But when I followed Euphemia through the curtain, Thea’s large husband was nowhere to be found. The workroom was empty, with a number of tools and odd mechanical things lying about, a sheet covering part of the table. There were several doorways leading elsewhere from the room.
“Come. I was working in my garden when you arrived.”
She led me down a narrow hallway and opened a door to the right that appeared to be part of the wall. If she hadn’t opened the hidden latch, I might never have seen it. Her home was much like her—unusual, secretive, and useful.
I ducked through the narrow doorway and stepped out into an enclosed courtyard. There were stone walls on every side, but no windows from the buildings looking down onto it. To one side, there was a wild garden with many rows of heady-scented plants. Pretty purple-leafed stems of lavender merged with a thick thatch of hyssop, then also violet, cinnamon, verbena, and the bright yellow flowers of charlock. A few of these, Valerius’s cook, Chava, grew in the garden behind the house. I liked to escape there and help her harvest most days.
At the center of the courtyard garden, a pump and small well stood. Fat pots of plants lined every wall with different herbs I recognized—fennel, sage, lemon balm, and silphium. The last was difficult to grow—one we didn’t have in Valerius’s garden—but itsblack stems and yellow blooms were easily recognizable. It was the plant whose leaves could be ground and consumed for women wanting to prevent pregnancy—certainly a valued plant by many women in Rome. Like myself.
To the other side stood a covered worktable where clippings of dried flowers and herbs were cast about. In one corner, a pen of chickens clucked peacefully, pecking in the straw.
“A secret garden, Euphemia. How lovely.”
She cackled as she waved me over to the worktable. “And my own well right at the center.”
“How did you manage that?”
The wells in the city were for public use or were in bathhouses.
“Magic,” she said, looking over her shoulder with a wink.
Shaking my head, I followed her over to the table.
“So you need my special leaves to keep his root soft, eh? Keep that bastard away from you?”
When she looked up, I shook my head. That wasn’t why I came today.
I’d used herspecial leavesmany times, fearing that he’d begin to make the connection that he only lost desire on the nights he drank the overly aromatic tea I made for him. But he hadn’t come to me in many months, thank the gods. Not since he bought Roza. And some nights, his appetite leaned toward Andreas.
I’d become numb for so long—accepting my fate—that I wondered what had awakened inside me to do something like this. It wasn’t long after I’d heard about the woman flying out of Rome on the back of her dragon lover that this compulsion overcame me. It was then that the thought of Valerius touching me became so abhorrent I’d become physically ill.
And last night. Something about meeting that senator.
You are going to protect me.
I’d told him that, but it had felt like another creature entirely whispering those words in the dark. I didn’t know where they’d come from or why I’d said them. But they felt real. They felt true—in that moment. This morning, the pain felt sharp, my heart tender, my soul hollow. I simply couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Actually,” I started hesitantly, “I was hoping for something stronger. Like belladonna or hemlock.”
“I have hellebore,” she said slowly, “which works the same way.” She studied me, seeming to see right through my facade. Her face hardened, eyes narrowed. “Is this for him? Or for you?”
My brief pause was enough of an answer. I couldn’t lie to her, but I couldn’t seem to admit the truth.
“No,” she snapped. “You will not give up.”
I heaved a sigh, my breath steaming the chain-link bridle draped over my mouth. “I can’t do this anymore, Euphemia,” I pleaded.“Please.”
“Yes, you can.” She clutched my wrist. “You must.” She snapped her attention down to where she held me. “What’s this?”
I looked down, wondering what she meant, but she was staring into my eyes. “You’re going on a long journey, are you?”
I huffed a mirthless laugh. “Are you torturing me now?” My gut twisted. “That’s unkind. You know I can’t go anywhere.”
“Hush, girl. I sense something heavy. We must know more. Sit down.” And though she was much smaller than me, she pushed me onto a stool beside the worktable.
Her brow furrowed as she scrambled quickly, grabbing a white, flat clay plate with a rim around the rectangular edges. She hurried to the chicken pen, opened it, snatched one up, and returned, pulling a knife from somewhere in her skirts.
“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
