“And anyway,” he goes on, “why should I give up my secrets to that hateful woman when her apprentice is so willing to help me?”
I am suddenly aware of my position: palms plastered to the fortified metal, ear angled toward the seam in the door.
I scramble back so quickly I slam into the wall. Snatching the salve from the ground, I descend the stairs as rapidly as my feet will allow.
“Fly away, bird,” the prisoner calls to my retreating back. “Fly away.”
3
“MIN.” APIECE OF PARCHMENTslaps my chest. “Master Alain should have everything listed in stock, but if for some reason he doesn’t, go to Pierre’s on Market Street and tell him I’d like to call in a favor.”
“A favor?” I accept the list from Lady Clarisse in puzzlement. Behind me, a kettle boils over the hearth, and hot porridge bubbles in a small pot on the kitchen stove. “Why—”
“No questions.”
I duck my head. “Apologies, my lady.”
Each week, Lady Clarisse sends me into town to collect the ingredients she requires. Though we grow the majority of our herbs at the estate, those originating in far-flung realms can be difficult to source. In these instances, we purchase from Master Alain, a local herbalist who has a reputation for acquiring rare flora.
“While you’re gone,” she says, turning to study her appearance in the mirror, “I’ll be working on Our Lady of Mercy. It’s paramount that you acquire every ingredient on the list. If you fail, the draught will be useless, and I’ll be forced to start over.” Her dark eyes seize mine through the looking glass, and I freeze, a hare caught in a toothed trap. “Understood?”
The threat of punishment is enough to ensure I obtain the necessary components, whatever the cost. “Yes, my lady.”
Her mouth wilts with distaste as she smooths a bit of powder over her cheek. No sign of the scar. Nevertheless, it is clear her appearance does not satisfy her, as she shies from her reflection to tie sprigs of lavender with twine, oddly quiet. She slips the bunches into a glass jar and rests it on the wooden shelf over the sink. Meanwhile, I glance through the list more carefully. I don’t want to miss anything. One item, however, gives me pause.
“Pardon, my lady, but I’m not familiar with this ingredient. What isvanishing night?”
“Ah.” Her features grow pointed with pleasure as she turns. “A few months ago, I stumbled across a merchant who hailed from a realm called Under. He showed me all manner of oils and herbs, powders and poultices. Vanishing night was one of his rarer finds, a dust ground from the fangs of a darkwalker.”
My attention latches onto that word:darkwalker. “What is that?”
“An immortal born of darkness, originating from a realm far north of the Gray. They feed on humans.”
“They consume mortals?” I ask in borderline horror.
“Not their bodies. Their souls.” The edges of her mouth curl upward in some horrid likeness of a smile. “Once I have the vanishing night for my brew,” she whispers fervently, “I will finally learn the location of the prisoner’s god-touched weapon. For months, I’ve tried every potion under the sun to weaken his defenses; nothing has worked. But withthiselement, I shall succeed.”
I stare at her in confusion, my dismay surrounding the darkwalker already forgotten. “God-touched weapon?”
“Slow, stupid Min. Have I taught you nothing over the years?” Yet she speaks with rare affection, as though I am but a loveable, senile pet. “Only a god-touched weapon can fell a god, and if I am correct in assuming our dear prisoner is, in fact, one of the Anemoi, then he possesses a weapon powerful beyond measure.”
My eyes are wide, wide, wide. “What sort of weapon?”
“An ax. Not only is this weapon a conduit to his powers, but it is perhaps my only means of obtaining what I seek: the heart’s blood ofa fallen god. With it, I will have no need for those lesser immortals. Why, I could create a tea that would grant immortality itself!”
Immortality.What wonders this word wrought. “That’s amazing,” I say, because it is what she would expect from me. “I wasn’t aware that was possible.”
“The naysayers doubt me. But soon I’ll have the evidence to prove them wrong. You know what I have endured. What I continue to endure,” she says, glaring in my direction. My stomach lurches, and I angle my face toward the floor. “With immortality, I will reclaim the power I lost. Never again will the gods take from me those I love most. Never again,” she whispers with curdling fury, “will I beweak.”
Lady Clarisse returns to her herbs, a clear dismissal, but my feet remain entrenched in the floor.Everlasting life.Not once had I questioned my employer’s motives, but it makes sense. The unexpected death of her husband left her ladyship with a hole in her heart. She wants to ensure that will not happen again. And I realize now that the prisoner was correct: Lady Clarisse would never let him, or any of the immortals, walk free. At the very least, disposing of them would prevent the prisoners from taking their revenge.
“What are you waiting for?” she barks. “Off with you!”
My heart trills alongside my ribs.Mother of Earth, give me strength.“If it’s not too m-much trouble, my lady, I w-w-wanted to broach the topic of s-selling the estate.”
Her thin eyebrows climb, and a lock of ebon hair falls across her sweat-glistened cheek. “Oh?” She cants her head, inspecting me as though I am a small grub. Something in need of squashing. “And why is the estate any of your business? You should be thankful I provide a roof over your head at all.”
“Understood, my lady. But I w-w-was thinking. Wh-what ifIbought the estate from y-you?”
