She taps her spoon on the rim of the pot and sets it aside before grabbing a loaf of bread and a knife. “Well, Vice Admiral Eryx’s guards are helping us now,” she says as she begins cutting thick slices of fresh sourdough atop the counter. “That began this morning. They’re standing watch around the property while your friends rest from staying up last night patrolling the grounds. Zahira and Yaz have gone to meet with some of the lower-level officials they know and trust, to see if they can find someone to lead here once Eryx is removed from office, which will happen sooner than later, we hope. Mr. Neri and Mr. Thibault are out hunting for him.”
“So I heard,” I say as she wipes the crumbs from her hands then turns to taste-test her stew.
“Mmm. So good.” She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Want some?”
I nod, more emphatically than is normal for me. I don’t know why my appetite has decided to return so suddenly, but as badly as I want to see Ingrid, I don’t rush myself. The aroma isn’t the most pleasant, but there’s a note of something in the air that’s overriding the part of my brain that hasn’t wanted to eat in days. Now, my stomach feels as though it could devour my spine.
When Mari finally slides the steaming dish in front of me, I experience a twinge of nausea, but I push past it and lift a spoonful of the stew to my mouth. It isn’t the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, but unlike anything else, save for red wine, it’s palatable. It’s far better than the tisan at Fia’s, good enough that I break apart a piece of sourdough bread and ask Mari to ladle a second helping of the gravy on top.
The stew is gone in an embarrassingly short amount of time. I’m still not well, but I feel ten times better than I did the morning we arrived here. Even the aches and pains from earlier have abated.
Mari takes the dish and dunks it in her wash water. “You already look better, Miss Nephele. Your eyes are brighter. Have you considered taking a swim in the thermal pool? It’s a perfect day for it.”
I dab my mouth with a napkin. “I already feel better. Thank you for the companyandthe fine meal. And…maybeon the thermal pool. It wouldn’t hurt to see if it might help.”
Though I doubt a bath in warm algae water can cure a curse cast by a sentient grove.
After a pause, I almost open my mouth to ask her about going into town with me. But now that I feel so much more like myself, it might be best not to tread that particular territory lest she try to make me stay. Instead, I slip off the stool, hoping I have enough energy to weave a tight enough construct around myself that no one sees me leave this house.
“I think I’ll just go rest,” I tell her.
She reaches for a clean dish from the cupboard and smiles, completely unaware that I’ve just lied to her face. “Wonderful. You made my job easy today.”
Shoving down the sliver of guilt that tries to wedge itself into my gut, I head toward the door that leads to the hall. Out of curiosity though, I pause and turn back.
“Mari, what’s the key to your special recipe?”
She ladles a helping of stew for herself into her waiting dish, picks up a spoon, and takes a healthy bite. Then she says the last word I expect to hear.
“Blood.”
16
NEPHELE
The walk into Village Hill isn’t as terrible as I imagined. I’m still a little tired and winded, but so much stronger than when I woke up this morning. My witch’s marks are concealed save for the silver ones, to help me better blend in.
It’s chilly out this late in the day, regardless of the sun still trying to peek through the heavy clouds. A shiver grips me every time a cutting gust blasts from the sea. Thankfully, I threw on a warm, black cloak I found in the back of the wardrobe in my room before leaving the tor. I keep the hood up tight and march on through throngs of Malgros citizens going about their afternoon.
Though he’s the last thing I want to think about, reminders of the wolf are everywhere. I hadn’t had reason to notice the devoted dedication to Neri in this city the last time I strolled this street with my sister. The blue and white pennon of the God of the North, a symbol I saw often enough growing up in the vale, hangs beside the green and indigo Tiressian flag on nearly every building. Small versions are nailed above many main doors while larger affairs hang from poles mounted to posts, whipping in the wind.
The wolf is a legend here. A long-dead deity still worshiped and revered.
What will these people do when they learn he’s here?
As I boldly pass a group of Northland Watch officials and another of the many sentinels on duty along the street, I keep my head down, certain that Alexus will scold me thoroughly for walking into the city alone, no matter how badly he needs to see Ingrid himself. As for the wolf, he almost had me fooled into believing otherwise, but he’ll scowl and growl, too, when he finds out what I’ve done. And he’ll do it in that cocky, beastly way of his, no less.
I don’t care what they say, though. It’smyearly years here that have been lost. If I want to seek answers, that’s up to me and no one else. It isn’t like I don’t know how to do so wisely. I’m as prepared as I can be.
My dagger is tucked in my boot, and the stiletto I found in Zahira’s weapons room is safely hidden inside my jacket sleeve. I also took a detour into her study. I remembered from days ago where she left the passage papers she acquired for her soon-to-be guests from the Western Drifts, friends who haven’t made it here yet. The Watch will likely turn them away at the harbor unless we take the city back from Eryx’s hands before they arrive. But at least I’ll appear legal if I’m stopped by a guard.
Cresting the hill that overlooks the Malorian Sea, I notice a group of people working in a wide alley near a tavern. They carry rough-hewn tables and chairs through a side door, setting them up outside as though for a party. One woman works at driving freshly made torches in half-barrel planters scattered throughout the alleyway. None of them seems as concerned as many of the other faces I’ve passed this morning, but I suppose life must go on, even during a coming winter by the sea, and even when living in uncertain times. In all truth, it’s actually comforting.
In the next breath, I glance upward and halt, any momentary comfort gone. A wooden sign rocks on its pole over the tavern door. There are no words carved into the wood, only the crude painted and peeling image of a white wolf whose eyes are all but pinned on me.
Another wind tears at my cloak and hood as I keep moving. I catch the hood and tug it back up over my braided hair quickly, hoping that none of our crew from Starworth Tor happen to be in the vicinity, strolling home.
Especially a certain white-haired god.
