I laugh wearily, glancing down at the cliffcrow dung that’s still smeared all over me.
She blinks. “I’mfine, Lyria. Go sleep. And bathe. Seriously.”
After Daisy declines my several offers to escort her back to her room, I finally concede and trudge back to my tower with Dante.
Sleep hits me the instant my head touches the pillow. I’m out like the dead, and when I finally wake, it’s to sunshine streaming through the window. I leap up, muttering a string of curses—I’m hours late for work.
I hurry to the hospital, bracing for the Head Healer’s wrath. But I arrive to find his office door closed, and I don’t see him orDaisy on the staging floor. When I ask around, I’m told Cygnus is busy in surgery—thank the Gods—and that Daisy got the day off.
So I trudge down to the storehouse alone.
There’s one good thing about the ordeal—I now have all the ingredients I need to complete the omnidraught. I followed Ragglestaff’s recipe to the letter. The blossoms have been distilled, I’ve added the dragon scales and unicorn hair, and everything has sat under the full moon as instructed. All that remains is to powder the feathers and add the Ironwood sap. Then I should be able to activate the mixture by stirring it with a pewter spoon. If it reacts like all’s-cure, I’ll know the draught is complete when it starts steaming and turns gold.
My mood picks up as I complete the final tasks. I’msoclose, and the prospect of seeing Mother again soon makes my chest swell. But after I add the sap and start stirring…
Something’s wrong.
I know it immediately. The mixture’s too viscous. I keep stirring, but the mix just grows lumpier and then starts to congeal. Panic heats my neck, and I start cursing. Weeks of work crash around my shoulders in slow motion.
It’s wrong.It’s all wrong.
The stirring is futile. Eventually, I shove away from the workbench, roaring. I’ve got half a mind to fling my cauldron across the room. I’ll have to throw the whole mixture out and start over.
Disaster.
I’m nauseated at the prospect of relaying my failure to Davina. Starting over will set me back weeks. How many lives will my mistake cost? Dozens? Hundreds?
A Healer is precise, I can hear Mother saying.We can’t afford mistakes.
Suddenly, my whole plan to impress her feels astoundingly foolish. Why did I think I could do this? Who was I to believe I could accomplish what she couldn’t? The simple fact that I haven’t heard from her tells me Mother hasn’t conquered the plague yet, either. She has threehundredyears of experience over me—finest potioneer of her generation, Royal Healer to the Aldain dynasty. If she can’t do it,nobodycan.
I’m in the midst of this mental spiral when I hear footsteps approaching the storehouse. I manage to wipe my tears away just as Cygnus steps through the doorway. When I whirl to face him, there’s an awkward beat. I’m sure he can tell I was crying.
“Would you take a walk with me?” he asks stiffly. He’s got a satchel slung over one shoulder, and the shadows under his eyes have all but vanished.
I blink back at him. “A walk?”
“Just into the gardens. To clear our heads.”
My stomach sinks.Here it is. The lecture I’ve been waiting for.
“Sure,” I agree reluctantly.
I follow Cygnus out across the terraces and past the reflective pool where the castle glitters in reverse. It’s after dusk now, and the chatter of frogs fills the cooling air. I don’t recognize our path until we round a familiar corner, and the lake comes into view.
“I’ve been here with Finn,” I blurt out.
Cygnus rolls his shoulders back, smirking. “I showed him this spot when we were kids,” he says. “Typical of him to pass it off as his discovery.”
“He didn’t say he discovered it.”
“No. This lake is thousands of years old.” Cygnus approaches the shore and crouches, slipping his fingers under the surface.
“And are you an expert on lakes?”
“I’m an expert on this castle.” With his back to me, he traces lazy circles in the water. “Do you know who built it?”
I pause. “Verdin, I assume?”
