Zarek's golden eyes narrowed, practically burning holes into her. "What is it? What is the cure, Roxann?"
Roxy didn't answer immediately. She began to pace across the woven blanket, her bare feet moving in agitated, rapid steps.
The tiny, brilliant emerald snake that was Tanith remained securely coiled around Roxy's neck, completely unbothered by her mother's sudden movement, sleeping off her fever.
"The Queen of the Deep," Roxy muttered, her fingers snapping as her brain connected the dots. "Nerissa. She is an incredibly wise woman. She has lived in the Spires for generations, and she knew things about me, things about how this world operates beneath the surface. Some kind of connection drew me to her. If the Wither-Rot is a plague that targets Surface mana, the Abyssal magic of the Spires might be entirely immune to it. Nerissa might already have the solution to this problem, or at the very least, the missing ingredient."
