Chapter 147

“You know very well that poisons have no effect on me,” Elena argued, her voice steady despite the tension thickening the air.

“This is not a poison, my Lady; it is a disease. A plague,” Serin countered, his face pale with a mix of dread and frustration. “Moreover, you are currently carrying His Grace’s heir. If anything—anything at all—were to happen to the two of you, I would be killed by the Duke’s own hands this time. He would tear me apart so thoroughly I wouldn’t even remember what I looked like.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with a frantic sort of energy. “I must have been out of my mind. To think I couldn’t refuse your request and actually brought you here…” Serin let out a sigh so deep it seemed to rattle his very bones, closing his eyes tightly before snapping them open again. “Once we have the herbs, just tell me how to prepare them. We will send word to each village with the ingredients and instructions, and they can handle it themselves.”

“If I am not allowed to go, then at least let Leto go and help the people,” Elena pleaded.

Serin’s brow furrowed. “Leto?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not. Leto is a prisoner of treason,” Serin stated flatly. “If he weren’t tasked with your care, he would have been executed long ago. We cannot unleash such a man among the populace. Besides, he can hardly go about tending the sick while dragging iron chains around his ankles, can he?”

Elena didn’t flinch. “That ‘treason’ you speak of was merely him telling a woman in the White Fox village my name.”

“Precisely,” Serin snapped.

“Has Leto committed any other crime besides that?”

At Elena’s question, Serin’s lip twitched, but he remained silent.

“To treat him as a traitor just for letting a single name slip… I believe it is far too excessive,” she continued.

“His Grace judged it so and made the decision. Are you truly suggesting you oppose the Duke’s will?”

“Yes,” Elena answered stubbornly, her jaw set. “I heard that everyone in that village was slaughtered. I also heard that among them was someone Leto held dear.”

She paused, letting the weight of the statement hang between them. Serin stared at her, his mouth a grim line, before finally speaking with visible reluctance.

“It is for that very reason we monitor him—fearing he might try to harm you out of spite. Do I not personally taste every medicine and every scrap of food he prepares for you before you touch it?”

“I am well aware of that, Sir Serin. I know you risk your life to do so.”

“I am not telling you this so you will feel indebted to me,” he grumbled.

“I know that too. My point is that if Leto truly intended to harm me, he would have done so already. He might still be looking for an opportunity, but so far, nothing has happened.”

“And I will make sure nothing ever does,” Serin insisted. “Leto knows this, which is why he hasn’t acted recklessly.”

“Exactly,” Elena said, pressing her advantage. She was trembling with the effort of maintaining her ground, her limbs feeling numb from the sheer force of her resolve. “Since he is not acting recklessly, let us use his skills. In times like this, we need every person capable of healing that we can get.”

She spoke with a fierce intensity, refusing to let him seize control of the conversation. She could not stand on a battlefield with a sword or spear by Kennard’s side, but she was determined to be his strength in the only way she knew how.

***

Gathering enough of the specific herbs Elena required took much longer than anticipated. Within the camp they had established in the nearby forest, Elena watched as a rotation of knights constantly stirred a large, round cast-iron pot set over a crackling bonfire.

“You must ensure it doesn’t burn,” she cautioned.

“Yes, my Lady,” the knights responded instantly, wiping the sweat from their brows with the backs of their hands.

Elena peered into the pot. Though not a single drop of water had been added, moisture was seeping out of the herbs themselves. After several days of repeating this grueling process, even that moisture evaporated, leaving a thick, potent aroma that saturated the forest air.

On the day they had inspected the village well, Serin had finally buckled under Elena’s stubbornness and turned the carriage toward the woods. The journey had been marked by a suffocating silence. Elena had watched the passing trees, constantly gauging Serin’s mood; his silence was far more unnerving than a lecture. She had almost wished he would just scold her and get it over with, but he had remained mute for ten days—a silent, stoic protest that showed no sign of ending.

Sitting atop a thick layer of fur, Elena gently stroked her abdomen. Her belly was noticeably rounder now, and sometimes, she felt a faint, fluttering movement from within. Those moments always brought a strange, complex emotion to her heart, and she would press her palm softly against the curve of her stomach.

Despite the joy of the life within her, the days were physically taxing. Whether sitting or standing, her back and waist ached constantly, forcing her to spend much of her time lying down. Even now, she was fighting the urge to retreat to her bed, determined to supervise the boiling of the medicine.

She looked down at her hands, which were visibly swollen, and slowly massaged her knuckles. Though it wasn’t the dead of winter, her skin had become painfully dry, cracking in places and itching incessantly. While she could reach her hands or neck to scratch, the itching on her stomach, chest, and thighs was something she simply had to endure. Fortunately, the tea Leto brewed for her offered some relief whenever the sensation became unbearable.

“Lady Elena, you’ve been waiting, haven’t you?”

Cura approached, carrying a silver teapot, just as Elena was discreetly scratching the back of her hand beneath her wide sleeve. Following behind her was Leto, the iron chains on his ankles clinking with every step. As Cura poured the tea into a small silver cup, Serin appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He took the cup and drained it in a single gulp.

Serin stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at the empty vessel. Only after he gave a curt nod did Cura pour a fresh cup for Elena.

“How much longer must that continue?” Serin asked. It was the first time he had spoken in days, and Elena found herself almost relieved to hear his voice.

She looked up at him, careful to keep her expression neutral. “We must boil them until the herbs turn black.”

“Black…” Serin muttered. He let out a sigh and walked toward the bonfire to inspect the pot.

“Oh, heavens! What happened to your hand?” Cura suddenly knelt, taking Elena’s hand in hers. The back of Elena’s hand was so pale the blue veins were visible, and the areas she had scratched were now red and swollen. “Is it itching again?”

“A little,” Elena admitted. She quickly pulled her hand back and hid it in her sleeve, worried the knights or Serin might overhear.

“Wait here. I’ll go get some salve,” Cura said, starting toward Elena’s tent. She paused, glancing back at Leto, who stood a few paces away. Elena knew what she was thinking—even with the knights nearby, Cura was hesitant to leave her alone with the prisoner.

“It’s alright,” Elena whispered. Cura offered an awkward smile and hurried off.

Elena watched her go before turning her gaze to Leto. “Please, sit down.”

“I am fine,” he replied. His voice was dry and brittle, like parched wood, and he refused to meet her eyes. Standing stiffly with his hands clasped in front of him, he stared into the distance as if watching something invisible in the air. His eyes were hollow, devoid of life, looking more like a vacant vessel than a living soul.

“Did you hear the news from Sir Serin?” she asked.

Leto remained silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Once the herbs are ready, I want you to go down to the village and treat the patients,” Elena continued. “I intended to go as well, but Sir Serin’s opposition was too great…”

“It won’t make a difference,” Leto interrupted, his voice rasping as if his throat were filled with sand. He finally turned his eyes toward her.

“I can’t guarantee they will be completely cured,” Elena said softly, “but shouldn’t we at least try our best?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Leto let out a hollow, cynical laugh and slumped down onto the ground beside her.

The clattering of his chains drew immediate attention from Serin and the knights by the fire. Seeing that he had merely sat down, the knights returned to their work, but Serin kept his eyes narrowed, watching the man like a hawk ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

“You certainly have it good, my Lady,” Leto murmured, his lips barely moving as the words escaped in a low, bitter drone.

Elena turned her head to look at him, struck by the blatant mockery in his tone.

“We are of the same White Fox Tribe,” he continued, a cold sneer playing on his lips. “And yet, while some were slaughtered in a single night, everyone is falling over themselves to keep you alive.”