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Before Madam Dahlia’s, before Mr. Crawly’s, before death and debt ruled my life, there was my mother’s hand guiding mine. She taught me how to bruise leaves to release their oil. She taught me how to make salve. How to hang herbs, make broth, and to tell when a root was ready by the way it sounded when it snapped. She taught me how to make tinctures and broths that could cure anything with enough time.

I crush the feverfew leaves with the flat of a stone against the workbench surface, grinding them into a rough paste and scraping it into a clay bowl. The scent floods the small space as I add a splash of water from the jug the boy brought me.

I separate the yarrow, needing the flower heads for a fever tonic and the leaves for a poultice. The flower heads go into a different bowl.

Finding a small cauldron, I pour water into it and set it over a brazier that hasn’t been used in years, then I light a few pieces of coal from a huge bag I found on a shelf. The coals glow red beneath the bowl, licking heat into the metal. It doesn’t take long until the first bubbles pop at the surface.

I work without stopping. Bowl after bowl. Tincture after tincture. My hands stain green, purple, and brown. Fever tonics. Chest salve. A garlic-and-rosemary poultice for drawing infection. Chamomile infusions for sleep and pain.

It isn’t enough, but it is more than they had yesterday. My hands shake from exertion, but I don’t need magic to make these remedies, meaning this cost me nothing that I can’t recover from by tonight.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.” Eagan’s voice comes from the door.

I don’t look up from the crate I’m securing, tucking the dried grass tighter around the bowls to keep them from shifting. “I was in bed. Now I’m not.”

“I can see that.” He steps into the vault, his boots quiet against the stone, and stops at the edge of the workbench. His gaze moves across the stained bowls.

“The king is looking for you,” he says.

“Tell him he can meet me in the infirmary.”

When I glance up, the corner of Eagan’s mouth has lifted in a way that transforms his usually rigid face into something almost human.

“You do enjoy ordering him around when he is not present.”

“Well, he can’t argue if he’s not here to hear it,” I say, lifting the crate.

Eagan takes the crate from me, but before I can protest, he’s already out the door.

“Do we have tallow or any animal fat?” I ask, following briskly beside him.

Eagan peers down at me as he slows his pace to match mine. “Yes, I’m not sure how much, though we do usually store it.”

“Beeswax?” I ask hopefully.

“That might be harder, but it’s not impossible. I know the king has some beeswax candles stored for safe keeping, not sure if they’ll help.”

“I need them for salves. How many does he have? I would need to shave off pieces and use it sparingly.”

“Maybe a dozen, just like honey, they are rare these days.”

“Well hopefully now we have fields the king might be able to find a hive to transport back here.”

Eagan nods slowly. “Potentially, but I doubt the Elven King will give up any hives without questions, and I’m sure his price would be high.”

“What about Purgatory Island? I know my old madam used to have three hives around her property, not that she ever let us try the honey,” I say bitterly. “She couldn’t sell it, either. Only a few people knew of her hives because it was illegal to keep bees without a permit from the Crown.”

Eagan’s brow furrows. “Beekeeping was a crime under Zander’s rule?”

I shake my head. “Not exactly. On Purgatory, honey is more valuable than gold, and if something was scarce or held value, King Zander took more than half. If he had known of her hidden hives, she would have been killed for treason.”

Eagan is quiet in thought as we walk.

“If we could visit Purgatory, we could take them. I doubt she would refuse if the alternative is facing King Zander.”

“Why wouldn’t she just report the hives and pay the levy instead of risking her life?” he asks.

“Greed, I assume. She was always known for her beauty products and perfumes and how sweet they smelled. People would trade anything to get their hands on her balms and lotions.” Eagan nods slowly.