An explanation for my odd reaction to the whole situation percolated through my thoughts as I wondered whether or not the stone kin protecting the church was friend or foe.
Seir emerged, another package in his hands. “All set!”
I shifted my focus to my brother for a second, and when I looked back at the church, the stone kin was gone. “What was so important in there?”
Seir squeezed his parcels to his chest, broad smile on his mouth. “Wind chimes.” His face fell as he got a good look at me. “Are you well?”
“Indigestion.” I rubbed at the burn behind my ribs with the heel of my hand, but it would not be soothed.
He nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. “Probably the tavern food, you’re not used to anything so rich. You eat the same few things all the time when you bother to eat at all.”
I muttered a vague agreement as I followed him back to the portal, my thoughts elsewhere. Thankfully, he carried the conversation on without realizing I was distracted, content to chatter all by himself.
My only focus was on the disturbing notion that I needed to return to Vincara. Soon.
I needed to speak with the stone kin who guarded the church.
I was now certain that those entrancing violet eyes belonged to my mate.
Chapter 3
Phin
Seven doses. That was all that was left.
I stared at the little bottle, willing the liquid inside to multiply. It did not.
Carefully, I placed a single drop of my daily tincture onto my tongue, grimacing at the potent bitter taste, the way it burned all the way down my throat and into my stomach. Hands trembling, I resecured the cork and set the vial on my little bedside table, nervously clutching at the oval amethyst pendant of my mother’s necklace.
The apothecary had promised Father they’d have a fresh batch ready by the end of the week, but that was far too close to me running out completely for my comfort. I hadn’t gone a single day without it in years, and I didn’t want to know what would happen if I did. I was already struggling with the formula needing to be changed—my freezing episodes were becoming much more frequent and at times were fully debilitating. And that didn’t even account for the main reason I took it. To run out completely would surely be catastrophic.
Father called from the main room of the library. “Are you ready to get started?”
I stepped out of my small room and joined him, relieved to find that my frayed nerves were somewhat settled. Whether that was a real side effect of having taken the tincture or just my imagination, I wasn’t sure.
Silently, he set out our quills and ink, then spread parchment over the two workstations. When his eyes caught mine and held, a frown tugged at his mouth. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes. Sorry about before. I thought I had more time.” I’d gone out into the churchyard to fetch some of the few remaining fresh herbs to cook with and had gotten caught by the bells. I’d never even made it to the garden.
“That’s alright, my child. It’s not your fault.”
He settled a leather-bound tome in front of me, and I turned to the pages where I’d left off the last time. Words became nothing more than curves and lines as I copied them letter by letter to a fresh sheet of parchment. I absorbed no meaning from the writing like this, my focus distilled down to nothing more complicated than the way my quill rasped against the fibers in the paper.
I was setting aside my seventh page when I looked up to find Father Morton dozing in one of the comfortable armchairs. His workstation was clean, and the oil in the lamps was running low.
Once I stopped, my body’s aches began to make themselves known. My shoulder was tight and sore, my eyes tired and starting to blur. My stomach growled and my throat was painfully dry. Sad that the pleasant activity had come to an end, I set to cleaning up my station as well. The new pages were laid flat on one of the shelves to dry, the book I was working from reshelved. The pots of ink and quills went in a little nook so they wouldn’t be somewhere they could get bumped or spill.
Yawning so big my jaw cracked, I reached above my head, indulging in a powerful stretch. Joints popped and muscles creaked as everything loosened back up.
“Father?” I leaned close to his ear, one hand gently shaking his shoulder.
He blinked awake. “Are you all finished?” I nodded, and he got to his feet, giving my work a cursory glance. “Nicely done. Come. Let’s get some supper, yes? We’ve been down here for hours. I abandoned my labors quite a while ago, but I was loath to interrupt you. You always look so peaceful when you are deeply focused like that.” His heavy hand patted my shoulder, and I reveled in the praise.
I followed him up the stairs, admiring the smears of ink on my fingers, already regretting that I’d have to wash it away.
Just as we went into the small kitchen, the telltale creak of the door opening stopped us.
“I’ll go,” I offered.
