A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(27)

“Make yourself at home,” Blackwood told her, sounding distant as he walked away. I imagined he was already composing a letter to Whitechurch in his mind. Dear Imperator, we found a museum of monsters and Strangewayes’s skeleton. What would you like us to do with the weapons?

Then again, perhaps he would take a subtler approach.

Maria went to Magnus. “I should see to your arm,” she told him, but he shook his head.

“It doesn’t hurt, and I need to be off to see my mother. She’ll want to know I’ve returned.” He nodded. “Send word when Whitechurch replies,” he told me, and left. The front door closed, and the hall was quiet once more.

Now it was just Maria and I. In this grand room, among polished brass fixtures and rich velvet hangings, I supposed she felt out of place. Indeed, her next words were, “I should be on my way.”

“Where will you go?” I tried not to sound too interested.

“Might head east, then north. Point is to keep moving.” She shrugged.

“By yourself?” I crossed my fingers. “Isn’t there anything that could persuade you to stay?”

“Your gracious, brooding Lordship might not approve.” She blushed. “Besides, I don’t feel comfortable. No disrespect intended.” She glanced at the stately surroundings as though they would attack her, a look I understood all too well.

“I felt the same when I first came to London, you know. I used to teach at a charity school,” I said.

“Oh? So you were not always a great lady?” She meant it sincerely. I shouldn’t have laughed.

“I used to get ten lashings for imperfect penmanship. I’m far from a great lady.”

“You were beaten?” Maria’s face cleared in surprise. Now was the time to act.

“May I show you something?” I asked.

She followed me upstairs to the very top of the house, down the corridor toward Fenswick’s apartments. I opened the apothecary door and led her inside. At the sight of the dried herbs and flowers, the pots and bowls and pestles, the copper spoons and pans, Maria’s whole expression changed. She knelt on a bench and studied the mashed herbs that lay before her.

“Is this powdered primrose? I can tell by the scent.” She gave a gleeful shriek. “Whoever’s chopping this has a fine hand. Why should she be playing with stinging nettle, though?”

“Who said anything about a she?” Fenswick grumbled, entering with a loop of garlic cloves twined around his neck. He hopped on a bench and then pulled himself onto the table, slapping pollen from his trousers. “How on earth did you recognize the nettle?”

“Smell’s too sharp to be anything else.” Maria leaned her elbows on the table. Cradling her face in her hands, she beamed in delight. “You’re a hobgoblin, are you not?”

“And you’re a red-haired miscreant,” Fenswick said, ears flattening on either side of his head. He thought Maria was poking fun.

“They say hobgoblins know the secrets of every plant under the sun and the moon. Marvelous healers.”

That seemed to do the trick. Fenswick scuffed his shoes with pride while Maria moved around the room, touching a curling loop of tendrils that sprouted from a hanging planter. “Most sorcerers don’t have such apothecaries. Too much like—”

“Witchcraft?” I finished for her. Here it was. I felt the tingling of embers blooming in the lines of my palms, a warning to be careful. Maria went still, like an animal trying to decide whether to fight or to flee.

“Wouldn’t know,” she said cautiously.

Fenswick looked up from chopping the garlic. Maria’s fingers trailed to the ax at her side.

I forged ahead quickly. “I need your help.”

“Meaning what?” All the friendly light was gone from her brown eyes.

“Someone dear to me is sick.” I moved before the door, in case she tried to bolt.

“Dying?” Maria’s look softened by a degree.

“Worse,” I whispered. Maria snorted at that.

“What’s worse than dying?”

“Henrietta.” Fenswick’s voice had a note of warning, but for Rook, I could not stop.

“Transformation.” Quickly, I told about my own path to London, my fire abilities, about being found and brought here. I told her about discovering my magician roots, the fear of being found out, my brief imprisonment and betrayal. And I told her about Rook, his shadow powers, and what Fenswick and I had done for him.

While I relayed the story, Maria sat down, and Fenswick brewed lingonberry tea, bitter but refreshing. My cup cooled beside me while I talked. When I’d finished, Maria was silent for a while. “You’re not their chosen one, then?” She sounded amazed. “And you think I can save your friend?”

“I saw you heal yourself of the Familiar’s venom,” I said.

She shuddered. “My…gifts…are natural. The Ancients’ aren’t.”

God, I couldn’t lose her. Thinking fast, I said, “Listen. The road outside is dangerous. It’s a miracle you’ve stayed clear of the Ancients thus far.” I stepped closer. “What happens if you meet one, use your power, and someone sees? Sorcerers are not the only ones against witchcraft.” Indeed, after Mary Willoughby’s treachery had been revealed, the common folk had rioted, particularly in the north. They had done things that, well, made the sorcerers’ burnings look restrained.