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When I reach our encounter with the witch, Veradin waves a dismissive hand. “The witches are a disparate coven. Wanderers mostly. They drift through the mountains, meddling where they don’t belong, speaking in riddles to make themselves seem more significant than they are.” He takes a long drink of tea. “Of no real consequence. Best ignored.”

The words are meant to soothe, but they land wrong. If the event were so inconsequential, why did he bother stopping me to say so? He didn’t even ask for more information about Marcus, the man in the hut, or the invisible monster. What was different about this witch?

Once I finish recounting everything, I stare at my teacup.

Across the table, Agnar slathers butter over a slice of bread. Either he didn’t notice Veradin’s odd response, or else he did and doesn’t care.

I force myself to break the silence. “The Withering is spreading faster than anyone expected. We saw it in multiple villages. Fields going gray. Infected animals. Some refugees told us more about that other strain of the Withering…or maybe it’s a different affliction altogether. The Hushing Sickness. We’re not sure if there’s a connection. People lose themselves. They become violent and struggle to remember who they are. They carve their names into their skin and have strange wounds on their neck. We saw it too. It’s…” I wrap my arms around myself to suppress a shiver, “terrifying.”

Veradin taps his chin. “I⁠—”

“Esme claims the Everhand can cure the Withering.”

My head whips toward Agnar, fury sparking hot in my chest. How dare he interrupt my mentor and speak out of turn. I open my mouth to snap that polite guest behavior doesn’t involve cutting off your hosts.

Veradin answers before I can. “And she’s right. That’s why its loss is so catastrophic. Without it, we have no way to stop the kingdom’s slow death.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Agnar

Years of war and people trying to kill me in increasingly creative ways have taught me that guests often face more danger than anyone else.

I can’t afford the luxury of trust, especially not at a table with the man who trained Esme. She turned on me every chance she got and smiled sweetly while she did so.

No matter how warm the tea, how generous the meal, or how nicely these two converse, this is still enemy territory. People don’t untie dangerous prisoners unless they’re very confident in their ability to handle what happens next.

So I maintain a neutral expression and wait to see how this plays out. At the very least, I’m learning more about Esme and the order she works for.

In the interest of caution, I observe them both and eat only what they eat. I don’t relish the idea of bleeding out from my eyeballs or even spending all night in the bathing chamber puking.

I once served as Lark’s food taster, after her close call with a strawberry pastry and before she became the Queen of Tirene, so I recognize poisoning as a legitimate threat. When Esme tears off a hunk of bread, I break off some for myself, pausing until she takes a bite. After Veradin sips the tea, I pour a cup for myself.

Following this rule has kept me alive so far, but I’ve also built resistance to most poisons the hard way. I’d rather not test it, however.

After Esme finishes her debriefing and her teacher verifies she’s right about the Everhand, Veradin sets down his cup. “Follow me.”

I swallow another sip of tea, letting him see that I’m cooperative but not obedient. The difference matters. Only then do I rise. “Lead on.”

This is probably a trap.

I go anyway, because I need answers more than I need safety, and because I haven’t gotten this far by being too afraid to walk into obvious peril. Veradin might even give himself away through whatever questions he has for me.

And if they try anything funny, I’ll make them regret it. Veradin’s entire home is crafted from stone, after all. Though he might think we stand in his domain, we are, in fact, in mine.

Those crystals will make their corpses look so cheerful and pretty.

We cross the main cavern. Esme trails behind us, uncertainty written in her posture. She doesn’t know what her mentor’s planning either. Veradin guides us to the eastern wall and pushes aside an old, faded tapestry showing some nature scene that probably meant something once to press a button. A hidden latch clicks, and an entire section of wall swings inward on smooth, soundless hinges.

Obviously there’s a secret door. You can’t have an obscure magical society without shit like this.

“After you.” Veradin gestures with the kind of politeness that demands compliance.

I step through. If he wants to kill me, he’ll do so whether I go first or second. At least this way, I can see the killing ground before he pushes me into it.

The space opens into a laboratory so vast, the main cavern resembles a waiting room by comparison. Long tables fill the center, their surfaces cluttered with glass instruments I recognize and some I don’t. Beakers, flasks, and tubes connected in elaborate systems bubble and steam. Copper pots simmer over contained flames, releasing vapors that smell medicinal and slightly toxic. Shelves climb the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with bottles, jars, and containers of every size. More dried herbs hang from the ceiling in dense clusters. I can name a few from field medicine, but others remain completely foreign. Crystals arranged in geometric patterns adorn smaller tables, all of them pulsing with a faint light.

Bizarrely, a rock nestles on a plush cushion. When the rock lifts its head, I almost jump out of my skin.