Chapter 59: Antidote Hopes

RULER

Book Three of the First Plane Trilogy

The hunched and twisted little demon bent over, one unmarred hand clasping a glass vial of pale purple liquid. Sloshing

accompanied a counterpoint of low moaning rising from the emaciated demon half-conscious on the slab bed. I held myself

very still in the chill air of the cell as Portlish, the nectar cook, tipped the vial over Rameranselot's lips and

allowed the thick stream to pour, mist swirling from the mouth of the bottle, between his parched lips.

My thick, black fingernails dug into the palms of my hands in the effort it took not to lunge forward and knock the cook

aside, to protect the demon I loved from more torture. Because it was torture, plain and simple. Every dose of the newest

attempt at an antidote Portlish tried to create ended in the same result-agony for Ram and utter failure.

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to lose hope. As Ruler of my people, I had to believe there was a way to save not only