Florien chattered to Rivyn animatedly as the mage took the suggested seat and poured himself a tea from the pot that rested on the table. “Don’t take that tone with me,” Rivyn growled at the fairy man. “I did the best I could.”
“Of course, he did,” Isyl said over her shoulder as she poured a cup of tea and scattered some of the mixture into it. “Be kind, Florien. He is just a man, for all the grand title, and he is under a spell. Here you are,” she put the teacup into my hands. “Drink all of that. It’ll sting a little.”
I sipped the bitter brew, trying not to pull a face at the flavour. My tongue and lips began to tingle and then felt almost numb. When I dabbed at my face with the cloth, it did not come away quite so bloody.
“Here,” she returned to me with a wet cloth and a bowl
