With a triumphant smile, I checked Reid’s pupils, his heartbeat, and his breathing. I could sense the poison polluting his blood, could almost see it beneath his skin like a black, noxious cloud. Gently, a white pattern coiled around him, illuminating his wan features in a subtle glow. At the brush of my hand, it pulsed and began to sieve the hemlock from his body. The stone around him absorbed the sap like a sponge, returning it to the earth where it belonged. When the last of the poison had gone, the pattern dissolved into white dust, and Reid’s eyes fluttered open. I sat back on my heels as he oriented himself with the room. With me.

He reached up to touch a strand of my hair. “You’re glowing.”

I shrugged, grinning impishly now. “Goddess Divine, you know.”

“Such arrogance.”

“Such beauty and grace.”

He scoffed, sitting up and rubbing his neck. It might’ve been my imagination, but I thought a rueful grin played on his lips. “Why don’t I feel sick?”

I grinned wider. “I healed you.”

Groaning, he shook his head, and I didn’t imagine it now—he definitely smiled. “You really don’t know the meaning of humility, do you?”

“And you really don’t know the meaning of gratitude—”

Footsteps again, quicker this time. We flung ourselves down, feigning unconsciousness, just as the door burst open. “What is it?” a voice asked, unfamiliar and deep.

“I thought I heard someone.”

Discomfort seeped into the first’s voice. “Should we dose them again?”

The other cleared their throat. “They still look incapacitated.”

“Philippe will skin us if they die on our watch.”

“The hemlock is merely a precaution. The bars will keep them in here.” A pause. “Philippe said the wood is . . . special. They harvested it from La Fôret des Yeux.”

After another few seconds of anxious silence, they closed the door once more. “Keep your voice down next time,” I hissed, poking Reid in the ribs.

His face snapped toward mine in outrage. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m joking, Chass.”

“Oh.” He frowned when I snorted. “Is this really the time to joke?”

“It’s never the time to joke with us. If we waited until we were out of life-or-death situations, we could only laugh in our graves.” Hoisting myself to my feet, I inspected the bars closer. Though clearly wooden, they still felt . . . unnatural. Both made and unmade. The torchlight caught veins of silver in the wood. The hemlock is merely a precaution. The bars will keep them in here. I leaned in to sniff them as Reid rose behind.

“What are they?” he asked.

“I don’t know. The tree smells like alder, but the timber is . . . metallic? I can’t recall any metallic trees in La Fôret des Yeux. Can you?”

“A metallic tree,” he echoed slowly.

Our eyes snapped together in dawning horror. “It couldn’t be—?”

“It’s not—?”