My chest tightened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean?” But of course I did.
She moved closer, whispering and looking far too conspicuous. Luckily the sick mostly slept, and Margareta busied herself on the other side of the room.
“My grandmother said you would be here, that the witch’s daughter now worked in the convent.”
My fingers went numb, my mind reeling as the delusion of my hidden identity came crashing down around me.
“I don’t know what?—”
She shoved the basket into my hands. “The tincture you gave me. It’s been…it’s been a mercy. I use it most nights now. He drinks himself into a rage and then just…sleeps through it. Doesn’t even remember coming to bed.”
Most nights.
Panic now traced down my spine. “Greta, exactly how often are you giving it to him?”
“Four, maybe five times a week?” She said it like a question, as though she wasn’t sure if that was too much or not enough.
It was too much. Far too much.
“The dosage I gave you was meant for occasional use,” I said, this new worry overriding everything else. “Once, perhaps twice a week at most. If you’re using it that frequently?—”
“It’s the only way I can sleep,” Greta interrupted. Her hands twisted in her apron. “The only way I feel safe in my own bed. Surely that’sworth?—”
“It’s not about worth.” I took her hands and stilled them. “If he builds a tolerance, you’ll need to use more each time. And if you use too much…” I didn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t need to. Poppy and valerian were easily deadly.
Greta’s face twisted. “I’m being careful.”
“I know. I know you are. But please—” I squeezed her hands. “Use it sparingly. And if things worsen, if you need help, come to me. There are other ways.”
“Other ways.” She laughed, bitter and short. “You mean leave? Go where? Come here? My family would never allow it—they need that dowry money. And if I ran, what would I become? My husband may be a brute when he’s drunk, but at least I have a roof.”
The unfairness of it sat like stones in my stomach. That this world had been shaped to give her no options but to sleep next to a beast every night.
But Greta’s expression softened as she looked at me. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. You’ve done more for me than anyone.” She pulled her hands free and adjusted her shawl. “I’ll be more careful with the dosage. I promise.”
“Please.” I wanted to say more, to make her understand the danger. But what right did I have to lecture about danger when I was conducting my own reckless affair? When I was the one who had given her the potion. “Keep to the shadows, Greta. Don’t?—”
“I will.” She smiled, and it almost reached her eyes. “Thank you, for everything. For seeing me as more than just…than just another sinner getting what she deserves.”
She left before I could respond, slipping back out into the afternoon sun.
I stood there holding the basket of eggs, that cold worry still coiling in my gut. I should have refused to help her in the first place. I should have known this would happen—that mercy could twist into something dangerous, that helping could become harm.
But what was the alternative? Let her suffer? Let her husband break her bones as well as her spirit?
“You can’t save everyone,” Margareta said quietly from behind me. “And you can’t control what they do with the help you give them.”
“I know.” But knowing didn’t erase the fear that had once again wormed its way into my heart.
I set the basket aside and returned to my work, but the sinking feeling from earlier had dimmed. Outside, church bells rang for Vespers. Soon I would go to Heinrich, and he would touch me, and for a little while I could forget the constant danger.
For a little while, I could just want, and be wanted in return, and pretend that was enough to keep us both safe.
Chapter 16
Heinrich
The moon was full, lighting the stone path as I made my way down to the convent’s garden. It was nearly midnight, but I knew she would be there. She still did most of her work in the shadows, in the dark. She was still afraid.
