Ledi was looking up at her mother and father, who were hurriedly stuffing their belongings into bags. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, except for two words: her name, and Alehk. The way her father’s face contorted in fury when he said her uncle’s name scared her. Then he picked her up and kissed her on the cheek, and they walked into the dark night . . .
Ledi awoke with a jump. For a moment she thought she was at Alehk’s house again. Was that place real? Maybe she was at her studio on the cheap futon. Jamal was across the hall. Was he real? Had everything that passed been a dream? Sorrow clogged her throat at the thought, but then her eyes fluttered open and looked around her. The area was stark and white and she heard a steady beeping noise. Her alarm? She patted the bed beside her for her phone, and something stopped her arm from moving. She sat up, feeling woozy. And thirsty. So thirsty.
For a second she thought the woman at her bedside was Nya—had Nya been real or part of her dream?—but then she recognized the rust-brown curls and the smattering of freckles on the downturned face.
“Portia?”
Portia jumped up in her seat and rushed toward the bed. She wore hospital standard protective clothing for the ICU, including gloves, but she gripped Ledi’s hand in hers and smiled through her tears.
“Only you would come all the way to Africa and catch some strange disease. I told you to stop using that antibacterial gel every time you got on the train. You lowered your immunity.”
“What are you doing here?” Ledi asked, again wondering if she was dreaming. Had she really been mad at Portia? That feeling was gone. There was only happiness and a feeling like her chest would burst at the sight of her. “How did you even get here? Oh wait, I guess it’s easy for rich people to just charter a plane.”
Portia shook her head. “I’m a trust fund baby, but private jets aren’t included in my particular tax bracket package. Thabiso flew me out after giving me a heart attack by telling me you were unconscious in the hospital. You’ve been knocked out for two days.”
“What?” Ledi tried to throw her legs over the bed and her head started to spin. “I need to see him. No, I need to see Dr. Bata.”
Portia stood and gently pushed her back down. “You need to rest. They didn’t know when you were going to wake up. Or if you were going to.” Portia exhaled a stuttering sigh. “I spent that whole trip terrified that you were going to die hating me. Ugh, that sounds selfish. It is selfish. But if you hate me, too . . .”
She shook her head. “I wanted to apologize. I was wrong and I should have admitted it from the beginning. You were so into Jamal, and I fucked up by not warning you of my suspicion before the gala. But part of me wanted it to be him, so you’d get mad and he’d go away. I guess I kind of maybe got scared that he was going to show you that you don’t need me. And I wasn’t exactly wrong because who needs a friend like me?”
Portia was miserable, and even if she had messed up, the pain on her face was too much to bear. Ledi had thought no one cared for her, but Portia cared possibly too much. Ledi realized a problem with her Velcro theory: Velcro was a temporary attachment. Portia, who always tried to help Ledi and would surely hide a body for her, if not do the actual killing, was a Krazy Glue kind of friend. They were stuck with one another by a bond that had been shaken but remained intact. Now they would have to decide how they used that bond.
“I need a friend like you,” Ledi said, giving Portia a weak hug because it was all she could manage. “I don’t hate you, but things can’t be how they were before.”
Portia shut her eyes but that didn’t stop the tears from streaking down. She nodded.
Ledi sighed. “I’m going to work on not being a pushover. You have to work on not pushing.” She paused. “And on not drinking so much. And on wanting as much for yourself as you want for other people.”
Ledi had always been afraid to throw down an ultimatum. It wasn’t what a health care professional would do, but as Ledi the human, she had to put herself first. She wasn’t above leveraging hospital bed guilt, it seemed.
“Well, I had to reschedule my therapist appointment to come here,” Portia said grouchily, wiping her tears away. “I’m working on things.
“Besides, I can’t show up in the middle of the night at a palace, drunkenly banging on the door. This is like having the ultimate doorman,” Portia said. “I guess you can give up the ramen life now, huh?”
“Never,” Ledi said, leaning back against her pillow. “But I’ll consider upgrading to the classy brand.”
The door to the room opened and Thabiso and Dr. Bata walked in, deep in conversation. She saw the exact moment he realized she was awake, the way relief and pain comingled on his face. He rushed to her bed and hugged her, probably breaking whatever protocol was in place, but making her feel a million times better.
“Goddess, I was so worried,” he said on a shaky exhale. He looked haggard; she had never seen his beard and hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes. He was a mess.
“Why were you worried? Shanti is waiting in the wings if anything should happen to me,” she said. Just because he was a mess didn’t mean she couldn’t tease him. He released her to see if she was being serious and she just smiled.
“Ah, you really are better,” he said happily. He was working the cartoon prince eyes hard-core, and if Ledi had just a bit more strength she would have grabbed him. “You know I had nothing to do with that. Besides, Shanti is long gone. As are my mother’s favorite shoes.”
“Good,” Ledi said, not sorry in the slightest for either.
“Do I even want to know?” Portia asked diplomatically instead of hissing at Thabiso. She was improving already.
“Naledi, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to say that your recovery is fairly shocking,” Dr. Bata said while scanning her chart. “None of the other patients are out of the woods, but here you are up and making conversation. And your rash is gone, as well.”
Thabiso’s brow furrowed. “So she wasn’t sick with the Prince’s plague?”
Ledi nudged him, and he shrugged. “What? That’s what everyone is calling it.”
“I’m glad to be better, but I have no idea why,” Ledi said. “We don’t even know how the illness spreads.”
Dr. Bata put the chart down and stared at Ledi. “What did you do after you left the clinic? None of the people who were there have fallen ill, so it’s unlikely you caught it from that group.”
Ledi looked at Thabiso and her face warmed. “Um, I didn’t do very much . . .”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Thabiso murmured.
“Oh my god, you two.” Portia rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone and started typing.
Thabiso cleared his throat. “We went to her uncle’s house, and she slept because she was exhausted. We got trapped by a snowstorm and spent the night in a cave. But, um, if this virus is transmissible, it doesn’t seem to be through bodily fluids.”
Thabiso looked awkwardly defiant but Dr. Bata simply grinned as she took notes.
“Well, what’s different about you from the other patients?” Portia asked. “Are there any specific infection factors that you can think of?”
“Aren’t you an artist?” Thabiso asked, face scrunched in confusion.
“I contain multitudes, Your Highness” Portia said in a sweet tone that wasn’t sweet at all. “You should know a thing or two about that, Jamal.”
She cringed and glanced at Ledi. “Sorry.”
“None of the other patients are foreigners, are they?” Ledi asked, not bothering to mediate since Portia wasn’t wrong. Best friends who would shank your man for you were as valuable as any crown.
“No. As you know, the illness has been restricted to the mountainous region, until you,” Dr. Bata said. “Though you are originally from that region and recently visited.”
“So maybe we should be looking for some kind of genetic marker in the native population that might indicate sensitivity to a particular bacteria?” Ledi’s mind was still muddled, but possibilities were coming fast and thick. “Or something in the local environment.”
There was a knock at the door and Likotsi walked in carrying a tray laden with a ceramic teapot and several cups. “It’s teatime. I figured since you were awake you might need to rehydrate.”
“What kind of tea is it?” Portia asked. “She’s more a coffee kind of girl.”
Portia glanced at Ledi and gave a knowing nod and Ledi had to smile.
“It’s our local bush tea, which is also said to help fight illness—”
The world around Ledi went very still as facts and data and suppositions congealed into hypothesis. “Wait. Wait, I think I might have something. When I got sick, it was right after chugging an entire thermos of strong bush tea.”
“And after facing my mother,” Thabiso added.
“Pfft.” Ledi cut her eyes at him. “Your mother wouldn’t last a day in New York without her retinue. She’s not that scary. So, I drank a substance that my body is not accustomed to at a high volume, very quickly. I immediately threw up, passed out, and broke out in hives. Maybe . . .”
Ledi wished her brain wasn’t still fuzzy with sleep. The connection she was trying to make was so close. She began massaging her temples, hoping that would get the synapses popping even though it was entirely unscientific.
“Are you all right?” Thabiso leaned close, enveloping her in his signature scent. The same scent she had smelled in the tea she’d sniffed, and even more strongly in the tea she’d drunk from Alehk.
“May I taste that, please?” she asked Likotsi. It was light and delicate, nothing like the strong, earthy tea Alehk had given her and she’d been drinking from arrival. And it definitely didn’t have the same floral scent.
“Dr. Bata, do you know anything about the effects of the eng plant on the human body when ingested in high doses?”
“Not particularly,” the doctor said. “It’s just part of our local culture. It has been used medicinally in the past, but most of those effects were considered to be psychosomatic.”
Likotsi cut in. “I don’t know much, but I do remember my grandmother always telling us to be careful that the balance of ingredients in the tea was right because just because something is natural doesn’t mean it is safe. ‘Less is more, and more can kill you’ she’d always say.”
Ledi nodded. “I’m guessing that my throwing up was caused by an overdose, of sorts. Most people here would have trace amounts built up in their bodies from everyday or occasional tea drinking, making the sickness more gradual. Because my body expelled the poison all over the queen’s shoes, my eng overdose wore off comparatively quickly.” Ledi looked at Thabiso as the idea in her head expanded and branched out into more sinister corners of her mind.
“Thabiso . . .”
“I’m guessing you don’t suspect that this was just a bad batch of tea,” he said gravely.
She shook her head. “Sesi said she was giving my grandparents a special blend provided by my uncle. And do you remember how Nya bundled me out of the house when he came in with the tea? That wasn’t the first time.”
Nya had given her vitamins, told her to take them every day. But Ledi had forgotten for the last couple of days, though she hadn’t forgotten to drink her tea.
Thabiso’s eyes widened. “You think your uncle is a fuckboy?”
She nodded. “And if what I think is correct, his case isn’t curable.”
He stood. “Likotsi. We must keep this quiet to prevent unrest, but please have Alehk Jarami brought in for immediate questioning.”