“Yes,” I wheezed and stifled a cough. I felt the muscles of my chest squeezing around my lungs, so tightly that I could not inhale. Was this a convulsion? I didn’t know what convulsions felt like, but I’d read that they preceded death by fallow-grown poisoning.
“Gods, what is… could you please close the window?” Dashski asked one of the guards. The man did so, looking perplexed. He’d had none of the dust blowing towards him, of course, and had no idea what was so bothersome to us both. I watched in resignation as the window was shut and the artificial breeze quelled.
And still, I felt pain in my throat. I’d inhaled more than Dashski had, or else I was just more susceptible. If I didn’t take the Layroot soon, I would die. And Dashski was still looking lively, despite the tugging at his co
