Chapter 59
I’m halfway down the stairs when Misia calls out from the kitchen. “That better not be you showing your face.”
“I’d like some tea,” I say, not slowing. “I can’t sleep.”
She’s seated at the kitchen table, cleaning her fingernails with a dagger. Again, I think how lonely she must be. She doesn’t even have the comfort of books.
“If you drink tea, you’ll just need to use the bathroom,” she says.
“I’ll pee in a bucket.”
She doesn’t stop me because I don’t give her a chance to.
I stride to the stove and move the teapot to the front before bustling to the cupboard, reaching for the jar of dried peppermint leaves and a tea ball.
I stuff the aromatic mint into the ball and then drop it into a mug.
It feels like a million ants crawling beneath my clothes to behave normally, but I can’t rush out the door past her.
She wouldn’t hesitate to plunge that knife into some part of me that would be invisible beneath a wedding dress.
“I can make tea for you, too,” I say, aiming for nonchalance.
She chuckles. “I don’t trust you, little cook, not since your porridge sentenced Jarek and me to the shitter.”
Good. It did get Jarek. I hadn’t been sure.
“Suit yourself,” I say. “Have you seen the honey?”
She huffs. “You’re the one who rearranged my kitchen.”
I make a show of rustling through all the cupboards, finally locating the honeypot exactly where I’d put it. “Here it is!” I hold it up. “You sure you don’t want any?”
She’s gone back to cleaning her fingernails. “Positive.”
This is as good a chance as I’ll get. My back to her, I open the jar of Veronal crystals—the sleep aid provided by the Chemist—that I’d found when I first cleaned the kitchen.
I’ve only ever injected the drug as an anesthetic, one all Apothecaries keep primed in their kits in case of emergencies.
Too much can stop a heart, but I don’t know what an overdose looks like in crystal form.
I tip a small spoonful into the mug—a dose I’m reasonably confident won’t kill her—followed by a healthy measure of honey.
The teapot screams, making me jump. I nearly drop the Veronal jar but manage to keep my grip on it.
I reach for the hot water and pour it over the crystals and honey, dissolving both.
I use a spoon to stir the drink, the green-brown of the mint already seeping out of the ball.
Screwing the cap back on the remaining crystals, I tuck them and the honeypot into their cupboard.
“Is that mint?” Misia asks.
“Yep,” I say, turning to lean against the counter.
I hold the steaming cup to my nose and close my eyes in pleasure.
I silently thank the Sun, Soil, and Water that Veronal has no medicinal odor.
Then I feel a jolt as I wonder if we were taught to worship those things because they—along with our bodies—feed the Verdant Beast. “Too hot to drink, though.”
“Add some cool water,” Misia suggests.
The tenderness in her voice unsettles me, but I command myself to act normal. I turn away from her and top off the mug.
“My mom used to brew me mint tea with honey when I had a bellyache,” Misia says, her voice lighter than I’ve ever heard it. “Sometimes I pretended my stomach hurt just to get some.”
Misia, as a little girl. With a mother who surely loved her. Is her mom still alive in the village, I wonder? What House would produce a Misia? I turn back to face her. Lean against the counter again. Take a sip of the drugged tea.
Misia watches me, something like affection softening her cheeks. “I always wanted a daughter, you know. It’s probably best I didn’t get one. She’d have been a piece of work, just like you.”
Piece of work. I poisoned the woman with slippery elm. I’m surprised with a burst of something that feels like fondness for her.
“Here,” Misia says, holding out her hand. “Give me some of that.”
I offer her the mug. She downs half of it before handing it back.
“That’s delicious,” she says. “The perfect temperature, just the right amount of honey. Exactly like my mother used to make. You’re excellent in a kitchen, Rose.
It’s a shame about your nasty habit of poiso—” Her face hits the table before she can get the last bit out, but I think I know where she was headed.
I pivot to the sink and spit out the Veronal-laced tea I’d been holding and then rinse my mouth with water. I check Misia’s pulse. It’s steady, but the drug has only started to hit her bloodstream. I don’t have the luxury of monitoring her, though.
I grab my cloak and slip into the night.