“Use your skills and prove to my father you’re more valuable alive.”
It was no longer a fight for her freedom but her life. If she didn’t wow the duke, she was dead. How was she supposed to be a great mystique when she barely knew what she was doing?
“What changed your mind?” she asked as he offered a hand and pulled her to her feet.
“You jumped into a river with an injured hand to save me,” he whispered. “Someone you didn’t know and who treated you so poorly.”
Amaris gazed at his hand slipping from hers and settling along his belt as he sidestepped her, continuing toward the library. She paused, running a thumb over her palm and watching as his figure shrank, and he once again transformed into that small boy. She silently followed him, passing through the halls that all looked the same, down the grand staircase, and through the hall, where every portrait stared down at her.
He braced his hand on the plain doors and pushed them open. Amaris would never get used to it. Instantly, the smell of old books hit her, and it was a small bit of beauty in this prison. She wasn’t one to read much, but she understood it was an art, much like her drawings.
“Who are we looking for?” Theodoric asked.
“Pricilla.”
He took the lead. They made several weird turns, getting them completely lost by her standards, until they came to a small alcove. It was a dead end about ten feet wide and circular in shape, with bookshelves lining the entire wall. A single desk sat with scrolls pinned down on top of it. A few red velvet chairs and a matching couch were among the hanging lanterns scattered about. For a place tucked away, it seemed to be used frequently, with the worn couch cushions and books piled on the floor.
Standing on her tiptoes across the room, reaching for a book on the top shelf, was Pricilla. Theodoric strode over and grabbed the book for her.
“Thank you, Captain.” She smiled, then turned to meet Amaris. Her lips spread into a large grin, but Theodoric pulled back her attention.
“We need the mystique’s journal.” He eyed Pricilla as one might a child who’d done something wrong.
“You think I have it?” Pricilla balked.
“I thought you’d be able to help me find it,” Amaris interjected, “being the mystique’s replacement for a while.” She wanted her help, not to get her in trouble, but Theodoric didn’t pay Amaris a second glance as he eyed Pricilla.
“If I recall, Cornelius was certain a few of his anatomy tomes had gone missing over the years,” Theodoric said.
“All right,” Pricilla said, her voice airy. “I may have found it.” She skipped to an empty part of the floor and pressed on a wooden plank, gripping it as it came flying up to meet her. She withdrew a leather-bound journal and tossed it to Theodoric. “I was going to return it after I finished recording everything. Cornelius always kept all his books to himself.”
“As we have a new mystique, I think she might allow you access to her collection,” he said, licking his thumb and shuffling through the pages. “Here it is.”
“What does it say?” Amaris asked.
“He lists the ingredients for his scrying fever tonic.”
Pricilla’s eyes turned wild. She brushed her shoulders and turned in a circle. “Why are you looking that up?” she asked in alarm. Maybe it was a way of warding off bad energy.
“Esaias has contracted it. It’s likely he brought it back from Duncaster,” he answered.
“I’m so sorry,” she began. “If I’d known—”
“You couldn’t have,” Theodoric said, grasping her shoulder.
A single tear rolled down her cheek. Amaris imagined he’d pull back or shy away, but he wiped it, giving her a wry smile. He threw the book to Amaris.
She shuffled through the pages until she foundscrying feverwritten across the top of one. She skimmed through the chicken scratch.Had he ever heard of good penmanship?She fanned a few pages, reviewing the contents. It was her own set of protocols, like the ones at work. It listed everything from tonic recipes to descriptions of his patients’ injuries and illnesses.
“Let’s get what we need.” Amaris continued reading. The old mystique’s descriptions weren’t encouraging that the cure worked, but there was one account of a patient who survived the disease. She forced a swallow. What if the tonic was useless and that one patient was just a lucky break? What would happen if she couldn’t cure Esaias?
Theodoric gave Pricilla a reassuring nod, and Amaris offered what smile she could before they were off and headed toward the tower.
“Have you ever heard of bufomom?” Amaris’s eyes were glued to the journal. She giggled to herself thinking of how, back home, someone at the station would’ve tried to crack a mom joke, but she refrained from letting Theodoric hear her. The disease was scarier than she initially thought.
“I’m not familiar,” he answered flatly.
“It says it’s the main ingredient in the tonic.”
