Book 3: The Doctor Is In

Rafe

When Jerim arrives driving a horse and carriage filled with gold, I take him immediately to the medical tent to see the stinking carcass of the lycan messenger.

“Poison?” I ask.

Jerim puts on gloves and starts examining the body. “So it would seem. You said you heard a cracking sound before he began convulsing?”

“I think from his mouth,” I say.

With a nod, he pries open the lycan’s jaw. “Hmm. Cracked false tooth. Definitely poison.”

“Do we know what kind? Is there an antidote?” I ask.

“A poison as fast-acting as you described? An antidote wouldn’t matter,” he replies grimly. “But no, I’m not personally familiar with this one. I will have to consult my books. I brought every book I have on poison with me.”

“Good thinking.” I gesture for us to leave the tent.

Both of us take a deep breath of fresh air away from the smell once we’re outside. “I wonder what would make a man so gleeful about poisoning himself to