Magdala attacked the first-level floors like she held a personal vendetta against the carpets. She scrubbed until the sun was high overhead and her shirt stuck to her back.
With each scrape of her brush, she tried to forget about purple Magdala flowers left in old books. She tried to shake the dream of her parents shouting, “Lie down and we will cross over on your back,” from her mind. She scrubbed away the memory of Asherton’s autumn-forest gaze, warm with a kinship she did not invite.
When her arms threatened to give out, she dumped the dirty water in the garden and returned to the second story to check on Asherton.
He was already coming down the hall, his hands in his pockets. He looked grave. When he saw her, a shadow crossed his face.
“Did you finish …” she began, but he cut her off.
“I have a question for you, actually,” he said.
Magdala raised her eyebrows, but her heart stilled and she tried to remember where she’d stowed the amenite. What if he’d found it? What if he knew?
Her conscience struck her. The magic from the Magdala flower still tickled her palm.
Asherton led the way back to the bedroom and pointed out one of the chairs by the fireplace. Magdala sat, her stomach in knots.
The room was very clean. Magdala was impressed—she hadn’t been optimistic about its fate. Asherton crossed to his bedside table and took a glass jar from the drawer.
“I found this,” he said.
Magdala let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the amenite.
“It’s Lucent Pine sap,” he said flatly. “Now, how did that find its way into your bag?”
Magdala’s jaw dropped. “What are you doing in my bag?”
“Answer me, please. Or I will call Zephyr.”
“Obviously someone wants you to think it’s mine,” Magdala protested. “But it isn’t. Why would I bait the plant and then save you from it?”
Asherton sat on her cot and gazed at her for a long time. “What is your game, Devney?”
“I’m not trying to assassinate you! If I was, why haven’t I done it?”
“That’s what I’m wondering, too.”
Magdala fought back her guilt by reminding herself, again, that Asherton murdered Julian and displaced her family.
But, he hadn’t really murdered Julian, had he? If Julian attacked him first …
“Explain this.” He held up thejar again.
Magdala sighed. “I didn’t do that. Someone must have put it in my bag.”
“If I tell Zeph about this ...”
“No.” Magdala gulped. “Zephyr is fiercely protective of you. He’ll claim I’m the assassin and send me home in shackles.”
“Are you the assassin, Mags?”
“Of course not!” Here she was again, between Asherton and a noose. She wished she had given him the amenite on the first day. Her compassion had been her undoing. “Please, Your Highness … Asherton … I didn’t put the sap on your clothes. I think I’ve proven that.”
Asherton turned the bottle between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re right about Zeph. But Magdala, how could an assassin get this into your bag? How could they even get into the house? It’s impossible.”
Magdala remembered the ghost, the footsteps in the walls, the wailing on the grounds. “Secret passageways?”
Asherton rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”
