“I know flattery when I hear it,” Betje said, grinning. She wrapped an arm around Idabel’s shoulders and gave a quick squeeze and a bolstering shake. “No, no, you learned that from me, too. Compliments open doors as easily as keys. A shame they didn’t work so well on the keeper. There’s another way to find your gargoyle, though.”
“Grow another garden and wait for him to crush it underfoot?” It was a sour joke, but it was hard to think of anything except all the precious plants she’d lost. Somehow, their destruction had scraped away the layer of earth she’d tamped down over the grave of her grief. Her farm burned. Her family dead and gone. And now she had to face that raw, blistered part of herself. It stung.
Betje chuckled, shaking her head sympathetically. “I think I’m as pained as you are to lose those plants.”
Idabel stayed silent, eyes trained on the worn stone floor of the workroom, rather than contradict her. Betje meant the best. It was just too much to express.
“You can find your gargoyle,” Betje continued. “You know his name. You have keys to almost every room in the Tower. You canlook for him while you work. You’ll find his stony self perched somewhere.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s leaving Solvantis when the watch deploys,” Idabel reminded her.
Betje clucked in disagreement. “He’s coming back eventually. Besides, if he’s a commander, he may know others who will protect you. More who aren’t so opposed to magic. Can’t hurt to ask. Promise me you’ll try.”
The wheedling edge in her voice made Idabel lift her head. Betje sounded too…invested. She wanted exclusive access to fresh herbs, of course. But it wasn’t as though she couldn’t get most of them on any given market day if she were willing to pay for them. She could even contract with a farmer to plant crops especially for her. This was something else.
Betje must have sensed her scrutiny, because she dipped her head, casting one side into shadow. And that’s when she saw it: a dusting of glittering gold stars stretching down the side of Betje’s illuminated jaw, running from just above her ear onto her neck. They were only visible for the briefest moment as her head turned and caught a beam of moonlight, and then they were gone.
Idabel gasped. “You’re fae-marked!”
“Fae-born,” Betje corrected, adjusting her spectacle frames sheepishly. “A grandmother on my mother’s side. Don’t look so surprised. There are many of us. I suspect you have a drop or two of fae blood yourself, given your affinity for growing things.”
A scoff scraped out of her. Of course, she’d had such fantasies as a child when she listened to stories about girls discovering that they could make the rain stop or flowers bloom because of latent fae blood in their family trees. Who wouldn’t dream of that? But she and her friends had tried many times to practice magic in their pretend games, with no results. She was simply human.
But Betje was not. Not fully.
“Are you tael-touched? Can you wield magic?” Idabel breathed. She’s never have thought it of the detail-oriented apothecary who concerned herself so much with cleanly jars and perfectly measured tinctures. From what she knew, tael was wild, untrustworthy stuff, nothing like an orderly balance sheet. “Is that why you have the best remedies in Solvantis?”
Betje smiled but shook her head, her auburn coils bouncing. “I don’t have any healing powers. I canSeea little, that’s all.”
“That’sall?!” Idabel burst out, so loud that she winced. She adjusted her voice back to a whisper. “That’s hardly nothing.” Fae seers could look backward and forward. They could see what would be, what had been, and often what was happening right now. Seeing was one of the most powerful kinds of magic, coveted by criminals and kings alike.
Reflexively, Betje glanced around the room, checking for moths. Satisfied that they’d all been banished earlier, she nodded. “Just a little. I don’t get to practice much, obviously. I could do so much more for my patients if I could See what they needed, though.” Her expression was transparently hungry.
No wonder she wanted to find a gargoyle who’d look the other way when humans dabbled with tael. Betje could do a lot more than grow a little patch of herbs.
“Show me,” Idabel begged, feeling wide awake despite the hour. “Please?”
Betje nodded, pulling a clean, wooden bowl from the shelf. She half-filled it with water, setting it in a splash of moonlight on the worktable. Idabel leaned over it, laughing at herself for hoping to see something other than her own reflection in its silver surface.
Betje was too busy to notice as she selected a few of the still-green leaves from the drying rack and a packet of dried rosemary powder from the stores. She added them into the bowl and then held out her hand. “Give me something of yours. A hair.”
Idabel dutifully plucked a waist-length strand from her head, coiling it before passing it over. Betje added it to the bowl, where it floated on the surface. She gave the watery mixture a stir with a glass rod, and they both watched it swirl for a few long seconds.
It still looked like a big bowl of nothing to Idabel, but Betje’s face broke, a look of anguish coming over it. Her eyes welled with tears as she looked up, shaking her head mutely.
“You Saw my past,” Idabel guessed. Betje nodded, removing her spectacles to scrub her tears away on her sleeve. “I could have told you not to do that.”
“Hazards of touching tael,” Betje joked, a catch in her voice. “How do you live with that in your head all the time?”
“I try not to remember.” Idabel fished out the larger leaves and dumped the rest of the bowl’s contents into the stone sink. So much for magic. She didn’t need it to remind her what already happened. She needed it to write her a new future.
“I’m sorry, Betje. I can’t poke around and risk my position in the Tower. If I succeed in finding this Brandt, he’s more likely to turn me in to the Nadir than to help me. And if the keepers catch me where I’m not supposed to be, I’ll be turned out of Maiden Hall. Out of Solvantis altogether, without an occupation or a husband to provide for me.”
And I can’t yet afford an apprenticeship.She didn’t say it, but she could almost see the gears turning in the apothecary’s head.
“What if,” Betje said slowly. “I introduced you to someone.”
Everything in her tightened. “I’m not interested in marriage.”
