Breanna tapped on her grandmother’s door. When she didn’t get an answer, she slipped into the room. Nuala was lying on her side, asleep, a summer quilt pulled up to her waist.

As she moved closer to the bed, Breanna’s nose twitched at the smell. Was Nuala more ill than they’d realized? Had she soiled herself in her sleep, unable to rouse enough to reach the chamberpot?

“Gran?” Breanna said softly. The hand reaching for her grandmother’s shoulder froze as she stared at Nuala’s face, then at the chest that did not rise nor fall. “Gran?”

No sound. No flutter of breath. No flicker of movement, not even a twitch of an eyelid. And cold skin. Cold, cold skin.

Breanna backed out of the room, shaking her head. She clung to the banister as she walked down the stairs because her legs suddenly had too many joints and moved in strange, unpredictable ways.

She would send someone for the village physician. She would send one of the Fae to find the closest healer staying in the camps with them. They would know what to do. Gran was ill. Very ill. But they would know what to do because Gran was…Gran was…

She was standing in the kitchen, with no memory of walking from the staircase to the kitchen door. Too many people. Too much heat. Too much confusion. Too much noise.

Then Selena, Ashk, and Liam walked through the back door, and no longer were there too many people. Strength had walked into the room. But there still wasn’t quite enough air to breathe, everyone but those three people were blurs of color and movement, and voices were nothing more than sounds until Liam said sharply, “Breanna?”

Things began to slip back into focus. She saw the chair that was pushed away from the smaller work table in front of her, as if someone had been sitting there recently and hadn’t bothered to push the chair back again. Saw Fiona turn in response to the sharpness in Liam’s voice—turn and look at him before looking closely at her. Saw Keely rest a hand on Brooke’s arm, signaling the girl to be quiet.

“Breanna?” Fiona said. “Is Nuala awake? Would she like a bowl of soup or another cup of tea?”

Tea.

Breanna looked at Jean, who still stood in the corner, wearing that smug smile and watching her.

Clarity became knife-edged.

“What did you put in the tea?” Breanna asked calmly, staring at Jean.

Jean shifted her feet, the smile changing into a pout. “I didn’t make any tea.”

“What did you put in the tea?”

“Breanna?” Liam said, taking a step toward her.