“Cure would be too strong a word, since I’m not certain it will work. But I did recall a similar soul bind from a few hundred—or was it a thousand?—years ago. It was a terrible business, but in this case a hellkin had put the soul bind on a troll. Don’t ask me why anyone would want to be bound to a troll…”
Erindil took him by the elbow and steered him from the tavern and down the snow-crusted road. They were moving so fast that Vaskel's longer legs were actually working to keep up with the elf's surprising speed.
The waterwheel splashed into the stream, and the blacksmith’s forge belched out black smoke as they passed, but Vaskel was grateful that Vorto and Klaff were not outside to see him rushing by with Lira’s uncle.
"The key," Erindil continued, although now his whisper was actually a whisper, "is in the strategy. Not breaking the bind so much as unwinding it, like untangling a particularly stubborn knot. But we'll need our apothecary friend’s workshop. She has ingredients I couldn't possibly?—"
“Morning!” Fenni leaned out of his cheese shop door, the halfling's eyebrows raised in question at their hurried pace.
Vaskel flashed what he hoped was his most convincing smile. “Good morning!” Then he added. “Wedding business.”
Fenni's face lit up with understanding, and he waved them on. "Carry on!”
Erindil didn't even slow as he burst through the apothecary's door, the bell jangling violently. A woman at the counter let out a startled yelp, nearly dropping the bottle she'd been holding. A bottle Vaskel recognized to be the oil Iris prescribed for stomach troubles.
"My deepest, most profound apologies, my fine lady!" Erindil swept into an elaborate bow without releasing Vaskel's arm. "A thousand pardons for startling you. Please, don't let us interrupt.”
The poor woman clutched the bottle and her coin purse, looking between them with wide eyes, as Erindil smiled at her with manic brightness. Vaskel took pity on her, pulling free from Erindil's grip to hold open the door.
The woman shoved some copper bits at Iris and fled, with her face flushed as crimson as Vaskel’s.
"Lock the door," Erindil commanded, already turning to Iris, who stood behind her counter with an expression of bewildered irritation. "We have work to do."
Iris blinked several times, looking between the elf and the hellkin. "What?—"
"He knows," Vaskel said simply, turning the lock with a definitive click. "About the soul bind."
"Ah." Understanding dawned on Iris's face. "And I assume you have a plan?"
But Erindil was already at her shelves, his long fingers dancing over the dark glass bottles, reading the peeling paper labels. "Wormwood, yes, yes, we'll need that. Blessed thistle, absolutely essential. Salamander toes!" He paused, holding up a jar with something floating in murky liquid. "Goodness, I hope we won't need those."
Iris disappeared into the back room while Erindil continued his whirlwind inventory, piling bottles and jars in his arms. Whenshe returned, she carried two cups of steaming tea, pressing one into Vaskel's hands before sipping her own.
They stood together, watching the elf work and muttered continuously in what might have been Elvish or might have been nonsense.
"Dragon scales, no, too potent. Moonflower petals, yes, but only if harvested during a new moon. Do you know when they were plucked? No? Pity. We'll make do with morning glory, though it's really not the same thing at all..."
Vaskel’s tea sat untouched in his hands, growing cold as Erindil assembled an impressive array of ingredients on the counter.
Finally, the elf stopped, placing his hands on his hips and surveying his collection with satisfaction. Only then did he seem to notice his audience. "Is that tea? Perfect! I'm absolutely parched."
He plucked the untouched cup from Vaskel's hands and drained it in three long swallows, despite it most certainly being stone cold.
"What do we do next?" Vaskel asked once the elf had drunk his tea.
Erindil set down the empty cup and beamed at him. "Once we mix all this up properly—in a specific order, naturally—and simmer it for a day at precisely the right temperature, we only need to add hairs from both bound souls." He waved a hand airily. "Then poof! The potion is complete."
That didn't sound too bad. Getting a strand of Marina’s hair shouldn't be impossible since she wore it loose.
Relief must have shown on his face because Erindil wagged a finger at him. “Gathering the hairs is the easy part, dear boy."
He spotted Iris's cup where she’d set in on the counter, picked it up and drained that too. “The tricky part is getting both bound souls to drink it."
“Should I assume it won’t taste good?” Vaskel asked.
Erindil clasped his hands behind his back. “You should assume it will smell and taste rancid.”
Vaskel's heart dropped to the vicinity of his boots. “Both of us have to drink it?"
