The front door crashed open.
“Lysa!” Maren’s voice preceded her into the infirmary. “Lysa, where are you? I need to—oh, there you are.”
She stood in the doorway, her chest heaving, and her colorful headwrap askew. I’d never seen Maren run anywhere. She moved through the world with the unhurried grace of someone who knew the tea would steep in its own time. But now her brown skin gleamed with sweat, and her hands twisted in her apron.
“Maren?” I folded the letter quickly, tucking it into my pocket. “What’s wrong?”
“Lady Kelda.” She crossed the room in three long strides. “Lady Kelda has been asking about you. Specifically.”
I remembered the gossip at the Teapot, hearing the name in a conversation there.
“What do you mean, asking about me?”
“She wanted to know about your gift, about what you can do that others can’t.” Maren’s hands kept twisting. “She came into the Teapot today, very casual, very friendly, asking if I knew the ‘talented young woman’ who saved the book-dragon.”
My stomach dropped. “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing important. Only your name, that you work here.” Maren’s expression darkened. “I didn’t like the way she smiled when I mentioned your name, Lysa. Like she’d confirmed something she suspected. Like you were a problem or something.”
“A problem,” I said.
“Who’s a problem?” Briony appeared in the doorway, flour dusting her nose and a half-eaten scone in her hand. “Is it Father? Because I told him the investment scheme involving the sentient mushrooms was a terrible idea, but does anyone listen to me? No. They do not.”
“What sentient mushrooms?”my voice came out strangled.
“The ones that supposedly predict gold mining fluctuations based on soil acidity.” She took another bite of scone. “He met a man at the pub who swore they’d made him rich.”
“They made him rich in mushrooms,” Maren muttered. “Which he then tried to sell me for tea ingredients. They screamed when I touched them.”
“They what?”
“Screamed. Very unpleasantly.” She shuddered. “I’ve never heard a fungus make that sound before. I hope to never hear it again.”
The infirmary door creaked again, and my father shuffled in, looking rumpled and slightly guilty in the way that meant he’d been caught doing something financially inadvisable. His eyes darted between us.
“Ah,” he said. “You’ve heard about the mushrooms.”
“Father.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please tell me you didn’t actually purchase screaming mushrooms from a stranger at a pub.”
“I didn’t purchase them.” A pause. “I traded for them.”
“Traded what?”
“Nothing important.” Another pause, longer this time. “The good copper pot.”
“The—“ Briony’s scone froze halfway to her mouth. “Father. That pot belonged to Mother.”
“Which is why I traded it for something that would save the family business!” He drew himself up. “The mushrooms were guaranteed to—“
“Scream,” Maren supplied helpfully. “They were guaranteed to scream.”
“They were guaranteed to revolutionise our financial capabilities!” He said. “The screaming was an unexpected feature.”
My ceramic dragons watched me from their shelves. All fifty-three of them, I had arranged by colour and then by size, their painted eyes catching the candlelight. I’d named them all.Ember and Frost and Whisperscale and dozens more, each one a small comfort I’d collected over the years when human company felt too fraught with danger. They couldn’t judge me, and couldn’t fear what I might do to them.
The letter trembled in my grip. My hands had steadied somewhat since this afternoon, but a fine tremor still ran through my fingers, making the parchment rustle.
I am dying.
