“Excellent,” said Artemis. “Feel better?”
“A little.”
“Give it more time.”
“Sir…Lord. What about my holiday? I was promised two days.”
“After the Hallowed Banquet.”
“But Corvin said—”
“Lord Corvinmust have told you it would be after the banquet. Besides, you’re ill with the salt-sick. We cannot have you out wandering your way back toward Ravenwood with a respiratory ailment that urges you into the sea. These cliffs are perilous and so is the water. What sort of employer would Mothlock be if that were excused?”
Lux couldn’t understand the girl’s subsequent muttering.
“Yes,” said the healer. “Exactly right. A bad one. And we are not a bad one. Who else would cultivate your brilliance while providing room and board? All for the mere exchange of your honest work.”
“But the others—”
“Are content. Soon, you will be content too. Lord Tobias will return you to your bedchamber. The Saints have blessed you, Ms. Otterbee. A position here is a privilege. You’ll realize that. One way or another.”
There was no more argument. Lux could hear the barest footfalls of their leaving and then little else. Something burbled and glass clinked.
“There it is. Ah, that’s beautiful, isn’t it? Just the tincture for a transformation.” A hacking cough followed.
Inside the cart, Lux narrowed her eyes. Sounded like apothecary nonsense to her. Or worse…
An alchemist.
She recalled that old woman puttering in her basement apartment in Ghadra. With her bubbling liquids and creation of a potion which had begun a plague. Mothlock didn’t dabble in that, too, did it?
Another thing I do not know.
A soft knock. Lux swung her head toward the subsequent click.
“I took care of her,” said Artemis. “She won’t cause any more problems. For today, at least.”
“I didn’t doubt it,” said a voice. It wasn’t one she recognized. It was harsh and rasping. Like the person was ancient or fought a chest cold. “I appreciate your quickness in stitching the cook closed.”
“Head wounds do tend to cause a mess.”
“I don’t understand how she broke through to begin with. I thought we had administered enough.”
“It’s the red hair. You have to double anything you would give anyone else. That is why it’s the color of fire—warning you they burn through it all too quick. Hallowed Day will be blessed, indeed.”
A hard chuckle descended into a cough and then, “All these righteous years, and I am still learning.”
“The beauty of Mothlock.”
“Praise to the Saints. As for the necromancer”—Lux caught her breath again—“she is the answer and must be cared for as such.”
“I offered her all I could,” said Artemis. “She is rather strong. Even in her current state.”
“All the better,” hummed the unfamiliar voice. “She is all I’ve ever wanted for Mothlock.”
A drawn pause brought with it a wave of tension. “You cannot mean—”
The rasping voice said, “Think of it, Artemis. She is tied to the Beyond. She is tied to this estate. By Hallowed Day, she could become Mistress of Mothlock as it was meant to be. She couldsootheit.”
