“I need to get Anton breakfast.”
“Your Highness, please …” She doubled forward, biting her tongue against a sharp pang in her stomach. She always had horrible visits from the red lady—worse than her other friends. While they complained of bad moods and faint headaches, she spent three days doubled over in the washroom, vomiting into the sink. Sometimes, it was difficult to walk or talk through the pain. But she’d never missed a single day of work, even when the headaches blinded her or her back throbbed.
Asherton whirled on her. “Heavens, Devney, what’s wrong …” His voice trailed off. “This red lady of yours is brutal.”
Magdala glared at him, but her stomach twisted, and she threw up in the weeds.
“Good grief!” Asherton cried. “Is that normal?”
Magdala’s hair, which she hadn’t had time to braid, fell into her face as she heaved a second time. Asherton lifted it and held it behind her back.
“I’m fine,” she panted.
“You look it,” he remarked dryly.
She straightened and he released her hair, then wiped his hands on his shirt as if touching her had left a residue. “This happens every month?”
“Yes.”
“And you get the day off work, of course. Because you shouldn’t have to work like this.”
Magdala let out a bark of laughter. “Typically, no one even knows.”
He cocked his head. “It’s not as though it’s your fault. You said it happens to every woman.”
“Yes. Well, it’s worse for me, I think, than most.”
“Then why don’t you get the day off? For rest.”
“I don’t need rest, I just need you to get this thing off my leg!” She pointed to Anton, who was nuzzling her thigh with his heavy green jaw.
“Let him hug you. You’ll feel better.”
“I don’t want a hug. I want to do this awful, awful job in peace.”
Asherton chuffed and turned, making for the greenhouse again. “Go take a nap, Mags.”
“I don’t need a nap!” she shouted after him. “And don’t call me Mags!”
He spun around, walking backward. “I will stay here, where you can see me from your window. Rest in your cot, with a shotfire in your lap. If anyone comes near me, you can shoot them.”
It did sound nice. Sitting still for half an hour, without Asherton’s chafing presence. “You have to keep the plant.”
Asherton shook his head and threw up his hands. “Fine, fine, don’t find comfort in an innocent creature wholovesyou. I can see how that would be upsetting for you.” He hoisted Anton onto his shoulder. “Come, Anton, Mama needs her beauty rest.”
With that, he walked to the greenhouse like a father with a troublesome toddler, and an image flashed through Magdala’s mind of Asherton holding a little girl with red braids.
She nearly threw up again.
Chapter 18
After selecting two heavy books from the bookshelf—one on the history of faerie stones, and one on poisons and potents—Magdala curled up on her cot and laid the books on the windowsill beside her long dragon bone shotfire. The casement stood open, and a humid breeze, heavy with wildflower perfume, cooled her brow.
The first book proved dull, waxing eloquent about legends of a string of faerie stone statues that connected the three kingdoms. Bored, Magdala opened the second book and flipped to the page on amenite. It read:
Commonly known as amenite, or truth tandy, this innocent mushroom can be ground into a powder and poured into a drink. When ingested, amenite forces its ingester to tell nothing but pure truths for one full minute. It can also be mixed with water to form a paste and administered into the bloodstream via a cut or puncture. After a full minute, however, amenite turns…
A movement caught Magdala’s eye and, glancing down, she saw Asherton emerge from the greenhouse. Magdala studied him, trying to picture him in a month—a barefooted king with his crown jammed over disordered curls, his clothing stained with potting soil. But the thought ofAsherton dressed in clean velvet, his hair waxed and his jaw cleanly shaven, filled her with inexplicable sadness.
