Page 47 of A Touch of Poison
“I have a theory.” Straight to it, no niceties.
It was actually refreshing in a way. I knew where I stood with Elthea. I was her patient. That was all. A set of notes in her neat book, a lump of matter to be theorised about.
And she was my healer. The person who could rid me of this accidental magic that left me poisoned and poisonous.
I canted my head when she said nothing more. “Does that theory lead to a cure?”
“If I’m right, yes. I need to know how this affects your body.” She nodded at the purple stain on my fingers. Today it had receded to barely lick at the first set of knuckles.
“How do we find out?”
“I need to see.”
I bit back an impatient sigh. “Meaning?”
She turned a pointed glance to the low table beside the bed. An array of sharp instruments gleamed upon its surface and a chill as cold as steel whispered through me.
“You need to… cut me open?” I swallowed. I would do it. No doubts there. I would do anything. But that didn’t dull the fear.
“That isn’t how I would put it, but I suppose in a layperson’s terms, yes.” She rolled her eyes and motioned for me to place my hands on the bed. “Ready?”
“Aren’t you going to… knock me out or something?”
She strapped my wrist to the bed. “That will stop you from moving.”
“That wasn’t my concern.”
“It’s better if you’re awake so you can tell me what you’re feeling. I need to understand how the poison travels through you. If your nerves are the problem, that’s different from if it’s your veins.”
“And you can’t tell that with your magic?”
“Not clearly enough. I need to apply this dye”—she held up a small vial of silver liquid—“and see how it travels through your body.”
“Fine. Do it.”
She acknowledged me with a soft sound as she turned to her tray of blades. “I’d recommend lying down. My magic will prevent you dying from blood loss, but you’ll probably feel lightheaded.”
“Comforting.”
She selected a small scalpel and I lay back. I didn’t want to look too closely at the other blades or the strange little clamps.
“Dotryto stay awake,” she said, as though me passing out would be a terrible inconvenience to her.
She ran a gloved hand over mine and the vibration of magic in the air intensified. “That should numb some of the pain.”
Should. Really comforting.
I watched as she pressed the scalpel to my forefinger and blood welled. The pain streaked through me an instant later. My nerves told me to pull away, but I held still, not even straining against the straps.
I’d endured worse.
Long, slow breaths got me through the incision from fingertip to palm, keeping the worst of the nausea at bay. More magic hummed against my skin, and I dimly registered that there wasn’t as much blood as I might’ve expected, though it felt like I watched from the other side of the room.
She took one of the tiny clamps and used it to hold the cut open.
I caught a glimpse of something yellow and faintly lumpy and something else red and stringy. That was when I decided to lie back and look at the vaulted ceiling.
The pain was bad, though not as bad as I might’ve expected, but I couldfeelher poking around and pulling. At one point, I glanced down and found that she’d peeled the skin of my finger back completely.
