• Asmara felt the ground underneath her move and race toward her. Nathaniel caught hold of her arm preventing the fall and sat her gently on the ground. She felt a single tear roll down her cheek. She wiped at it aggressively, and then looked up. Nathaniel was kneeling near Ezekiel’s limp body, watching her silently with an impassive expression.
    “What should we do?” Asmara choked out. “We could try using my magic. Maybe-” Nathaniel shook his head, unspoken words catching in her throat.
    “No, that won’t work. The magic would only escalate the venom’s process of taking over his body and stopping his heart.”
    Asmara closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, slowly lying down on her back. What could I do? She thought. Then she remembered a lecture by one of the herbalists in her kingdom. There had been a certain herb that she had mentioned would help ward off sprite poison. Her eyes widened. Dark sage. She shot up from the ground and looked wildly around their surroundings for any sign of the plant. Nathaniel calmly got up and put his hands firmly on her shoulders forcing her to look at him. She stopped frantically searching and looked into his eyes confused. They reminded her painfully of Ezekiel’s but were a softer gold than his, if that was even possible.
    “I need dark sage!” She said a little too loud and demanding.
    He laughed kneading a strand if her cream hair between his thumb and forefinger. “All you needed to do was ask, your highness.” He took hold of her wrist firmly and spun her around so she could climb onto his back.
    She backed away shaking her head. “Someone has to watch Ezekiel.”
    Nathaniel sighed, turning to face her. “I’ll go.”
    * * *

    Ezekiel twitched in his sleep. He felt as if liquid fire was coursing through his veins, but the worse of the pain seared right above his right ankle, in a large crescent shape. It was worse than all his spasms from thirst. That was mild compared to this.
    A vivid image formed in his mind fuzzy at first but then expanded, becoming clearer, like a rippling pool after it calms down. He recognized the room with its stone walls and a four poster maroon canopy bed at its center. It was his mother’s room and everything seemed larger. Ah, he thought, this is reminiscence from my childhood.
    “Ezekiel!” his mother cried, looking embarrassed.
    Ezekiel had crept slowly over barely reaching the top of the bed. His wide gold eyes were brimmed with tears. His mother had smiled down at him with such radiance and warmth that day. It had been the day that she had collapsed of illness. He had been running up the stairs to tell his father about a new fighting technique he had learned from Nathaniel and had overheard the conversation between the doctor and his father.
    “We don’t know what it is that the queen has sire. It is unknown to us.”
    His father had shown such anger right then, his sorrow burdened body’s condition set aside. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
    The doctor shrank back from the impact of his voice. “The source of the disease is unknown. We don’t even know if it’s contagious yet. It could very well be the plague of our nation and we could die off one by one or so rapidly that we won’t see it coming.”
    “Well find out!” He shouted sending the doctor scurrying in the opposite direction. King Ezekiel had massaged his temples in frustration, the same procedure he did so many times when Ezekiel even so much came in the room.
    Young Ezekiel’s heart had sunk. He had run up the stairs maneuvering around his shell-shocked father into his parent’s room. Tears streaming down his face, he hesitantly took in the corpse-like figure of his mother. She had been sprawled out across the bed, her raven waist length hair fanned out wildly around her. The black silk, floor length dress she had worn that night at Ezekiel’s party had been plastered to her skin, soaked through with sweat. Her head had been turned away from him, but he had still been able to see her riveting cheek bones jutting out, her pale paper thin skin stretched tight over fragile bone. It looked like the bones themselves were going to scissor their way through her flesh.
    A hand on his shoulder had made him jump. “Ezekiel, let’s get you out of here.” It had been his father voice, but unlike so many times before it was low and thick with strain.
    “No. Let him stay. He needs to know.” She had turned her head and he could see the full effect of the damage that the disease had taken a toll in her body.
    The doctor had come in taking her a tall gold goblet and raised it to her lips. She had tried to drink but it just spilled from her mouth, dribbling onto the sheets, the same color maroon. Then her body had started to shake with violent heaving until finally her body slumped over the bed throwing up stomach acid. His father had led him silently away to the sound if his mother’s ardent pleas to see her son one last time.

    * * *

    Asmara swallowed the bitter bile that built up in her throat, whipping away the tears that were spilling over onto her cheeks. Ezekiel’s face was screwed up in pain, mouthing mute words of agony. His head thrashed restlessly, his nails planted firmly in the dirt. She reached out her hand, smoothing back his sweaty hair. She ripped off a small strip of the bottom of her dress and tied it around his infected leg.
    She looked up at the sky impatiently. Where is he? She thought, he should be here by now. She glanced back down at Ezekiel. He had stopped thrashing and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad. She placed his head in her lap, playing with his hair absentmindedly, and the reminder of a man dying in her lap yet again made her heart throb painfully. She looked out across the river choking on sobs. The water was a murky red orange color from the sunset. She saw a distinct shadow fall across the sun and her heart leapt into her throat with hope. But she realized it was just a bird. She slumped forward letting her eyelids droop, the stress of the day pressing down on her.
    “Asmara!” Her eyes snapped open.