“Stop it, girl. Stop.”
I returned with a gasp to the burrow, frozen to the bone, fighting for breath as if I’d been drowning in a moorlake. I clasped the table with white knuckles. The plants were black with death.
“You cannot fight it,” said Almira sharply. “Whatever thought poisons your mind, let it come. Let it come, make peace with it, let it go. It is a part of you. You must accept it. Once you accept it, it will cease its power over you.”
Her voice became distant—like words spoken into a pillow. A shrill ring in my ears set me reeling. I steadied myself with a hand on the sill, but the world swirled and swirled and…
“Go home, girl,” Almira snapped. “Come back when you are rested.”
I staggered with blurred vision through the bustling streets, pressing the coat’s sleeve firmly against my bleeding palm. Noone paid me much heed, too distracted by their late-afternoon business of drinking tea and eating pastries. I did not remember climbing the stone steps or passing through Lorell’s garden but I found myself, quite suddenly, stumbling into warmth and sinking into a fireside chair.
Beside me came a rustle. Adrik untangled my palm from the coat and mustered it with a snarl. “Almira did this?”
There was such murder in his gaze, I felt inclined to defend her. “She grows weak,” I murmured. “I must learn quickly.”
“Not by sacrificing your health.”
“Perhaps you should heed your own words,king,” I snapped with a glance at the shadows on his face. I ignored his irritated glower. “If this is the cost of saving the town, I will bear it thrice over.”
Adrik remained sullen while he gathered tinctures and a bandage from the kitchen, but his hands were tender with mine as he cleaned and wrapped the cuts.
“Zora has offered me her spare room,” I said just to ease the tension.
“Ah,” he said with pretend surprise and a pained grimace. Zora must have told him already. “That is nice of her.”
“You are the worst liar I know.”
He groaned. “It feelsunpleasant—like pulling a nail from its bed. A matter of the half-faerie blood, I reckon.”
Later, as we dug into the meal Adrik had conjured—honeyed ham, and vegetables served with herbed goat cheese—I noticed Lorell was more withdrawn than usual. He picked at his food and glared unseeingly at the bread basket.
“The baker’s pastries are delicate.”
The compliment came with an unexpected side of venom and brightly flushed cheeks. Lorell flinched a little and attacked his ham with fork and knife, refusing to look up.
“Is that a problem?” I asked cautiously.
He dropped his cutlery with a huff. “It is not a problem, girl. I was simply wondering how he does it. I remember that his hands are large. He is tall and strong. It seems strange that his baking is delicate.”
He resumed his battle against the ham with fervor, leaving Adrik and me to eat for a while in stunned silence. I supposed I’d done Lorell wrong. He possessed, it seemed, not a particular fondness for bread and tartlets, but for the man who baked them.
I stood at dusk in a charming little chamber, glaring at the stick of incense in my mangled palm.
Zora had collected me after supper with a basket of chocolate tartlets. Lorell had accepted them with a thankless grumble and he’d huffed when I slid my arms around his shoulders before I left. I’d not expected it, but he’d returned my embrace with some feeling.
“Thank you,” I’d whispered.
“It was no trouble, girl, no trouble at all.”
We had arrived at sunset at the teahouse, Zora and I, and climbed a winding staircase to her home on the upper floor. It was a small, bright place of two chambers and a parlor. The dusklight wove a pink blush into lacy curtains and frilled cushions, and though I’d never been to the chambers of noble ladies, I imagined Zora’s home looked quite like one: gilded flowers adorned the furniture, rose bouquets crowded shelves and tables, and against the far wall stood a richly marbled hearth with two plush chairs. A pair of flutes played softly as they floated around the parlor and as we walked past, lanternslit themselves as needed. Zora had woven her magic into every corner of the place.
Night had fallen while I stood with the incense in hand, staring at the sickly flame in the hearth. Zora had left to let me unpack and I’d come across Adrik’s gift at the bottom of my satchel.
Even unlit, it smelled of lavender and lemon and of the tides.
Twice, I’d almost lit the incense and lost my courage. What if the spirits spurned me still? What if I invited them, but they never answered? What if the hearth remained cold, as it had for six bleak winters?
As strange as a hag and twice as mad.
