“Elixir of purgar, a formidable force, infused with the magic of The Savior Herself. Pour the entire vial into your solution. Every last drop, like so.”
A stream of sapphire flowed from the vial, the look of it vaguely familiar—like paint. Tobias growled, wincing the memory away.
“This elixir is very important. But if you find yourself in dire straits, there is an alternative.” Diccus fiddled with his things. “This is hipnayl.”
Another vial, harsh and black, a likeness to Tobias’s eyes—his sister’s eyes. Dammit. He downed the last of his drink.
“It’s a man-made substance—just as effective as purgar, though it has some rather inopportune side effects: fatigue, lethargy.” Diccus’s gaze became stern. “Three drops. That’s all the hipnayl you need. Just three.”
He raised his concoction overhead in triumph. “With that, our solution is complete! Be sure to stir it about before consuming. It’s not the prettiest solution, but it’s certainly mighty. How about a round of applause, not for me, but for science!”
A few men weakly clapped, though many ignored him. Tobias tried to bring his hands together, but they refused to move. His senses were faded, his body warm with inebriation, and he relished the fleeting numbness. The feeling of nothing at all.
Diccus’s smile faded. “You know, if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time as an apothecary, it’s the undoubted importance of listening. It’s the key to success in any field, and most certainly to any partnership, professional or otherwise. Romantic, even.”
Still the men said nothing.
“Have you all been listening? To this demonstration—you’ve listened, yes?”
Tobias nodded, as did Flynn and a few others.
“Good,” Diccus said. “Because the wine you’re drinking is poisoned, and I’ve just taught you how to make the antidote.”
Tobias jolted awake. A clank sounded at the end of the line; Caesar had dropped his chalice, and his poisoned wine spilled onto the floor.
The wall behind the apothecary split apart brick by brick, revealing a large white laboratory.
“Welcome to your first challenge,” Diccus said.
The men nearly trampled one another as they raced to the room, but Tobias moved slowly. The laboratory was blindingly bright, as if the walls, floor, and ceiling were made of a magical white light. At the rear sat a long table covered in drinking bowls, mortars, and pestles, the walls lined in shelves boasting herbs and vials in every color—limitless ingredients, certainly too many to count.
Tobias stood in the center of the room, taking in a slow, deep breath.
I’m going to die.
“A word of warning,” Diccus said, following after the men. “The poison you’ve ingested is of the fast-acting variety. For those who were especially generous in their imbibing, you’ll want to work with extra efficiency.”
Flynn grabbed Tobias’s arm, shaking him from his daze. “Come on.” He pulled Tobias toward the table. “We work.”
Tobias knew he was moving—they had reached the table, were nestling themselves amid the line—yet he felt far away, as if he were merely watching the madness unfold. Items littered the station in front of him: pots of water, dented tin drinking bowls, tools he had seen before and others he couldn’t place. Most of the men were already working, but Tobias was stunned by his reality; there was poison rushing through his veins, killing him from the inside.
“It’s also important to take your immune system into consideration,” Diccus continued. “Some of you may be more resistant to the poison. It’ll require more time to disable your system. On the other hand, some of you might be much more susceptible, and if that’s the case, you should work very, very quickly.”
Tobias lurched forward, sneezing into his hands. He steadied himself and stared at his open palms.
At the blood covering his fingers.
“Oh, that’s not good,” Diccus mumbled.
“Tobias.” Flynn shook him. “We work. Now.”
His senses returned in an instant, his body fueled with adrenaline. Frantically, he wiped his bloody hands on his pants and eyed the shelves, scanning the endless rows of herbs and seeds.
“Were you paying any attention?” Flynn asked.
Tobias’s breathing wavered. “Sort of.”
“Then what’s the first step?”
Hell if I know. He had listened to the apothecary, hadn’t he? But it was so hard to remember, perhaps because of his inebriation, or the ensuing disarray—or maybe the poison was already dulling his mind. He shook himself. Think. His eyes darted back to the shelves—bowls of seeds, of leaves, of nuts and spices and flowers.
Flowers.
“The starflower,” he said. “We boil it.”
Clusters of blue flowers sat on a shelf a short distance away. He shoved through the horde and grabbed two clumps, tossing