Red Hawk did not answer immediately.
His eyes moved from Aiyana to the three warriors standing near the cabin door. One was young, barely older than the girl on the table. Another was broad and gray-haired, his hand resting near the knife at his belt. The third had remained almost completely silent since entering.
Marianne noticed that silence.
“Who?” she asked again.
Red Hawk swallowed. “Her mother. Her aunt. The women who care for her. The healer. Me.”
“And which of them braided her hair today?”
“The healer.”
Marianne looked toward the gray-haired warrior.
He answered before Red Hawk could. “Waya.”
The name settled over the cabin.
Marianne reached for a clean cloth and folded it beneath Aiyana’s neck. “Then send for her.”
Red Hawk turned toward the door.
“No,” Marianne said.
He stopped.
“If she is the one who put this inside your daughter, warning her that I found it would be foolish. If she is innocent, bringing her here without explanation will still frighten her. Either way, I need time.”
Red Hawk stared at her.
“How much?”
“Enough to learn whether the glass is carrying something that is still entering Aiyana’s body.”
Marianne opened the cabinet beneath her worktable and removed a small wooden box. Inside were forceps, narrow scissors, a magnifying lens, a ceramic bowl, and several sealed packets that had belonged to her father.
She hesitated over the last item.
Then she shut the box again.
She would not use his formulas unless she had no other choice.
Her father had taught her how to make medicines, but he had also taught her something more important: a poison did not need to be powerful if it could be delivered slowly enough.
Marianne leaned over Aiyana.
“Listen to me, child.”
Aiyana’s eyes shifted toward her.
“I am going to touch the skin around the glass. I will not pull it out yet. If you feel pain, blink twice.”
The girl blinked twice.
Marianne pressed gently below the puncture.
Aiyana’s fingers tightened.
One blink.
Marianne moved slightly higher.
Two.
She stopped.
The reaction was not random. It followed the position of her fingers.
Marianne lowered her head until the candlelight struck the tiny point beneath the skin.
The glass was not merely lodged there.
It had been placed at an angle.
The angle followed the path of a nerve.
Marianne’s stomach tightened.
Whoever had done this understood anatomy.
That made the situation worse.
A crude attacker might have stabbed Aiyana and run. This had required patience, knowledge, and an opportunity to work close to the girl’s neck without suspicion.
Red Hawk watched every movement.
“What does that mean?”
“It means whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
His hand tightened around the edge of the table.
Marianne looked up sharply. “And that means you cannot let anger choose the next person you blame.”
Red Hawk’s expression hardened.
“I know my people.”
“So does the person who did this.”
That silenced him.
Marianne opened the wooden box again.
This time she took out the magnifying lens.
She examined the puncture without touching the glass. The surrounding skin was irritated, but not as badly as she expected. There was almost no swelling.
Then she saw a faint discoloration along one edge.
Not blood.
Something else.
A residue.
She scraped the smallest possible amount onto the ceramic bowl.
The substance looked almost invisible against the white surface.
Marianne carried the bowl toward the stove.
Red Hawk followed.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She placed a drop of water into the residue.
Nothing happened.
She added another drop.
Still nothing.
Then she warmed the bowl over the flame.
A bitter odor rose almost immediately.
Marianne pulled it away.
She knew that smell.
Not the exact substance, but the class of it.
Her father’s journal had described compounds that could interfere with the nerves and muscles while leaving fever absent. Some acted quickly. Others could be administered in tiny amounts over time.
Aiyana’s symptoms had been unfolding for months.
Marianne looked at the girl.
“You were right,” she whispered.
Red Hawk stepped closer. “About what?”
“She has been poisoned.”
His face went completely still.
“But not in the way you think,” Marianne continued. “The glass may have been used to deliver it slowly.”
Red Hawk’s gaze dropped to the tiny point under his daughter’s braid.
“Can you remove it?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
Marianne corrected herself.
“I can try.”
Red Hawk heard the difference.
“What happens if you fail?”
“She could stop breathing.”
“And if you do nothing?”
Marianne looked at Aiyana’s hands.
“Then she may not have much time left.”
Red Hawk closed his eyes.
For several seconds, the only sound in the cabin was the storm against the roof.
Then he said, “Do it.”
Marianne shook her head.
“Not yet.”
His eyes opened.
“There is something else.”
She pointed toward the braid.
“The fresh mark.”
Red Hawk’s expression changed again.
“If someone touched the wound recently, I need to know why. If they are still administering something, removing the glass without knowing what remains could make the situation more dangerous.”
Red Hawk turned toward the three warriors.
“Close the door.”
The youngest moved to obey.
Marianne stopped him.
“No. Leave it open.”
Everyone looked at her.
“A trapped person has fewer choices than a frightened one,” she said. “I want whoever comes next to believe they still have choices.”
Red Hawk understood.
He stepped away from the table and sat beside his daughter.
Marianne returned to her examination.
Aiyana’s breathing had become shallow.
Marianne placed two fingers beneath the girl’s jaw.
The pulse was weaker.
“Red Hawk.”
He immediately leaned forward.
“Talk to her.”
“What?”
“Keep her awake.”
He began speaking in a low voice.
He told Aiyana about the first horse she had ever ridden. He reminded her how she had been afraid to mount it, then refused to get down after she learned how fast it could run. He described the bow she had made herself and the first deer she had missed.
Aiyana’s eyes remained fixed on him.
Marianne watched her breathing.
Steady.
Then Aiyana’s right hand twitched.
Marianne froze.
The movement had come without her touching the girl.
“Did you see that?” Red Hawk asked.
“Yes.”
Aiyana’s fingers moved again.
This time, they formed a weak curl.
Marianne looked at the buried glass.
The movement had happened after the candle flame changed.
She shifted the lamp farther away.
Aiyana’s muscles relaxed.
Marianne brought the flame closer.
The fingers tightened.
She stared at the glass.
Heat.
The material beneath the skin was reacting to temperature.
That gave her an idea.
She took the ceramic bowl and held it near the wound without touching Aiyana.
The girl’s breathing changed.
Marianne immediately pulled it away.
“No.”
Red Hawk looked alarmed.
“What?”
“The substance is still active.”
She turned toward her cabinet.
“I need something to counter it before I remove the glass.”
Red Hawk rose.
“Tell me what you need.”
“Water. Clean cloth. And someone who can bring me charcoal.”
The gray-haired warrior moved toward the door.
“Not him,” Marianne said.
He stopped.
“Why?” Red Hawk demanded.
“Because I have not forgotten what you told me. The person who did this may be inside your camp.”
The cabin became silent again.
Marianne looked at each warrior.
Then she noticed something.
The quiet man near the door had not looked at Aiyana once.
Not once since Marianne had found the glass.
Everyone else had watched the girl.
He watched Marianne.
Their eyes met.
His face did not change.
But his right hand slowly moved beneath his coat.
Red Hawk saw it too.
He stood.
“Take your hand out.”
The man’s fingers stopped.
Marianne stepped backward from the table.
The warrior slowly withdrew his hand.
Nothing was in it.
Red Hawk remained tense.
Marianne studied the man’s sleeve.
There was a small dark stain near his wrist.
Not blood.
The same faint color she had found beside the glass.
Marianne’s heart began pounding.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
The man said nothing.
Red Hawk moved between him and Aiyana.
“You will answer her.”
Still nothing.
Then the cabin door creaked.
Everyone turned.
A woman stood outside in the rain.
Her hair was wrapped in a dark cloth, and she carried a small leather pouch against her chest.
Red Hawk recognized her immediately.
“Waya.”
The woman’s eyes went straight to Aiyana.
Then to Marianne.
Then to the glass beneath the braid.
For the first time, fear crossed her face.
Marianne saw it.
So did Red Hawk.
But before either could speak, Waya dropped the leather pouch.
It struck the floor.
The clasp sprang open.
Inside were several tiny pieces of glass.
And one narrow instrument stained with the same substance Marianne had found beneath Aiyana’s skin.
Red Hawk’s hand went to his knife.
Waya raised both hands.
“I did not put it there,” she said.
Marianne looked at the open pouch.
“Then why do you have those?”
Waya’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because I found them in Aiyana’s bedding this morning.”
Red Hawk stared at her.
“Why did you say nothing?”
Waya looked toward the silent warrior near the door.
Marianne followed her gaze.
The man’s face had changed.
He was no longer watching Marianne.
He was watching the pouch.
Waya whispered one sentence.
“I was afraid he would kill her before you found the last one.”
The quiet warrior moved.
Red Hawk lunged.
The cabin erupted into motion.
Marianne did not look at the fight.
She looked at Aiyana.
The girl’s eyes had closed.
Her breathing stopped.
Marianne grabbed the forceps.
“Red Hawk!”
He turned.
“Hold her head still.”
He dropped beside his daughter.
Marianne positioned the forceps over the tiny glass point.
The storm thundered overhead.
Aiyana’s chest remained motionless.
Marianne took one breath.
Then she pulled.
