Page 23 of Veil of Web and Ruin

It would all have been for nothing.

I try to swallow the lump that’s forcing its way up my throat. I guess I’m going to be more involved in this murder than I planned.

I wonder if the Goddess would have left those leaves stuck to my shoe if she’d known.

Chapter 10

Iexpect it to be a long, winding route to Rula’s home, but surprisingly, Jack has taken me nearly to her front door. We’re only a few steps down the alley when Rula unlocks a large array of padlocks and lets us into her abode.

The instant I step into the room, I’m hit with a blast of heat, and rather than observe my surroundings, my mind rushes back through memories to a time long ago when this kind of warmth was once my normal.

A time when my little brother was alive, and my life was filled with laughter. Hope. A future.

That’s why I’m here, I remind myself. To try to get Kay a future again.

Maybe not the type we believed we would experience growing up, filled with balls, dire wolves, and all the wonder of the High Hold, but a future with full bellies, warmth each night, and enough money to stop people like Rula from using us to perform her nefarious deeds.

‘How long will this take?’ she asks, gesturing to a small stove in the corner of the room. ‘I have people keeping him entertained, but I don’t want him getting restless, deciding he needs to leave.’

‘It shouldn’t take too long,’ I reply. ‘I need some water, though alcohol’s better if you’ve got it. And a pan you don’t mind chucking out after. Oh, and a vial to put it in.’

‘I’m sure I have something you can use.’

As she moves towards the kitchenette and starts opening cupboards, my eyes fall on a large bowl next to the stove. It’s piled high with fruit. Crisp apples, dimpled pears. My mouth salivates at the very sight of them. I’m not sure I can even remember what an apple tastes like.

Sweet, I remember that much. Sweet and cool.

‘I’m sure I’ll have a couple to spare if you do this for me,’ she says with a smile that looks warm. But I already know there’s more ice in her veins than even the Issen have.

Spurred by the promise of fruit and trying to ignore the crippling unease that threatens to paralyse me when I consider what I’m about to do, I move over to the stove, taking the vial – which I’m pretty sure is one of my own – from Rula as I go.

‘I need a knife, too,’ I tell her as I reach for my bag. ‘And a chopping board. And something to cover my hands. Gloves.’

‘That seems a little excessive,’ she replies.

‘Unless you want me to render my hands useless so that I can’t finish this … brew, let alone ever make you another, I’d consider it more of a necessity.’ My voice snaps more than anticipated, and though snapping at Rula is never a good idea, I’m so tired that I’d almost certainly injure myself if I tried making the poison without gloves.

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I’m sure I’ve got some lying about.’

As she begins to rummage in a trunk, I take my first proper look around the room.

Warmth and fruit aren’t the only items that convey Rula’s status and wealth. Her bed is a soft mattress with a fur blanket, and there are several other furs hanging on pegs on the wall by the door. Hats, scarves, muffs …

They’re luxuries I can’t ever imagine being able to afford again.

And then there are the locks on the doors. Sure, I barricade our house as much as possible so that what little we have can’t be stolen, but here is a proper door, with bolts on the top, bottom, and in the middle, not to mention a large chain that wraps around the centre. No one is getting in here without her permission.

‘These do?’ she asks, holding out a pair of thin woollen gloves. There are holes in the tip of the middle finger and in a couple of the knuckles, but the knit is tight. If I’m careful, I should be able to avoid any contact with the hemlock. The last thing I want is any giveaway boils or rashes to alert Kay or, worst-case scenario, the knights.

‘They should work.’

As I set to work, it takes all my focus to remain on task. If I’d known exactly what I’d be doing, I would have spent the time with Ruben this afternoon sleeping instead.

Well, maybe I wouldn’t, but I probably should have.

The matriarch takes a seat – a cushioned one, I can’t help but notice – in the corner of the room and watches on as I cut the leaves into thin strips, which I then place into the pan, dousing them with alcohol before I set it onto the heat. A low simmer only. Enough to extract the poison but not denature it. That’s what I hope, at least. That’s how it works with other brews.

‘It needs to simmer for a little while,’ I explain.