“And how do you know I have not been drinking heavy cream from dawn till dusk? I do spend much of my time in the greenhouse. And I do love my sweets.” Kehinde reached for the plate of biscuits and popped one in his mouth. He grinned.
“It is impossible.”
“So certain you are that it’s impossible. If that is so, then how do I do it? How do you reconcile what you saw with what you believe?”
Elswyth paused. She folded her hands in her lap and then looked away. “Magic.”
“Magic,” Kehinde repeated slowly.
“I have no other ideas. Perhaps… perhaps there is some mystical power that people in Africa have that we in England do not.”
Kehinde sighed. He wrapped his hands around the steaming cup of tea. “I suppose that you are young. You have not seen very much of the world, so I will not hold it against you. Although it is disappointing, for one of your intellect. But you are not the first person to insinuate it. When Europeans build impossible machines, of course it is technology. But when another civilization creates something that Europeans cannot conceive of, it ismagic. I assure you, Elswyth, there is no magic here, or anywhere. The Ebony follows the same laws of nature as everything else in our world. The Order of the Iron Grove has just discovered a technique—a technology—that the English have not. But Europeans are so convinced of their own superiority that they must write the knowledge and accomplishments of other civilizations away as magic.” He waved a hand dismissively.
The Ebony,she thought,the name of his armor, like the tree. But what is the Iron Grove?
“Still,” Elswyth said, trying to sound casual, “if my goal is to learn defense, as you’ve insisted, it would seem that this Ebony would be the best thing to learn. What is a better defense than skin that can turn any blade, deflect any bullet?”
“You would not be able to create my armor.”
“But you’ve just said that I am an unusually powerful—”
Kehinde spoke over her, in a tone of voice that let her know the conversation was finished. “I said you will not learn it. I trained for years to master the secrets of the Ebony. It is sacred, and it is not for you.” The harshness in his voice shocked her. He looked at her with hard eyes, his usual levity vanishing.
“Apologies, Kehinde,” Elswyth said. “I didn’t mean any offense. I promise, truly. I will not ask again.”
Kehinde looked at her, at her hair, her skin, her gown. Then henodded. Elswyth, uncertain how to proceed after the sudden awkwardness, said: “But… if you are not going to teach me to defend myself with armor, what will you teach me instead?”
“Patience, Miss Elderwood.”
“I see no reason to postpone. If I am to learn to defend myself, then we should begin as soon as possible.”
“I agree,” Kehinde said.
“Then let us begin.” Elswyth stood, flattening the folds of her nightgown.
“And where are you going?” Kehinde asked, amused.
“I don’t suppose I am to learn self-defense sitting down. Aren’t you going to teach me to fire thorns from my fingers? Summon vines to ensnare my enemies?”
“Eventually. But those techniques are advanced, and while quite flashy, they’re also inefficient. Consuming the vitæ it takes to summon strong vines can be lethal without the proper training—you’re as likely to perish as your opponent. But there are other ways to defend yourself, with even the smallest amounts of vitæ.”
Elswyth considered and then took her seat again. “I see. What, then?”
Kehinde raised a finger. His fingertip turned green, then black, and a thorn sprouted there, curling into a claw. A single bead of clear liquid glistened at the tip.
“The vitæ it took to summon this droplet is less than the smallest flower. And yet within it is enough poison to kill a man ten times over.” He flicked his finger and the thorn shot past Elswyth’s head, embedding in the pillar behind her. She flinched as she heard it whisper past her ear.
“A poisoner,” she said, regaining her composure. “I see. I suppose I am not strong enough to fight any other way. What is it theysay? A poisoner is either a weakling, a woman, or a coward. I suppose I shall be all three.”
“Is the viper a coward? The bee, the ivy? Poison exists everywhere in nature because it is useful. And a viper can kill a lion, no matter how small it seems.”
“I told you I am not a killer, Kehinde. Not anymore.”
Kehinde’s eyes traced her scar. “And I will not force you to be. I only hope that should the need arise, you will defend yourself by any means necessary. I do not know if the Reaper deserves to die. But I believe thatyoudeserve to live.”
“Thank you, Kehinde. For understanding.”
He nodded solemnly. “Regardless, poisons are not limited to the lethal variety. There are plants that can make a man confused, or angry, or invoke unbearable pain. There are those that can render him unconscious or make him more alert. There are even combinations of herbs that can make a man lustful or give him strange visions… There are poisons that force a man to tell the truth or to obey your commands. With a touch of the hand, with a kiss on the cheek, you can bring any man, no matter how deadly, to his knees.”
