Chapter 483:
“Someone tried to assassinate his Soulbond,” Aekeira choked back a sob. “I need to see her. I need to see my sister.”
Ottai led them to Frostfall’s royal residence. They entered the quiet chamber where Emeriel lay on the bed, her face pale and eyes closed. Her breathing was too faint.
Grand King Daemonikai sat beside her, his hand clasped around hers. He didn’t react when Ottai announced their arrival or when they entered the room.
“Em?” Aekeira ran to her sister’s side, taking her other hand. “Please, open your eyes,” she sobbed. “Please… it’s me, Aekeira.”
Ottai’s voice was low as he explained, “We’re waiting on Faiwick. He’s searching for the antidote. The poison used is quite rare and difficult to obtain. So far, every healer we’ve checked doesn’t have the kaizan root needed for the antidote.”
“Kaizan roots?” Vladya’s brows drew together. “Those are almost impossible to come by.”
Ottai nodded grimly. “It’s not a Urekai poison; it’s mage poison.” His voice was tense, uneasy. “If someone sold it here, it’s likely they sold the antidote too. Faiwick is checking with the remaining herbalists and the black market.”
Vladya’s brows creased further. “And if it’s not found?”
Ottai hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor. “We wait for Faiwick.” Throughout, Daemonikai said nothing. His face was stone, eyes never leaving Emeriel.
Vladya moved closer, standing behind the grand king. “And the person responsible—have they been found?” he spoke quietly but with steel in his voice.
“No trace, no trail, nothing,” Ottai couldn’t hide his frustration. “All our men are out there searching—”
The door opened, and a guard’s head poked in. “The healer has returned.”
The grand king was on his feet instantly. Faiwick entered, flanked by soldiers.
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“How did it go?” Daemonikai demanded. “Where’s the antidote?” The healer’s face crumpled.
“We found nothing, Your Grace. We scoured every abode, every herb stand by the rivers.” He shook his head, visibly despairing. “We questioned every herbalist, every vendor. There is no kaizan root here.”
Aekeira burst into tears, her shoulders shaking as she clutched Emeriel’s other hand.
“What do you mean you couldn’t find anything?” Daemonikai snarled, his back going ramrod straight.
Faiwick’s shoulders slumped, his face ashen. “I am s-sorry, Your Grace.”
W-we searched everywhere.
A tense silence filled the room.
The grand king looked… absolutely murderous.
Shit.
“We can still send a team to the mages,” Ottai was quick to add, desperate to curb whatever storm clouds were building in Daemonikai. “They might have the roots.”
“That’s a week’s journey at best,” Vladya countered, staring at Emeriel’s pale, still body.
Daemonikai’s hands balled into tight fists as he spoke through gritted teeth. “How long does she have?”
Ottai shifted, uncomfortable. “Two days, Your Grace,” Faiwick answered for him. “Three at most.” They all looked at him.
.
.
.