I gritted my teeth, settling my damaged skirt over my hips. “I’m merely telling you what I saw.”
She waggled her gnarled finger at my nose. “Sure, and I wouldn’t be telling anyone else your tall tale either. They’re likely to lock you away.”
Lock me away. Burn me alive. The Puritans didn’t need proof—they only needed a reason.
“So you don’t believe me.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Then you do believe in dragons.”
“Didn’t say that either.”
“Yaga,” I growled. As usual, dragging a straight answer out of the aged seer was harder than getting a day off from my endless duties.
She examined the contents of the basket I’d brought her, face set into deliberate lines of innocence. I didn’t buy it.
Twin braids decorated with beads and feathers hung over her hunched shoulders. Over her coarse dress was an apron, the pockets brimming with things I knew better than to examine. At our backs, a fire burned in the hearth. Yaga’s latest potion on a hook over the flames. Or it could be her dinner. Or maybe her laundry. One never knew what the elderly hag had brewing.
Shelves teeming with jars, covered pots, and braided lengths of dried herbs filled the walls of the dank space. The hag’s workshop was located deep in the earth, in the foundation of the high ruler’s manor. As if the Puritans desired her healing skills and yet preferred to keep their distance from the odd woman.
“Tell me you at least managed to collect the feverfew.”
While she poked through the basket, I moved to a potted Petalyn plant, pruning bits of withered leaves from the sad-looking specimen. “I collected it on the way back from visiting Speck.” Returning empty-handed wasn’t an option when my mentor sent me foraging.
Sebastian examined the foliage as well, sniffing a leaf then sneezing. I used to worry he’d ingest something he shouldn’t, but the cat had an even better sense for things than Yaga.
“And how is that rapscallion?”
“He’s fine.” Despite the dragon she refused to discuss. “I’m just worried how he’ll fare once Mortis hears of the missing nerf.”
“Mmm. Coldhearted, that one. Though I suspect he won’t be a problem around here for much longer.”
“What do you mean?” I paused my pruning, giving her a sidelong glance. “Did you have another vision?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, dear.”
Unlike other Puritans, I wasn’t afraid of magic per se, more like fascinated. It was the persecution of wielders in Nefarr that terrified me. The high ruler showed no mercy when it came to the impure.
I huffed a sigh, tossing dried Petalyn leaves into a bin. Poor thing was showing signs of petal plague. The untreatable virus was a death sentence for a plant. It wouldn’t be long before the infection completely took over.
“I had better change before I attend to Lady Penelope.” I’d hate to give her one more reason to berate me.
“One moment. Before you go, there’s something I’d like to give you.” With gnarled fingers, Yaga rummaged in the mysterious depths of her bottomless apron pocket. “Something you should have before I leave.”
“Leave? But you just got here.” With her healing skills in high demand, Yaga journeyed across numerous kingdoms,providing medicines and potions to the sick. She’d been teaching me to do the same, so that I might elevate my position here at Rottbarry. Even among the Puritans, those who could heal were valued and respected.
“Trouble is brewing. I wish I could stay longer, but it’s important that I ensure all are prepared.” She thrust a small leather pouch into my hands without preamble. “Open it.”
I loosened the drawstring. Inside was a smooth, rounded stone with strange runes etched into the surface. Thin wire wrapped its shape, suspending it on a chain. It was the sort of thing that screamedillegal magical artifact—burn me at once.
“What is it? A necklace?” Please be an ugly necklace.
Her graying brow furrowed. “You were wearing this the day that couple found you. They brought it to me to see if it was worth anything. I was afraid they’d try to sell it on you, so I’ve kept it safe ever since. It’s time you had it back.”
At seven turns old, I was found alone in the woods with no memory of how I’d gotten there. The couple who discovered me took me in for a few years. Until they sold me and Speck to the high ruler, Lord Richwell. The mystery of how I’d come to be in those woods had kept me awake many lonely nights.
Without those memories, I was a nobody, alone in this world save for Speck. Why was it that no one had wanted me? Missed me? Was I abandoned or lost? What could I have done to deserve such a fate?
