“Hey, I found something to eat!” he called out, and immediately the two boys scrambled up, taking a jar. April took another to her parents, holding it carefully between her arm and her body so she wouldn’t have to let go of the glass unicorn.
“Kal?” Daniel said, his anger barely veiled. “How about some candy?”
“I’ll have one,” he said, and Daniel threw a jar at him. Hard.
Kal caught it, taking one candy and tucking it in his shirt pocket before setting the jar aside. It was for Orchid, no doubt.
“How about you?” Daniel asked as he opened the last jar. “I know it’s not much.”
“Thanks.” Her stomach hurt, but she took one anyway, the crisp plastic crackling in a clean sound. Lemon drop, she thought as the tart flavor made her more hungry, not less.
Beside her, Daniel crunched through his and reached for another. Taking a handful, he put the top back on the jar and set it aside. Kal was still staring out into the night, and Daniel watched him, reluctantly saying, “You haven’t told him yet, have you.”
“Told him what?” she blurted, then realized she was holding her middle protectively. “Oh. No,” she said, eyes down. “How can you tell?”
Daniel smirked, sighing as he settled himself more firmly on the floor in the middle of the car. “Because he’s over there, and you’re over here. If he knew, he wouldn’t let you sit over here with us sick humans, worried that you might endanger his baby with a possible infection.”
Her eyes slid to Kal, then back to Daniel. “He doesn’t strike me as the protective kind,” she said, though his concern for Orchid was considerable.
“No? Well, no one will blame you if you don’t tell him. Ever.” He hesitated, then asked, “Why is Quen sick? I thought he was . . . like you.”
“He is,” she said, listening to the kids’ voices become more cheerful with the sugar and the prospect of no bedtime. “But humans and elves can, uh, you know.” Daniel’s eyebrows rose, and she felt herself warm. “Before we had gene therapy, the only way to bolster our failing genetic code was to bring in different stock.”
“The chromosomes match up?” he asked incredulously, and she looked at Kal, wondering if he was listening.
“With a little help from magic.” She shifted to find a more comfortable spot. “Some say it’s indicative that we share an ancestor, but I’ve seen the math, and it’s not easy, just possible.”
Daniel ran a hand over his face in thought. “And it doesn’t create a sterile mule?”
She chuckled. “I did say there was magic involved.” Her gaze went past Daniel to April and her family bedding down for the night, both parents struggling with how to say good night knowing they might not wake up tomorrow. April was petulant, wanting a story, and Trisk could see the grief in their eyes. God, save me from such a fate.
“Quen had a human ancestor in his great-greats,” she said softly, unable to watch anymore. “He’ll be okay. Even if the tomato has condensed the toxins.” But she didn’t know for sure. No one knew anything for sure.
“It wasn’t supposed to kill anyone,” Daniel said again, making a tight fist. “It was only supposed to make you sick. That’s it. Sick.”
She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. Once we get to Detroit, we can get the word out, and we can stop it. Sa’han Ulbrine will be there. They have to believe him. We might even be able to come up with an antitoxin.”
But they both knew it was a one-in-a-million shot.
The two boys quietly tended the fire, somber as they no longer had anything to distract them from the hacking coughs of the adults. “But Mama, I’m not sleepy,” April protested. “I want to play with my magic horse.”
Trisk watched April’s mother’s grief as she tried to settle her daughter, and she wondered if Kal could love a child with black hair. “April, do you want to hear a story?” she asked suddenly, and the mother’s frightened eyes shot to her.
“It’s okay,” Trisk said, wondering if the woman thought she was going to steal her final moments with her daughter away. “Come sit with me for the story, but you have to promise you’ll go right to sleep afterward.”
“I will,” the little girl said, clearly used to bargaining for “just one more.”
Trisk smiled, then blinked when April plopped down not beside her, but in her lap. Startled, Trisk snuggled her in, wrapping them both in the worn blanket. “This is a story about a young girl,” Trisk said, smiling when she noticed even the two boys were listening. “A princess. Just about your age.”
“Can she have a magical horse?” April asked, her attention on the fire, and Trisk nodded.
“It’s a true story, and yes, she did have a magical horse that only she could ride. The little girl’s name was April,” Trisk said, tweaking April’s nose to make her giggle.