The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

What was to stop the others from leaving him there paralyzed, fit to die?

He could try Dismissing the drug from his system. He felt it coursing through his blood. But it was a tricky business, Dismissing foreign objects from one’s body. With his luck and current level of alertness, he might end up Dismissing a vital organ or a vein. No, he would have to simply wait and hope that whatever they’d slipped him wore off.

There was some shouting outside, and the tent flaps ripped open. “Well, you’d just best get the bleedin’ antidote,” said Isaac. “Or I’ll skin the both of ya.”

“We meant no harm,” said Trudy, her voice quavering.

“We’re sorry. Truly we are, Isaac,” said the girl.

Isaac swore. “And how much did you give him?”

Someone sniffled. “Not more than ten drops.”

“Ten drops?” Isaac roared. “He’s probably dead.”

At last Aidan managed a groan. He might as well be dead, for all the good his limbs were doing him.

“Antidote, now!”

“Yes, sir,” said Trudy.

“Can you hear me, milord? Girl, fetch us some water. He ought to be dead, the poor lucky fool.” There was some scuttling around, and a wave of ice-cold water hit Aidan in the face.

“If you can hear me, don’t try to move. We’re going to fix you up. You’ll be well again soon.”

“I’ve got it, sir,” said Trudy.

There was silence followed by a whine, and then something vile was poured down Aidan’s throat. He was about to spit it out, but a hand was clamped over his mouth and his jaw was held shut until he had swallowed every last drop.

“Sorry about this. It’ll burn like the dickens.”

An inferno swept into Aidan’s chest, beat in his heart, and rushed through his veins. And yet, through all this, he could not make a sound, though his mouth was open and he was most definitely screaming. But with the fire came the assurance that feeling and life were re-entering his limbs, that he was no longer paralyzed.

“If the poison didn’t kill him, this surely will,” the girl whimpered. “Do something, Isaac. He’s as white as a ghost.”

“Nah, the worst is over. You’d best go back to your tent and pray I don’t horsewhip the both of you at dawn.”

Aidan gasped as the rest of the antidote coursed through him. He moved his fingers, wiggled his toes, turned a hand over and tried to lift it to his sweaty brow.

Isaac grabbed his arm and held it down. “You’d best not, milord. You’ll be weak as anything for the rest of the night at least. Here, let me fetch something for you to drink.”

Despite the warning, Aidan sat up. The whole world came back into sharp focus as weakness overtook him and he was forced to flop onto his back. That’s what you get, Aidan, he thought. That’s what you get for even half-trusting someone. He watched his breath puff out in great clouds in the darkness. His whole body ached and felt feverish. He wanted to leave. He needed to leave. But he knew he was in no condition to ride, and the roads would be in no condition for him to make an escape either.

Isaac returned presently and lifted an iron goblet to Aidan’s lips. “Please drink, sir. You’ve probably sweated the rest of the poison out. You’ll be quite weak and thirsty, I’d imagine.”

Aidan was not in the position to resist. The water that poured down his throat was cold and fresh, and his mind cleared at once. He said, “I know you did not mean for this to happen, Isaac. Stop blaming yourself.”

“I’m glad you understand, milord.” He was quiet for a moment, the only sound the rain beating against the canvas. “You don’t remember me, do you? Nah, you can’t have done. You was but a boy.”

Aidan clenched his jaw for a moment before responding. “You do know me, then?”

Isaac laughed without humor. “The poor Ingledark orphan—’scuse me, presumed orphan. Never did find your folks, did you?”

Aidan let the silence answer for him. Of course he had never found them. Why else would he be in this position?

“Well, then. You don’t remember a beggar named Isaac Taylor, do you?”

He thought for a moment. There had been a man, maybe fifteen years Aidan’s senior, that could hardly make a decent wage, so poor were his connections. He’d been put in the stocks twice for thieving, and was suspected of house-breaking, though that last charge couldn’t be proven.

“When Lord and Lady Ingledark went missing, taking their youngest and leaving you behind…well, we know your uncle took over your fortune to manage.”

“He managed all right,” Aidan said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Starved you, he did. Beat you, too, I’d imagine. Is that what led you to—”

“You said you were a beggar, sir,” Aidan said, cutting the man off. “I remember no beggar, just a man fallen on hard times.”

Isaac clapped him on the shoulder. “You always were a good lad. Gave me your last crust of bread before…well, before that bad business with Dewhurst.” He spat. “So, what made you return to Breckstone?”

“Just a visit with an old friend,” Aidan said. As kindly as he remembered Isaac, Aidan was not going to mention the sale of his estate and the money it provided him just then. The man would find out soon enough.

“Pol and Trudy will take your and my watches tonight, sir. I’ll keep my eye out for ya, in case there’s more trouble.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Isaac snorted. “Proud as an Ingledark, that’s for certain. No, I ain’t letting anything happen to you in your weakened condition. My fault. It’s my fault what happened.” The man moved to the mouth of the tent and muttered to himself.

Aidan covered himself with the blanket as best he could, as Isaac repeated, “My fault. All my fault.”

Aidan sighed. “And I thought that was my mantra.”

Chapter Three

“Tethered and tied to the bow of Pridewyn

A maiden cries “Woe!” into the wind

Tossed in the waves that spit in