26

Veril’s memory tea smells like berries and cinnamon bark.

“Does this tea do anything else?” I rub the sides of the mug. “Will it make me stronger? Open my mind enough so that I can see the future?”

He sips from his own mug. “It’s not a strength serum, dearest, nor does it foster clairvoyance. It’s just something I created to nudge forward what’s already there. And it tastes lovely.” Veril plops into a chair by the window. “Usually, I enjoy a cup of tea with little cakes made with apricot jam and cocoa, but I didn’t bake last night. I didn’t plan to have guests.”

I sip my tea and grimace—I just burned my tongue. And now it tastes different than it smells: melon and pepper instead of rum and acorns. “What were you doing out at that dell?”

The old man says, “Searching for plants that only bloom hours before dawn. The burnu attack interrupted my foraging. I heard the growling and peeked through to see that you were in a bit of trouble. I don’t fear them—as you can see, Warruin and I made quick work of one.”

I nod. “There’s something else I’ve been thinking about,” I say. “When you said, ‘You’re here,’ after we bumped into each other, what did you mean by that?”

He takes a while to answer as he brings the delicate cup to his mouth. “I meant : No one’s crossed that meadow in a very long time, and the last people who tried didn’t survive. They were the emperor’s scouts—no tears were shed on their behalf. But I saw that you weren’t wearing the sigil of that awful man and so I decided to help. Even still, I was shocked that you were alive.”

I sense his explanation is not complete . He’s not lying but he’s not forthcoming, either. I swirl the tea in my cup and watch bits of the leaves circle. It would be helpful to read this old man’s thoughts, but my mind wanders through haze as I try. Is he purposefully blocking me out?

“Yes, I am,” he says.

I startle. “Huh?”

His eyes glisten above the rim of the mug. “I am purposefully blocking you from hearing my thoughts. For us Renrians, our thoughts are our last refuge. Over hundreds of years, we’ve honed the ability to block intrusion into our minds, and now, only Supreme can poke around.” He taps his temple. “Don’t worry—despite this one trick, I haven’t listened in on your thoughts. However, if you ask me what it is you want to know, I just might tell you.”

“Okay. If nothing in the woods scares you because of your trusty staff, then why did you run from us?” I ask. “Truthfully.”

“ ‘Us’? I wasn’t running from you . I wasn’t expecting to see anyone in that part of the forest—I hadn’t since those scouts. You caught me off guard, and so I reacted in a more extreme manner than I customarily would have. I wasn’t in the best state of mind, understand. There were many beings in that forest I wished not to be around.”

“Beings. Like…?”

Veril’s lavender eyes brighten and then settle into brown. “Like sunabi. And burnu.”

“And?”

There is a pause before he answers, “Your companion.”

Oh. “Because he was wielding his sword? He didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He tugs an earlobe. “I’m aware you haven’t known him for long.”

“And?”

“He’s willfully doing all of this for a stranger?”

Heat climbs up my neck, and I say, “Sometimes, life comes at you fast.” I pause, then add, “And here I am, under your roof, accepting your kindness and generosity, when I’ve known you for less time than I’ve known my companion.”

“I’d say you and I are different than you and he.” He sits back in his chair. “And just as you did with me moments ago, dearest, you should slow down and ask more questions of him .”

Now, my scalp prickles with countless pins. “It’s not like I’m blindly following him, Veril. I’m not following him at all. And I have asked questions, and he’s answered them.” The prickles move down my neck to my shoulder blades. “And he’s been open and honest with me. For the questions he can’t answer, we will seek out a sage who can.” Before he interjects, I say, “Jadon’s helped me all this time. He’s protected me, and he didn’t have to. He’s out there, in the woods, right now, searching for my amulet. He’s been nothing but kind.”

He relaxes back in his chair. “Mmm.”

Nostrils flaring, I narrow my gaze. “Say what you’re thinking or stop batting me with your paws.”

The Renrian blinks at me with shiny lavender eyes. “I haven’t seen it in a long time, so I may be wrong.”

“Wrong about…?”

He lifts the mug to his lips and says, before he drinks, “Ask Ealdrehrt about the marking on his hand.”

I open my mouth to say, “So what? I’ve got markings, too,” but I remember how Jadon had wrapped his inking with gauze, hiding it from me. Even though he’d scrutinized my own markings, up close and wonderfully personal, he didn’t offer insight about his own. My clammy hands slip on the handle of my cup.

“Would you like more tea?” Veril asks innocently, as though he hasn’t just kicked a hole in the circle of trust I’ve built around Jadon and me.

I shake my head. “No thank you.” Chin cocked, I force nonchalance. “What does his marking mean?”

“Like I said,” Veril says, “I can’t be sure. It’s been a while, but markings like those demonstrate kinships or loyalties.”

“Loyalties,” I say. “To whom?”

“That’s not a question you should be asking me ,” he says, eyebrow high. “I’m not the one with a tattoo on my hand.”

Do my markings mean the same? Who am I loyal to? Despite the tea, no memory has been nudged to the front of my brain.

A wedge-shaped shadow swoops past the darkened windows of the cottage.

My heart pounds, and I sit up straight. “What was…?”

“Something wrong, dearest?” Veril glances over his shoulder at the windows.

“I…think…” I want to rush over to see for myself but my injuries keep me seated.

“Did you see something?” the Renrian asks, shuffling to the window.

“A shadow,” I say, lowering my gaze to my lap, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Veril chuckles. “I’m afraid shadows in the forest are ever-present no matter how enchanted they are.”

The tea in my cup is now cold.

Veril pulls a white bamboo fife from his sleeve. “Tell me more about this Elyn.”

I tell him about Elyn’s snow-and-clouds cane and the red ribbons that wrapped around her guards’ arms. Their astounding height. Her sleight of hand with potatoes. The apocalypse that followed her departure. The bloodred message she left on those chapel doors.

Veril runs his fingers over the holes of the fife. “Sounds like Elyn and her guards are Executioners.”

The teacup nearly slips from my grip as I bolt upright in my wheeled chair. “Executioners?” I bark, eyes big. “As in…‘those who kill’?”

“Correct.” Then he plays a single low note on his fife. “Executioners are a very staunch order who serve Supreme in their own way. They have specific jobs, one of which is to accompany throughout the realms high mages who are charged with finding fugitives from justice.”

My pulse pops. “ Fugitives? What would their crime be?”

Veril shrugs. “For this order to be involved, it would be somehow directly disobeying the will of Supreme—and I’m not referring to Syrus Wake. I mean true Supreme.”

“So she’s here to kill me?” Sweat bursts across my skin. “I’ve been marked for execution?” I swallow, but my throat has gone dry. Elyn’s words echo in my ears. She is a danger to you . I’ve done something wrong, and now she’s here to avenge it.

“They have other jobs as well,” Veril says, no doubt reading the look of panic in my eyes. “When one realm falters, it is the Executioners who clean up the mess. They’re not too different from vultures who clean up carcasses.”

“Is Vallendor faltering?” I ask, my scalp crawling with invisible spiders.

Veril holds the fife to his lips and blows into it, producing a high, clear note. “Some would say ‘yes.’ The drought is creeping across the realm. Sickness is killing scores of people.”

“Miasma,” I say.

“Yes,” he says. “There is no cure. There is no treatment. No one, not even my order, knows its origins. We don’t know why some survive while others don’t.”

“Do you think Elyn is here to end this realm because of Miasma or to find a fugitive?”

Silent, he stares at me with tender eyes, and the only sound is the crackling of burning logs in the hearth. Finally, he says, “It’s hard to say. But I’d guess that she’s after something larger than a disease.”

But surely it’s not me—what would I have done to hurt an entire realm? Then the warm relief of realization sweeps over me. “It must be Wake she’s after.”

“Perhaps,” Veril says, his voice hard. “He will do anything to be called Supreme. But who am I to—?”

The light shifts again, and this time, both Veril and I catch that wedge-shaped shadow darting past the windows. “That wasn’t a burnu,” I whisper. “Whatever that was, it flies.”

Veril flaps his hand. “Owls, Just Kai.”

“Owls in the daytime?” My leg throbs, a painful reminder of the burnu attack.

“Owls, crows… No matter,” he says, his lavender eyes gleaming. “Life in my lovely forest is different. Remember, dearest, we’re protected here. Elyn and her otherworldly can’t sense your presence because of my enchantments.” He plays a note on his fife.

“Do you actually play that thing or do you just blow notes?” I ask.

“Every good Renrian is skilled at some sort of instrument. This is mine.” He closes his eyes and plays one more single note on his fife—and this note sounds smoky . Or I’m just feeling slightly woozy. He takes a breath, then plays a song that sounds more like wind moving through a canyon. His fingers drift across the instrument’s holes, but the tune is unlike any I remember hearing. It makes no sense—it has no meter, and it flutters up and down the scale. He pauses, then says, “Your secret is safe with me, Just Kai.”

“What secret?” I ask, my voice thick.

But he just continues to play.

As I listen, my eyes grow heavy, and the inside of my stomach turns slick and strange. My heart races, and the room brightens. The prickly things stored in the jars in the alcove twist, and the walls ooze with blue sludge, and I sway in my wheelchair. Did he put something in my…? This can’t be the memory tea, can it? I can’t even think , let alone remember.

My throat tightens, and I clutch my neck. “What did you do?”

The last thing I see before everything goes black is Veril staring at me, sitting very still, and he’s smiling.