Page 8 of Bought By the Manticore

In all the years I’d carried the Sickness, the vines and thorns had constantly clawed at my insides but stayed beneath the surface. I’d learned to live with it, even as each passing day became more painful.

At one point, it felt as if the Sickness had become a part of my body. But that was clearly no longer the case. Whatever agreement my body and the thorns had maintained, the obsidian stage had torn it apart.

“Phix carried you here herself,” Iaso added. “The thorns retracted once the death energy withdrew, but the eruption left marks. We’ve since managed to stabilize your condition. Asphodelia never abandons its brides.”

She was right. The room was quiet around us, but beyond the walls, Asphodelia hummed. I could feel the death energy pressing softly against my skin, constant and low.

It was the same force that had quieted the Sickness during my walk through the Blighted Lands. Even now, with the thorns agitated and the scars still fresh, the hum was holding something back. The city’s energy was still suppressing the Sickness, placating it even though the crowd had triggered it.

I thought about the hundreds of monsters who had been at the Agora of Echoes. I didn’t know what they’d seen, exactly. Iaso had said the thorns erupted through my arms and shoulders and neck. Charon had told me the Bride Market was the only way to stay in Asphodelia. And I’d obviously failed to find a husband.

“The auction,” I murmured. “It’s done. Can I try again?”

Iaso studied me. Her serpents studied me too, half a dozen tiny bronze heads turning in my direction. “That is a question for Phix, not for me. She presides over the market and its laws.”

“But you have an opinion.”

“I have observations.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You walked into the Agora on your own feet. What happened on stage was a shock, not a sentence.”

A shock, not a sentence.That was the kind of thing a healer said to keep a patient moving forward. But Iaso’s silver eyes held mine with curiosity rather than pity, and that gave her words a different meaning.

“You don’t know what the Thorn-Sickness is, do you?” I asked.

“No,” she admitted. “I’ve never encountered it. It appears to be a parasitic growth that feeds on the host’s vitality, but its interaction with death energy is unlike anything I’ve experienced.”

“Can you treat it?”

“I can try.” She reached for a glass vial on the table beside the bed. The liquid inside glowed faintly with the same light as the crystals on the walls. “Condensed asphodel sap. It should calm the thorns, at least for now.”

She held the vial out but didn’t push it forward. It was an offer rather than a command. I appreciated that more than she probably knew. But I had no choice, not really.

I took Iaso’s vial. It was warm in my hand, and the liquid moved sluggishly when I tilted it. I uncorked it and drank. The taste was cold and metallic, with a faint sweetness underneath. The effect came fast. The vines in my arms stopped pressing outward and settled beneath the skin. The pressure in my ribs loosened. The pain retreated to a dull ache, distant enough that I could draw a full breath without bracing for it.

I closed my eyes and let the breath come. A full breath. A real one. Air filling my lungs all the way down, pressing against ribs that didn’t grind back. I hadn’t felt that in so long that the sensation was almost unfamiliar.

My hands unclenched against the sheets. The constant tension that had lived in my muscles for months released all at once. What it left behind was so light I almost laughed.

“That’s the best I’ve felt since spring,” I said.

“Good.” Iaso took the empty vial and set it aside. “That confirms my assessment. With regular treatment and rest, I believe we can manage the thorns.”

“Manage. Not cure.”

“I won’t promise what I can’t deliver.” She met my gaze, and the unblinking candor in those silver eyes offered an unexpected calm. “But you responded faster than I expected. That’s a good sign.”

I leaned back against the pillow. My body felt lighter than it had in months, and the exhaustion that settled over me was clean. Not the draining pull of the Sickness, but the honest tiredness of a body that had been ravaged and simply needed to recover.

I didn’t trust Iaso. I didn’t know her well enough for that. But she’d handed me the vial and let me decide for myself. She’d told me the truth about what she didn’t know. In my experience, honesty and patience were harder to find than skill. Skill could be learned. The other two were either in you, or they weren’t.

“Rest,” Iaso said. “The elixir works best when the body isn’t fighting it.”

I closed my eyes. Sleep came easily, and the pain didn’t follow me down.

The next morning, Iaso helped me out of bed.

The elixir was still working. The thorns lay flat beneath my skin, and my legs held when I stood. Iaso had given me a simple grey dress that hung loose and didn’t press against the scars on my arms. It still hurt, but maybe not quite as much.

“Fresh air,” Iaso suggested. “The balcony overlooks the canal district. You’ve been in bed long enough.”