Page 21 of Veil of Web and Ruin

I want to say no. To tell her I need it. But how can I? There’s nothing more I can say. I laid all my cards on the table; I couldn’t have stated it more clearly.

With reluctance in every line of my body, I pass her my satchel. She opens it and takes out the small bag within it, mouth pressing into a hard line of disapproval.

‘Come on. I’ll walk you out,’ she says.

Rather than going out through the temple, we head to the garden wall. There’s no evidence of a gate or a door, but Dinah doesn’t need it. One of her powers allows her to walk through walls, and though she can’t take me with her, she can remove the obstacle from my path. She places her hand against the grey stone and a shimmer of light cascades down to the ground. A moment later, the stones fade to nothing.

‘I’m sorry, Rose,’ she says finally, and she does sound a little sorry, but not as much as I think she should, ‘but this is for the best. You know it is.’

I can’t respond. I don’t want to be angry, not at someone who has done so much for me, who is like family to me. But she’s chosen the Goddess over us, over Kay and me. But then, what else should I expect from a priestess?

Dinah gestures through the open doorway, a clear indication that it’s my time to leave. Without so much as a word, I step through the wall and onto the lawn outside. I stalk away, but then abruptly turn back. ‘My bag?’ I ask. It’s not like it’s worth anything as it’s old and tatty, but it’s useful, and in my situation that’s as much as I can ask for.

‘Of course,’ Dinah replies, throwing it to me lightly through the newly created doorway. As it leaves her hand, I realise priestesses don’t practise a lot of throwing. Or at least Dinah doesn’t. It drops to the ground far too quickly, about an equal distance between the wall and me.

I walk back to it and with a slight huff, I bend down to pick it up, only to stop. My heart stutters.

There, stuck on the tar-like gunk that covers my shoe, is a cluster of green. It’s the first handful of leaves I managed to snapoff. The one that dropped to the ground before I could get it into the bag.

It’s not a lot, but it’s at least five or six sizeable leaves.

Enough to brew one vial of poison.

Turns out the Goddess of Life has a more nuanced way of thinking after all.

My hands are trembling as I pick up my bag, wave jauntily to Dinah, and walk – very carefully – away from the garden wall.

Chapter 9

Once I am out of sight of Dinah, I use my sleeve to retrieve the leaves from my shoe and secure them in my bag. My heart drums, half with elation, half with fear, as I’m careful not to touch them. The last thing I want is to injure myself now, after all I’ve been through to get them.

I’ve succeeded.

After everything, I’ve got Rula her hemlock. Her poison to kill this bastard before he can hurt anyone else. Before another young woman like Talia becomes nothing more than a headstone in the earth. Now, I just need to get it to Rula before the night is over.

As helpful as it was for Dinah to allow me out of the garden through the wall, there’s still the old woman’s cloak I left by the entrance to the sewers. There’s no way I can not return it –not after she gave it so willingly – and it’s only a slight detour to pick up the item from where I left it by the drain.

It’s quick enough to grab, and I don’t bother putting it back on. The guards don’t care about people movingoutof the rings, and I don’t want to soil it with what is undoubtedly an increasingly awful stench.

Foul odour aside, my adrenaline remains high from my success, and I have to constantly fight the urge to check on the hemlock leaves and focus on getting back.

The quarter moon is low in the sky. Going to all this effort only to miss Rula’s midnight deadline is unthinkable.

The tavern in the fourth is busier than when I left and from the upturned chairs that scatter the space, at least one fight has broken out since I was gone.

A shudder of memories ripples through me. My father was never one to start fights, I’ll give him that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get caught up in them often enough.

Countless times he’d stumble home, blood streaming down his face, so numb from alcohol he was entirely unaware of the gaping gashes that littered his cheeks and brows, and I would have to sit there, cleaning out the wounds and trying to ensure Kay didn’t see him in such a state.

I’m sure no other woman who grew up in the courts has used her sewing skills on skin more than on fabric the way I have.

Pulling myself back into the moment and grateful that I missed whatever brawl took place, I scan the space for the old woman, determined to leave before the next one starts.

‘You looking for Ailia?’ I jump at the voice behind me and turn to find a barmaid with deep red hair and yellow eyes looking at me. ‘You’re looking for Ailia, right? She said you’d come to give her the cloak back?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I respond after a moment of confusion. Ailia. It’s not a name I’ve heard before, but given that the old woman was more than a little unique, it fits, somehow, for her to have a unique name to match. ‘Thank you.’

I take the cloak and hold it out to the barmaid, though she doesn’t take it. Instead, she nods to a table with an upturned chair.