“A curious hand takes what it should not,” she said, twisting his wrist toward the light. She studied it, then bared her yellowed, crooked teeth in a grin. “You, scholar, are a man who strays from what he’s told.”
Caz tensed, as if ready to pull his hand away, but then his shoulders dropped. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Odessa told me not to touch the trees. She said the skirtsfolk leave them alone.” He met Mag’s eyes. “I only did it to try and help.”
Mag paused, weighing his words, then released his hand. She tapped his injured shoulder, the one untouched by the rot. “A price has been paid nonetheless.” Her gaze flicked between the two of us before she turned and headed deeper into the shop. “Come.”
19
Mag stood beside Caz,one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his arm. She muttered something under her breath before yanking sharply, pulling the joint back into place. A sickening pop echoed through the room, followed by a crack. Caz doubled forward with a cry of pain. Mag moved quickly, securing the joint with a cloth sling. Sweat beaded along Caz’s brow and neck as he clutched at his shoulder.
“Syrup of poppy will ease the pain,” Mag said, turning to me. “A dose every sixth chime. You’ll see to it.” Then, looking back to Caz, she added, “As for your palm, I’ll need to prepare a salve. Possibly a tincture, as well. It’s no simple fix. The preparation will take until nightfall, maybe longer. I am not to be disturbed during this process.”
She leveled a hard look at him. “You would do well to remember the ways of Brier Len. The old gods do not forget easily.”
“I will,” Caz murmured. Pain still clouded his expression, but he managed a respectful, “Thank you, Mag.”
Mag’s eyes bore into his until Caz finally dropped his gaze, his attention shifting to the frayed edges of his tunic.
“You,” Mag said, pointing at me. “Come.”
“I’ll be back,” I whispered to Caz, brushing my hand gently across his back.
Mag passed through the narrow doorway of the cramped infirmary, barely large enough for a cot and a stool. I followed quickly, stepping into another room crowded with shelves stacked high with jars and bottles. Wooden crates overflowed with bundles of dried herbs and plants.
The air was thick with an overwhelming blend of scents that made my head swim. We stopped at a workbench, one of the only spots in the apothecary that was even remotely tidy. Mag crouched, her back bending with effort. If she felt pain, she didn’t show it. Her weathered hands sifted through a chest until she pulled out a small jar, no bigger than a plum, and handed it to me. The liquid inside was milky and slightly thick. Only a quarter full.
“I did not expect our paths to cross again so soon. Yet, I do not control the threads of fate.” She gestured to the jar in my hand. “For your companion. Enough for two doses. Another batch will be ready by sunrise.”
“Thank you,” I said. I glanced at her hands, now working a mortar and pestle filled with dried herbs. “It’s good to see you again.”
There was a pause before she replied. “Is it?” Mag’s voice carried no curiosity, no warmth. “Truth slips away from those who chase it, yet haunts those who try to avoid it.”
She intended for me to feel the bite in her words and I didn’t miss “I see you still prefer to speak in circles.”
“The first dose is to be taken now. Go.”
When I didn’t move, Mag’s hands stopped mid-motion. She had a way of becoming so utterly still, it felt as if even the god of death might pause to watch.
“What is it, child? Spit it out,” Mag demanded. “Say what you fear to ask.”
I stiffened at the sharpness in her voice. For a moment, I considered turning on my heel and heading back to Caz, but something held me in place.
“Tell me what happened that day,” I said. It came out more like a command than a question. “I need to remember.”
“It is not my tale to tell,” Mag replied, shaking her head. “If the gods will your memory to remain buried in shadow, then so be it.”
A knot of unease twisted deep in my chest, something dark and restless rising to the surface. The harder I tried to shove it back down, the more it clawed its way up.
You were there,I wanted to shout. Instead, I forced the words through clenched teeth. “You found me. You’re the only one who can make sense of it.”
Mag turned to face me, and though I stood taller by half a head, I felt myself shrink under her gaze. Her face was carved with wrinkles so deep they looked like they held centuries of secrets. Her eyes, hard as stone, pierced through me. Her mouth was a grim, unforgiving line.
“I am no fool, and neither are you. Three souls walked that night.”
I closed my eyes, shaking my head. “No.”
“Yes,” Mag replied flatly.
“It happened again,” I whispered. “Tell me, I need to understand.”
