29
To Brew or Not to Brew
Melody
“Damn, I’m never going to be able to brew a whole Wolf’s Howling potion.” Cassius leans back in his chair with a dramatic sigh, running his hands through his blond curls as the contents of his cauldron start to evaporate in sickly yellowish smoke. “I mean, these scripts just make no sense.”
“That’s because you don’t really read the instructions,” Shay chides, leaning over the long table to inspect the herbs, long silver hair spilling over his forearm.
We’d fetched the potion scrolls from the library, and now we’re in a beautiful glasshouse, working on our potions after collecting the herbs we needed from the healer’s temple.
Vines of wisteria and jasmine climb along the metal framework above our heads, with various herbs dangling, ready to be used.
“See? It doesn’t say rosemary at this stage.” Shay taps her long nail against the scroll between Ryder and her cauldron on the worn wooden desk.
“Don’t worry, Cassius. The kitchen always needs new staff if they kick you out.
But hey, I might be able to predict whether you and Shay are going to end up together,” Ryder teases while plucking marigold petals.
“She loves me, she loves me not.” He grins, watching Cassius.
“Uhhh, it ended with ‘she loves me not.’”
He cackles, and Cassius gets up to tackle him to the ground. The two of them brawl on the floor.
“I’ll pin you to the walls with thorny vines if you two brutes knock over my cauldron,” Shay warns, and I snort a laugh.
Shay rolls her eyes, the potion in the tiny cauldron in front of her boiling a reassuring lilac color after she leans forward and sprinkles in some crushed lavender petals.
“I don’t see the sense in this anyway. Who wants to be a damn wolf?” Cassius sneers into Ryder’s face after dodging a punch.
“Agreed. It’s much better to be a real wolf,” Ryder snipes, before Cassius manages to pin his arms down with his knees.
“Or a dragon-rider,” Cassius adds with a glance in my direction that earns him an elbow in the ribs.
“Demon. He’s a demon ,” I correct automatically, and for a second, all of them stare at me as if I’ve grown four horns too.
“They would suit you,” Aris cuts into my mind out of nowhere—clearly close enough for our bond to work again after he left this morning to go hunting.
“He’s a shapeshifting demon,” I explain quickly.
“So it’s true. He really bonded with you?” Ryder asks before jumping at Cassius again, trying to wrangle an arm around his head. “How the hells did you achieve that?”
“Long story,” I answer evasively, wishing I hadn’t mentioned it.
“Abyss, it looked pretty scary when you came flying in on him like that, landing right in front of the Mountain Lion himself,” Cassius says.
“And really cool,” Ryder adds. “Cool is the right human word, isn’t it?” He flashes me a questioning look.
Cassius uses the chance to bury his hand in Ryder’s long hair and smack his head against the table.
“Yield,” he growls.
Shay watches them with pouted lips, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Her eyes flick to me. “Do you think Cassius’s behavior is romantic or just idiotic?”
“I heard that, darling,” Cassius snaps, touching his heart as if mortally wounded, letting go of Ryder.
I finish chopping some evergreen and sprinkle it over my cauldron. “I think it’s cute,” I offer, frowning in frustration when the contents of my cauldron turn a gaudy green. “Oh, I think I did something wrong too.”
“Can’t you ask one of the high lords to help us?
” Shay suggests casually, and my head jerks up.
Her eyes widen when she sees the look on my face—pure alert—before I can rein it in.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.
I just thought they might help you. Or at least maybe Professor Caedmon would. ”
“No one needs Professor Prettyface,” Cassius mutters under his breath, clearly not happy about Shay’s obvious interest in the high lords.
“You aren’t being rude!” I quickly assure her. “It’s just…no, I guess he won’t.”
Not after I straight-out walked out of his class. And definitely not after last night. I can see in Shay’s aura that she wants to ask more, but I’m grateful when she decides not to.
“And what’s up with Professor Bastard ?” Cassius asks between breaths, still struggling to keep Ryder down.
“Yeah. Hells, Kriannon really has it out for you,” Ryder agrees, managing to shove Cassius off with a knee.
“Yeah, he does,” is all I retort, because hells—how much could I tell them?
That I’ve been a slave in Caryan’s fortress?
That I technically still am? That Kyrith hates me because, apparently, I remind him too much of my mother, Ciellara—the last silver elf, princess of Palisandre, a woman I never knew, and the one who almost killed Caryan with her silver magic?
And that it’s all so damn fucked up I don’t even know where to begin detangling the mess?
Nope. I can’t tell them that.
So I pretend to be busy with my scroll, crushing wild cardamom seeds. I throw them in—and barely scramble away, almost landing on my ass when my cauldron suddenly catches fire and the work of the last two hours goes up in heavy, dark smoke.
“It’s not so bad.” Shay rests a soothing hand on my shoulder. “We’ve still got a few weeks until Evanalora wants us to hand it in, so we’ll just try again.”
“Or pay you and you brew it for us,” Ryder suggests, dusting off his clothes and tying his brown hair back into a bun.
“Not going to happen. I’ll help you, but you have to manage on your own,” Shay says, crossing her arms.
“Now wouldn’t you make a fine professor, darling?” Cassius teases. Then smiles. “I find that…unexpectedly appealing.” Shay shoves him off before he can plant a kiss on her mouth.
I cast a quick glance at the old ornate grandfather clock standing at the end of the room—two dragons perched on either side of the frame, their wings flaring wide every time the hour strikes. “I need to go.”
“Where are you always off to? You’re missing lunch. And dinner,” Ryder says as I gather the scrolls and start to leave. He stares at me like I’ve just confessed to arson.
“Do you have any idea how many meals that is?”
I pause. They all look at me—like they really want to know and are worried at the same time. The sight touches me, even as dread coils tight in my chest. I’ve never had friends. And how can we ever become real friends when all I do is keep secrets?
“I need to translate books for the high priestess. That’s part of a bargain I struck so Aris and Blair can stay here, in Avandal.”
“And you can do that why?” Ryder asks after a beat of silence, when no one seems to know what to say.
They still tread carefully around me—probably because I’m associated with Caryan’s high lords, and they’re terrified to step on my toes.
I wonder that they’re brave enough to hang out with me at all.
But, whatever the reason, I’m immensely grateful for that.
“Because I can read forgotten languages,” I admit. No harm done, right? They’ll find out sooner or later who and what I am anyway, though Riven’s warning rings sharp in my mind. But fuck him. I’ll never have real friends if I can’t tell them small things about myself.
Ryder scratches his neck in a very wolfish way. “Fancy. But also annoying, I guess, since you seem to spend a lot of time down there.”
“Yeah, it kind of is.” I shrug and smile tiredly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “See you tomorrow. Good luck with your potions.”
Then I turn and leave.
***
My stomach tightens to a painful knot as I stroll to the archives, thinking I haven’t heard anything from Aris since his remark about me and horns.
I’m all the more surprised when I find him lounging in the oval library, basking in the sunlight filtering through the dome, his light-blue belly turned up.
“What are you doing here? And how did you get in? How did you get past the scribe in the room?”
“I snuck in. I’m a shapeshifting demon, remember?” He gets up, yawning widely, but in a smug way before I snatch him up and pull him into a tight hug.
“Air,” he wheezes, and I finally let him go.
“And through the library’s magic?”
He shrugs, golden wings twitching. “It let me in. It seems to like me. And as for what I’m doing here—I figured you could use some company.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Although…the acolytes will see you.”
“The codex of the acolytes says that anyone who can pass the curtain of magic is welcome,” he recites proudly. “So I have nothing to hide.”
“Okay, let’s just try not to give Faye a heart attack though,” I say as we walk toward the steps leading down into the archives, fae lights flickering to life along the walls.
The door opens and we enter, Aris trailing me through the alcove where Fae and I sat yesterday. She’s at her desk, hood low as she scribbles something down.
“Hi,” I say shyly.
Her head snaps up, her hood flying back.
Before I can say another word, she squeaks and launches herself forward, nearly tripping as she throws herself at Aris, grabbing his round little face in both hands and peppering his snout with frantic kisses.
For a second I just stare—at the undiluted joy in her aura.
“I guess that solves the heart attack problem,” Aris rumbles in my mind. “Now tell her to let me go. I am a demon, not a stuffed animal.” Though his tone says he’s enjoying the attention quite a lot, and I bite back a grin.
“Aren’t you the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen?” she murmurs dreamily, scratching behind his ears. Aris actually starts purring, and I really have to clamp down on a laugh.
Finally, she lets him go, staring up at me with glittering eyes. “Oh, Abyss, is he beautiful.”
I grin from ear to ear—her joy is contagious. “Aris. His name is Aris,” I explain, then point to the books on her desk. “Shall we continue from where we stopped yesterday?”