Free The Princess Curse by Merrie Haskell

again. “Nepenthe!” she said. “For certain. Perhaps narcissus. Something stale and dark, like dirt. Or mold. Or heartbreak . . . if that has . . . flavor. . . .”
    “Didina!” I cried. I turned her on her side, sliding her half off the bed, and stuck my fingers down her throat. She vomited widely onto my shoes and the floor. I had to turn my head away to avoid vomiting myself.
    I slid her back onto the bed and went through my herb pouch again. I had nothing to counteract such powerful sleep agents, nothing at all. But back in the herbary—
    I ran to the door, but it had been barred from the other side, like it was every night. I kicked and screamed at the door, but no one came.
    I ran back to Didina, tried to rouse her.
    But she was asleep.

Chapter 11
     
    I did not immediately have the presence of mind to investigate the poison the princesses had used, but after I’d sat vigil over Didina’s peacefully sleeping body for a time, it occurred to me to do so.
    I uncorked the wine jug they’d left on the table and sniffed it carefully. Didina had already identified nepenthe and narcissus. I wondered what would happen to me if I licked just a drop from the bottle’s lip: Would I fall immediately into the same magical sleep as Didina?
    I had to risk it. They’d poured a lot of this down Didina’s throat before it took effect. I wet my finger and dabbed it on my tongue. Immediately, I could taste sticklewort, possibly thorn apple. There was also a flavor like peaches . . . or maybe almonds . . . maybe cherry bark. But it was overpowered by the taste of mold and death. Didina had noticed it, too. Graveyard dirt? That seemed an appropriate additive for a witches’ brew. I knew of no counteragent.
    The tip of my tongue went numb. I spat repeatedly and scrubbed out my mouth with my sleeve and a handful of mint from my herb pouch.
    Rather than risk discovery and my own inconvenient poisoning, I slipped underneath a bed as far away from Didina’s vomit as I could get. The hour was late, and though I was terrified of discovery and mournful over my friend, I fell asleep.
    I dreamed. I shouldn’t have; I never was much of a dreamer. Certainly, I had nightmares when I was small, usually about Muma Pădurii boiling me up in soup because liars taste so good, but that’s standard fare for anyone who’s heard too many Mother of the Forest tales.
    In this dream, I stood on the far shore of a dark lake, looking up at a shadowed castle on a mountaintop. People were all around me, but none of them could see or hear me. And I knew, in the way you know things in dreams, that I was invisible because of my magic hat.
    I jerked awake, certain that I’d heard the princesses’ voices. But there was nothing and no one. The room was silent.
    I did not sleep again. I lay in misery and terror until the room lightened, and birds sang outside, and stones ground against stones.
    I had a good enough vantage point to see that a hole opened in the floor when this noise came. The air filled with the voices of quarreling princesses.
    Otilia crawled out of the hole and went immediately to Didina. She said dully, “Surpassingly good job, Lacrimora. Your skill with the potion improves every year.”
    “You know it’s not my choice,” Lacrimora hissed.
    “Disgusting. She’s covered in vomit,” Ruxandra said.
    “Show a little remorse! A little compassion!” Otilia cried. “If you lose those things, you may as well just marry him .”
    Silence, then—at least, no more speech. Bars and bolts thunked open, hinges creaked. Footsteps retreated, footsteps approached. I barely breathed.
    The princesses were gone, leaving only their maids in the empty room. “Go and fetch Mistress Adina,” Beti said to her comrades. “This poor lamb needs to be put to bed in the other tower.”
    The maids departed—one to fetch Adina, one to fetch water and a scrub brush—leaving me alone at last. I crawled out, cast a sad, scared look at Didina,