I obediently read it.
Ingredients:
2 cups water
Rinds from five limes
5 tbsp crushed lentils
3 drops brittlebrush oil
1 tsp azoola extract
Directions:
Pour in water and bring to a simmer. Drop in rinds, thinly sliced. Mix crushed lentils with brittlebrush oil and add the mixture to the cauldron. Let potion sit for five minutes before splashing azoola extract. Stir counterclockwise for three minutes. Let the potion rest for ten minutes.
“Is that all?” I said, bewildered. It looked like something straight out of Theodora’s cookbook, except for the strange ingredients I had never heard of. “Can’t humans make potions too, if they have all the ingredients?”
“Of course not,” Lana said. “It may seem as straightforward as any recipe, but only witches can truly bind these ingredients together in a way that makes them work. You will find that you pour some of yourself—your own magic, that is—into the cauldron every time you make a potion.”
I nodded, though not fully comprehending. Pouring a bit of myself into a cauldron did not sound appealing.
“Well? What are you standing around for?” Lana said. “Fetch the water.”
Grabbing an empty pitcher, I went to the faucet again, grumbling quietly so Lana wouldn’t hear. I simplyhadto figure out how to levitate objects.
By the time I filled the cauldron, I realized why Lana compared potion making to cooking. On paper, the instructions seemed easy enough. The challenge was carrying them out.
“You’re slicing them too thickly.”
I fumbled with the scalpel and went back to a thicker piece rind. I ended up slicing off a miniscule portion, nearly impaling the tip of my finger in the process. My cheeks burned.
The witch made a noise at the back of her throat. “Never mind that. The water is simmering.”
I scraped the lime rinds into the cauldron. They landed with a splash, sending a few drops into the fire. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
“The lentils and brittlebrush oil.” Lana motioned to the counter. “Not a moment to waste. And please be careful with the oil. That is my only vial.”
I glanced at the glass vial that was no larger than my thumb. I decided to handle the lentils first. “You can’t get more?” I measured out the five tablespoons and poured them into a mortar.
“Supplies are hard to come by. Even the witch-made ones,” Lana said. “Plants with magical properties are overlooked in favor of growing regular crops, which don’t turn out well anyhow.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“Oh,” I managed to say. My hands shook as I dropped three drops of the bright green oil. The scent was a mix of peppermint and chives. It fizzed when it soaked into the lentils. I immediately screwed the cap back on and began crushing the concoction with a pestle.
Witch Village was in trouble. The way Lana made it sound, they were worse off than they were in the past. My thoughts strayed to the royals. Did they know how witches are living? Would they care if they knew? Would Ash care if he knew?
I hesitated. Surely his opinion of witches would not be favorable if he finds out the queen was ill with a witch-made poison. I ground the mixture harder. There was no way I could tell him what I knew without exposing myself.
The next best thing was to prove Duchess Wilhelmina guilty.
Lana made it clear the week before she did not condone meddling in human affairs, especially royal affairs. But I was determined. I had scoured my potion-making book for something that may help, but to no avail. My last resort was to ask Lana.
“I’ve been wondering,” I said, keeping my voice casual, “how many kinds of potions are there?”
“There are many. Herbwitches invent new ones every day.”
“Is there a potion that just...kills?”
