Chapter 10
he nocturn keeps Dante sedated until about an hour before dawn, when I get abruptly awoken by a small furry assailant pouncing onto my face. A semiconscious scramble ensues, during which I get twisted in the sheets and topple off the bed before realizing I’m not being attacked by a tiny assassin.
Dante retreats to a corner as I untangle myself, rubbing the sore spot on my tailbone where I crashed onto the stone floor. The fox sinks onto his haunches and stares at me while I stand up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Well,” I grumble, “good morning to you, too.”
He’s ripped off his bandages. When I step toward him, he growls.
“Unbelievable.” I stop, frowning. “You should be thanking me! I saved your life!”
He just blinks at me suspiciously, tail flicking.
I sigh. “Hungry?”
I put my kerchief back on to fetch him some breakfast and take him out to tend to his needs. But when we start to leave, I find a letter slid under my door. It’s from Finn, informing me that he’s been called off again on official business and is unsure when he can return.
I read it carefully before shoving it into my pocket.
I’d like to have it with me on what’s sure to be a difficult day.
Tonight, I’m supposed to meet with the queen and report on my progress making the omnidraught.
After last night’s sadistic display, I might prefer a pleasure swim in shark-infested waters.
Worse than my apprehension, though, is the memory of what I did.
I completely lost control of my Talent, something I swore I would never do again.
Covering my tracks after Finn left took the better part of last night.
It’s nothing short of a miracle that my lapse occurred under cover of night, and in private.
I don’t even want to consider the alternatives.
If I slipped like that in a room full of people…
Dealing with Dante takes much longer than I anticipated, and I’m running late by the time I head to the hospital.
I’m not looking forward to explaining my tardiness to Cygnus.
But upon arrival, I discover his office empty.
After poking around, I determine he’s in surgery with one of the soldiers who was injured in the ambush with Finn.
It seems he’s forgotten to assign my chores in the chaos.
On the staging floor, I overhear a pair of nurses gossiping about a fire that broke out in the gardens in the wee hours of the morning.
No one was hurt, and the blaze was extinguished quickly, but not before it devoured several trees.
Apparently, they recovered a pipe amid the charring.
There’s a lively debate about who it might have belonged to.
I listen with a smile, then hurry to the storehouse to prepare for my meeting with the queen.
It takes the better part of the day to compile a list of the ingredients I need sourced to complete the omnidraught.
Some, like cliffcrow feathers, I can forage myself.
But there’s a long list of specialized items, including unicorn hair and dragon scales, that must be sourced from illegal markets.
Though I am not sure if it counts as an illegal market if the Crown’s buying, considering they make the laws.
Fortunately, my meeting with the queen is quicker than expected.
When I show her the list of ingredients, she just nods and hands it to one of her soldiers.
I hoped I could convince her to let me travel to the quarantine zone for additional research, but she insists there’s no need to leave the palace.
Feeling a little miffed, I do my best to smile and thank her for her generosity.
The ingredients arrive with remarkable swiftness.
A sack of dragon scales appears in the storehouse within days of my request. The other items trickle in within the following week.
Sourcing the flowers is the biggest challenge, because it quickly becomes apparent that whomever Davina tasked with finding them is clueless.
I asked for meadowblood and dillfeather and grizzlefoot, but they deliver locoweed and toadflax and thistles.
Eventually, I have to sketch and paint diagrams so that they’ll stop mixing up shapes and colors.
When the correct flowers finally arrive a few days later, they’re delivered in huge crates packed with ice. As I unpack, I have to chuckle at their methodology. The plants were dug up root and stem. In some cases, they even included the dirt.
I’m given much more than I need, so I set aside the surplus to replant.
Daisy volunteers to help clean up Ragglestaff’s old gardens, full of chatter.
I even sneak Dante outside, and he runs laps around our feet as we work.
Over the past few days, the little fox and I have become inseparable, and he appears to have given me his full loyalty in exchange for daily meals and lots of pets.
Daisy and I salvage what we can and prepare the new plants.
But after encountering the Head Gardener one sunny afternoon, I’m deflated to learn that Cygnus has to sign off on planting anything new in the medicinal terraces.
I tell Daisy at dinner, and she just rolls her eyes and tells me to go ahead and ask him. She tends to think I’m being too hard on Cygnus; I think she’s biased by a crush. I have to talk to Cygnus. I return to the hospital after dinner, determined.
I catch him late, after it’s cleared out.
There’s a serenity to the hospital after hours that I find calming.
One can really appreciate the chamber’s scale and symmetry when it’s nothing but sleeping patients and the odd night nurse.
The shadows paint everything in shades of blue, and I love how the southern windows gaze out over the twinkling city.
I’m busy admiring the view when I hear the clip-clop of familiar footsteps.
An exhausted-looking Cygnus is aimed for his office.
I hurry after him, arriving in time to see him yank a decanter off the shelf. He pops off the lid and pours out a glass before noticing me.
“Can I help you?” His voice sounds like gravel.
“Sorry.” I start to retreat. “I can come back later.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” He waves me in. “Believe it or not, I’d actually like the company.”
I cautiously enter and sit, wondering when the world turned upside down.
“Did you run out of insults?” I ask, only half joking.
He returns a faint smile. “Would you like a glass?”
“No, thank you.”
He downs the liquor in a single swig. Then pours another.
“Long day?” I guess.
Cygnus sits behind his desk, letting out a lengthy exhale. “Have you ever seen something that made you rethink the profession?” he asks after a beat.
The question surprises me. Partly for its vulnerability, partly for the acknowledgment that I’m in the same profession—not a glorified consort.
“Yes,” I say truthfully. “It was…it was years ago. But yes.”
As the memory rises, shame spears my chest, just as white-hot as the day it happened. I can still hear the woman’s voice, still feel her living flesh cool in my hands.
Monster.
“Afterward, I really wasn’t sure if I should ever be a Healer,” I say. Recalling the incident feels like scraping an old wound. I haul in a deep breath to temper my Talent.
Cygnus watches me for a moment, then sips. I’m tempted to ask him the same. But when has he ever been receptive to questions?
“Was there something you wanted?” He shifts.
“Yes, actually.” I procure a short list of flowers and herbs and slide them across his desk.
“I’ve been working on a project for the queen, and she sourced several plants for the draught I’m making.
They’re all mountain flowers with powerful properties.
If we planted them here, we could ease off our reliance on Sulnik. ”
Cygnus sighs before picking up the list I’ve offered. He only skims it for a few seconds. “I’m not authorizing it.”
“What?” My skin heats. “Why?”
“I said no.” He flicks the list back toward me.
Gods, he reminds me of Mother.
“You don’t even have to do anything!” I argue. “I just need your permission to plant them!”
“Do you even know what these are?”
“Yes! I’ve been using these plants my entire life!”
“I didn’t ask if you knew how to use them. I asked if you knew what they are.”
“YES! Grizzlefoot, meadowblood, nocturn—”
“These are wellsprung flowers.”
I gape at him. “What?”
“Wellsprung flowers. That’s the term you learn in healing school for plants used in traditional Elven medicine. They require different preparation methods, different growing techniques, and different tools.” His eyes narrow.
“I—I didn’t know.” I feel sick.
“Right.” He stands. “We don’t grow those flowers in our medicinal gardens because our staff doesn’t know how to use them, because they are forbidden.
So, you can go right ahead and plant them, but you’ll be simultaneously painting a sign on your forehead that says My mother taught me how to use illegal medicine. ”
I rise as he stalks toward the door, then opens it. “If you’ll excuse me, Lyria, I’ve had enough company for one evening.”
I start to leave but pause in the hallway. “Cygnus…”
“Yes?”
I gaze into his eyes and find them frigid and depthless.
“Never mind.”
I spend a very long night churning with mortification.
I had no idea how close I came to revealing my identity.
Part of me is furious at Mother for never clarifying which parts of our potioneering could damn me, but eventually it occurs to me that she simply never knew.
Mother studied potioneering centuries ago.
Of course there’d be different terminology now, and divergences in the discipline.
It’s not like she’s had access to a university since the war.
I push my resentment aside to focus on my task. In the storehouse, I start the distillation process while I make calculations. If all goes well, I should finish the omnidraught by Verdinae’s biggest holiday, midsummer.