“A good base. It’ll at least make it more palatable.” The wheels on the worn, wooden ladder squeaked as Betje pushed it over to one of the high shelves. Mounting it, she reached to the back of the shelf and handed down a jar and a bottle to Idabel.
“What are these?” She squinted at the stained labels. The ingredients listed in faded script weren’t any she’d used before or even heard of. She reached for the old herbarium they kept, but Betje shook her head.
“They’re not in the book. After my apprenticeship, I traveled all over Tael-Nost. These are some of the plants I collected alongthe way,” she explained as she climbed back down. She tapped the jar full of fine green powder in Idabel’s hand. “This is a moss that grows on the rock faces of the southern cliffs. Gargoyles pack their wounds with it when masons aren’t available because it helps knit their flesh. The leaf tincture is from the lowlands around the Spine. The dragons use it in a tea to treat head injuries. Neither are particularly useful for humans, but your gargoyle is no human.”
“Nor is he mine. Not anymore.” She had to say it to remind herself that she wasn’t laboring to save her mate. He would never return to her. She was simply doing whatever she could to make amends for her extraordinary wrong. Realizing how surly she sounded, she added, “Thank you for sharing your collection. If there’s any way I can repay you…”
Betje’s mouth bunched like she was trying not to laugh, although Idabel felt there was little amusing about the situation. She tried to ignore it, instead beginning to measure out her herbs into “What are you thinking?”
Betje shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. I was thinking that you had the same protest about your gargoyle back when you met him.‘He’s not mine.’And how wrong you were about that. You’re just as wrong now. Look at yourself. If he isn’t yours, then you are still his.”
“He doesn’t even remember me.” She focused on the mixture, trying to stop her hands from trembling. Her traitorous body betrayed her by sending a tear sliding down her face. “Maybe that’s a good thing, though, because if he remembers me, he’ll hate me.”
“And yet you make him a memory tonic.” Betje’s eyes were as round and sympathetic as her spectacles.
“He deserves the truth.”And so do I, in a completely different way, though perhaps equally painful.Because she’dnever truly be able to atone for her betrayal without receiving the punishment of Brandt’s hatred. She only hoped it wouldn’t extend to Loïc. Their son did not deserve it. He already suffered enough having a traitor and a human for his mother.
“Hm.” Betje clucked her dismay about the whole situation. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Don’t trouble yourself with the shop today. I have it in hand.”
While Betje kept the ledger and tended to the customers that came through the door, Idabel worked in the quiet of the back room, heating the honey to the right temperature to infuse it without burning the delicate herbs. After a few hours and several rounds of straining through a fine cloth, the draught was done. She filled two bottles with the clear gold liquid. They glowed like miniature lanterns when she held them up to the light of the setting sun.
“Beautiful,” Betje remarked from the doorway. “Do you think the masons will accept the help?”
“They might not,” she admitted, tucking the bottles into the pouch at her belt. It was likely anything that came from her, the human who’d caused much of this mess, would be rejected. “I’m hoping Bardoux will convince them to try it.”
“First you have to convince Bardoux.”
“Wish me luck.” Idabel grinned crookedly.
The bottles clinked softly in her pouch as she slipped through the rookery entrance of the Nadir’s office, bypassing the human line. When the keeper showed her in, she found Bardoux studying a map with tired eyes.
“You again.” He glanced up from his work. “I suppose you’re here about the commander. I told you, it isn’t possible to see him. Frankly, it may never be possible for you. Your son will be able to visit with Ghantal, but you understand why you cannot unless he specifically requests it.”
“I’m not here to see him.” She placed the two small bottles of memory tonic on his desk. “I brought medicine. For Brandt and for your nephew.”
That got his attention. He lifted one bottle, suspending it between his claws to examine the liquid within. He tilted it back and forth next to the candle on his desk. “What is it?”
She realized she was clutching her apron and released the fabric from her fists, smoothing it down. “It’s a restorative tonic. For healing the mind, mostly, but it will also work on the body. I think it will help.”
“The masons are exceptional at what they do.”
“I know my remedy won’t surpass their skills. But it might dosomething.” She met his skeptical, milky gaze. “I can’t see Brandt. I accept that. But please, let me help him. For the child we share. You must understand that impulse. My son has waited his whole life to meet his father.”
Bardoux was quiet for a long moment. “You brought medicine for Rikard as well.”
“Of course.”
“Did I tell you that he’s in pieces?” Bardoux traced the lines of his map on his desk with one claw, his jaw working.
“I assumed when you said Brandt carried him back in a sack.”
“He is more gaps than gargoyle.”
“I will bring more. As much as he needs, if it helps him.” She held her breath, watching his face. When Bardoux remained silent, she gambled. “Two spoonfuls a day. It can be mixed with water or wine if necessary. It should help with pain, confusion, and healing.”
