Chapter 4 #2
“Oh. Hmm.” I slid off the stool and walked over to the bundles, leaning close to examine the leaves.
They’d been harvested too early, before the compounds fully developed, though that would only make the brew weaker.
It wouldn’t cause harm. “Silverleaf only aids with physical weakness if it’s combined with yarrow root to activate the restorative properties.
On its own like this, it’s just making them more tired. ”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”
“I’m an apothecary researcher. It’s my specialty.
” I pulled a small vial from my pocket. I kept basic ingredients on me out of habit.
I placed it on the counter beside her mounds of dough.
“Yarrow extract. Two drops per cup of silverleaf tea, steeped for exactly four minutes. You’ll see improvement within a day. ”
After placing my plate in the sink, I turned and walked out before she could say anything else, my notebook still hovering beside me as the pen continued transcribing my observations.
Helen’s stare followed me into the hall.
Climbing the rest of the way down to the ground level, I stepped outside, pausing to savor the sunshine warming my face. A breeze swept through the open area, and the warm scent of sun-kissed bark and flowers perfumed the air.
Spotting a guard standing along the edge of the clearing, a blade in his hand, I strode right up to him.
“Hello,” I said.
In his mid-forties, he had silver threading through his dark hair at the temples, and was built like he could break someone in half without much effort. Since he could shift into an enormous wolf with fangs and claws, I wasn’t sure what use he found with his blade.
He scowled at me. “Hello.”
“I’m Victoria. The, uh, Feral’s new bride.”
“Kirk,” he barked, shifting his blade to his other hand.
“I’m investigating the shifting sickness and wondered if you could help.” I waved to my notebook and pen, and they floated closer.
Kirk’s scowl deepened, and he took a step away from them.
“I was hoping you could give me information about geographic patterns and affected personnel,” I said.
His jaw tightened. “That’s pack business.”
“I’m not asking for strategic details. I’m asking about a medical crisis that’s impacting your ability to defend this territory.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. Two younger guards who’d been sparring nearby stopped to watch our exchange.
I waited.
Kirk’s green eyes narrowed, but he gestured to a rough map carved into a wooden board, the territory marked with various symbols I didn’t understand.
“Cases cluster here.” He pointed to the northern section. “We’ve seen more affected in this quarter than anywhere else.”
“Any theories why?”
“No.”
I waved my pen to take note. “Geographic clustering. Environmental cause likely.” I shielded my eyes with my hand as I squinted up at him. “How are you managing the affected members?”
“Reassigning them to duties that don’t expose their vulnerability.
” His gaze shifted to the others, and he flicked his hand, indicating that they needed to stop listening in.
They got back to sparring. “Interior patrol. Supply management. Training supervision.” His tone came out clipped, matter-of-fact. “We handle our own.”
“How long can you sustain that before it impacts overall security?”
His expression darkened. “Are you questioning pack capabilities?”
“I’m asking a tactical question. If the sickness continues spreading, you’ll run out of jobs for them. I hope I can prevent that.”
Kirk studied me for a long moment. His posture shifted, not quite relaxing but losing some of its hostile edge.
“The alpha hasn’t slept more than a few hours a night in weeks,” he said, lowering his voice. “He’s trying to solve this himself.”
I wrote it down without comment, though my chest tightened.
Acorn sat on my shoulder, watching the males spar, though I knew he was listening. Maybe taking his own internal notes. The guard dog growls and shows his teeth, but loyalty runs strong beneath.
I pressed my lips together to suppress a smile.
Kirk’s eyes flicked to my face. “Is there something amusing about this condition?”
“No. Thank you for your time.”
I turned, aware of the guards watching, perhaps trying to figure out what to make of their alpha’s new witch mate.
Strolling around the compound, I questioned a few more people, but no one offered anything new.
I found a shifter who introduced himself as Tristen at the forest’s edge, returning from a hunt with a deer carcass slung across his shoulders. He was younger than Kirk, maybe mid-twenties, with an open face and easy movements.
Until he saw me, when his expression shuttered and his body tightened.
“Lady Victoria.” He peered toward the residence trees, his feet shifting on the ground as if he wished he could skirt around me and bolt in that direction.
“I’m looking into the shifting sickness. Do you know any of the affected well enough to comment?”
His shoulders stiffened, but he nodded. “Me.”
“Ah, I’m sorry.” I couldn’t imagine being stripped of my magic. It must feel almost like the same thing. “Can you describe what happens when you try to shift?”
He looked away, toward the forest. “It’s like reaching for something that’s always been there and finding nothing. Like losing a limb, but worse, because the limb was part of your soul.” His voice roughened. “My wolf is still there. I can feel him. But I can’t reach him.”
Pain leached into his words. This wasn’t just a medical curiosity. These were people losing a fundamental part of themselves.
I kept my voice level. “Where were you when the symptoms first appeared and when did it happen?”
“Three months ago. I was hunting in the northern section, near the creek tributaries.” He frowned. “I never thought about it before, but a few of the others mentioned it starting when they were in the same area.”
My pen scratched faster across the page.
Acorn, who’d scooted into the underbrush, popped up onto a fallen log. The little creatures who cannot shift, do they also feel the rift? If magic’s touch has gone astray, do forest friends also pay?
“Have you noticed any changes in the non-shifter animal populations near the creek?” I asked.
Tristen’s eyes widened. “That’s actually a good question. I don’t believe so, but I’ll ask around.”
I added this detail to my notes and nodded toward Acorn. Good thinking.
His tail bristled with pride.
“Thank you for your time,” I said to Tristen.
He hesitated, easing his weight from one foot to the other. “The alpha won’t like you poking into this.”
“Noted.”
While he aimed for the kitchens, I headed back toward the home tree, my mind already organizing the information into patterns and possibilities.
Back in the office, I spread my notes across a free area of the table and began dictating my preliminary findings to the hovering pen.
The pen flew across a fresh page, recording everything in neat script.
This was a puzzle. A good one. The kind that made my brain light up with possibilities.
Acorn had curled up in his basket on the windowsill, but poked his head over the rim. Nuts and kingdoms, warm and deep, where squirrels go to sleep. Long winter’s night in borrowed den, until the spring returns again.
I returned to the dusty desk, sitting and spinning around to face the bookshelf. After a moment, I picked up the small wooden wolf.
Had Feral made this when he was a boy?
I turned it over in my hands, examining the way the legs had been shaped, the way the tail curved.
Then I set it back carefully and got up.
I returned to my equipment, checking the crystallization progress and adjusting temperature controls with a spell. The work absorbed me the way it always did, and everything else faded to background noise.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when I heard the outer door open in the sitting area.
I registered it distantly but didn’t stop working, assuming it was a servant delivering something.
Footsteps approached the office.
I glanced up as Feral appeared in the doorway.
He looked different than I remembered. Mud splattered his boots, and there was a tiredness around his eyes I hadn’t seen before.
“Hello,” I said, returning my attention to the beaker in front of me.
Silence stretched out behind me.
I was aware of him standing there, watching as I adjusted the flame temperature beneath my cauldron and dictated a notation in my journal.
When I glanced back, he was studying my equipment.
“What,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet, “are you doing in my office?”
“Working.” I turned back to my experiment. “The room was unused.”
“It’s my space.”
“Was your space. The dust layer indicated no one had entered in so long there were mushrooms growing in the corners.”
His gaze shot toward the side wall. “There are no mushrooms growing here.”
“I needed a laboratory. The proximity to the bedroom is efficient. And you clearly weren’t using the room.”
His growl rumbled through his chest. “You don’t get to take what isn’t yours.”
“I didn’t take anything.” I gestured to the other section of the room, still untouched. “Your desk, your books, and your belongings are all exactly where you left them. I’ve simply made use of wasted space.”
“Wasted—” A pulse throbbed in his temple.
His arguments were falling apart because mine were airtight, and we both knew it.
That fact seemed to make him angrier.
He stalked across the room, closing the distance between us in three long strides to loom over me.
I looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. My enchanted pen still hovered in the air beside me, waiting to record whatever I might say next.
Frustration darkened his eyes, plus an emotion I couldn’t quite name. The air between us crackled with tension that had nothing to do with the office dispute.
“Yes?” I said.
His hands flexed at his sides. His chest rose and fell with barely controlled breathing.
And I waited, refusing to be the first to look away.