His eyes glitter with ambition. “What knowledge you must possess! To poison at will, to kill and leave no trace. If you could only put aside your righteous, stubborn anger, Weed! I know men who would pay any price for this knowledge. Together we could have such power, such riches—”

His words are worse than poison—I can bear no more. “Murderer! Poisoner! Your own daughter is near death because of you! Do you imagine that your deeds can go unpunished? I will not listen to you argue for another second—”

I seize him and knock him to the ground. My hands encircle his throat, ready to silence him for good. His life is mine to take, all I have to do is squeeze—

“There is a way to save her,” he croaks in desperation. “I will leave England and never return. You stay and care for Jessamine. Tell her whatever fiction you like about my departure. Or tell her the truth, if you are that selfish and cruel. But if you love her at all, you will carry the burden of what you know alone.”

Now which of us is the monster? I think as my fingers tighten. Even with my hands wrapped around his throat, he counsels deceit and plans his escape—

“I would leave my home and my daughter behind forever, in order that Jessamine may live in peace,” he gasps. “But it seems you would rather take vengeance than do what is best for her. It’s plain—which one of us—loves her more—”

Now he can no longer speak. His eyes start to bulge and roll upward. Rage shrinks the edges of my vision. All I can see is his lips, moving uselessly like those of a fish flopping in its death throes on the dock, desperate for a last, lifesaving swallow of air.

KRAAAAAAAAAAH!

The cruelest sound in the world stabs through me, forces me back, loosens my grip. Now freed, Luxton rolls to his side, gasping as the raw breath sears his lungs.

“Weed!” Oleander’s winged form erases all light as it hovers above us. “Forgive me for interrupting this charming scene, but surely you have forgotten something important?”

“Leave me, evil prince!” I bellow at the heavens.

“If you wish me to leave, I will—but I believe your beloved Jessamine will be needing this. If she is to live, that is.”

I gaze up and look more closely. A bundle of herbs and roots dangles from his fingers.

“It is an antidote to the dreadful brew her father has been using to poison her. He thinks himself clever, too clever to kill a girl by accident—but he is, as they say, only human. He overestimated her strength. He has made her too ill to recover, even if the poisoning stops. Without this cure, she has less than a quarter-hour to live.”

He rises, and the bundle flies out of my reach.

“Give it to me!”