torin handed it over without being asked.

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