the lizard skin.
“Well, Reveka?” Brother Cosmin said.
“Hot and green,” I said obediently.
“That wasn’t even the question! You’re useless today. Go to bed. Without your supper!” And he pointed at the ladder to my loft above the herbary.
I climbed up and waited for Brother Cosmin to leave so I could get out to the garden. But the day was hot and drowsy, and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
I woke to evening twilight and to blessed silence below me. I strolled out into the herb garden, looked around—including up at all the castle windows—to make sure no one was watching me, then went to dig up the diamonds for Adina.
I easily found the eight holes I’d dug earlier. But instead of the ninth hole, where I’d dumped the diamonds, I found only a small, tightly clustered patch of very strange-looking weeds. Weeds that shimmered white, almost like glass, and instead of the usual false leaves that sprout first from most seeds, these plants were small and tightly curled . . . like fern heads.
It hit me then, like the bolt from a hultan ’s thundercloud: the diamonds were gone. The diamonds had never been diamonds. These ferns had grown from them. Otilia hadn’t given me diamonds at all, but fern seeds! Magical ones that grew just a few hours after planting.
How stupid had Otilia been, to believe that fern seeds were diamonds?
How stupid had I been, an herbalist who didn’t recognize seeds when she saw them?
I cursed and stomped about, working myself into a right frenzy. I’d missed the only chance I was probably ever going to get to test fern seeds! I’d never seen seeds like those before. Well, I’d never seen ferns like these before either.
I went back to bed, hungry, disappointed, angry. I curled around all the hollow feelings in my midsection and forced myself to sleep, until the Little Well’s unfortunate gift of dreams filled my mind once more.
When I woke the next morning, I was on my side, facing Didina’s empty pallet. I lay still for a long moment, thinking about all the things on the Plantes Which Confer Invisibilitie list, and how each item seemed so easy, and how each one had managed to fail so pathetically.
Something about the whole Plantes list was off. Wrong, somehow. I didn’t know much about magic, but wasn’t it a complicated business, as complicated as herbalism? You shouldn’t be able to create a magic as powerful as invisibility by simply plaiting a wreath and tossing it on your head, should you? No more than you could make an effective salve by throwing comfrey into a pot and letting it sit for three weeks. There’s more to herbalism than the right ingredients: There is also method. The same must be true for magic as well.
It came down to this: I needed a witch.
The problem was that the only person who had ever mentioned witches to me in any sort of authoritative manner was Marjit the Bathwoman.
After the bathing chambers cleared out from the servants’ jolly baths, I stole down to visit Marjit.
I didn’t mean to sneak, but I moved too quietly, and the lady squawked like a crow with pulled tail feathers when I came up behind her. “Why are you trying to frighten old Marjit?” She asked it jokingly. Even if she wasn’t in the prime of her life, she felt young. She’d said so many times.
“First,” I said, “let’s establish that I have a secret. And I need you to keep this a secret. All right?”
Her lips twitched, and she laughed. “I would have thought that anyone who brought a secret to me wanted its truth trumpeted around the land!”
“No! No, it’s important to keep this a secret. Because if my father finds out, he’s going to send me away. And if the princesses find out, they’ll probably . . .” I trailed off, wondering how to end that supposition. Poison me? “I came to you because I need a witch, and I thought maybe you knew one.”
The laughter left Marjit’s eyes. “This is a lucky day for you,” she said. “For I am
“Well, Reveka?” Brother Cosmin said.
“Hot and green,” I said obediently.
“That wasn’t even the question! You’re useless today. Go to bed. Without your supper!” And he pointed at the ladder to my loft above the herbary.
I climbed up and waited for Brother Cosmin to leave so I could get out to the garden. But the day was hot and drowsy, and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
I woke to evening twilight and to blessed silence below me. I strolled out into the herb garden, looked around—including up at all the castle windows—to make sure no one was watching me, then went to dig up the diamonds for Adina.
I easily found the eight holes I’d dug earlier. But instead of the ninth hole, where I’d dumped the diamonds, I found only a small, tightly clustered patch of very strange-looking weeds. Weeds that shimmered white, almost like glass, and instead of the usual false leaves that sprout first from most seeds, these plants were small and tightly curled . . . like fern heads.
It hit me then, like the bolt from a hultan ’s thundercloud: the diamonds were gone. The diamonds had never been diamonds. These ferns had grown from them. Otilia hadn’t given me diamonds at all, but fern seeds! Magical ones that grew just a few hours after planting.
How stupid had Otilia been, to believe that fern seeds were diamonds?
How stupid had I been, an herbalist who didn’t recognize seeds when she saw them?
I cursed and stomped about, working myself into a right frenzy. I’d missed the only chance I was probably ever going to get to test fern seeds! I’d never seen seeds like those before. Well, I’d never seen ferns like these before either.
I went back to bed, hungry, disappointed, angry. I curled around all the hollow feelings in my midsection and forced myself to sleep, until the Little Well’s unfortunate gift of dreams filled my mind once more.
When I woke the next morning, I was on my side, facing Didina’s empty pallet. I lay still for a long moment, thinking about all the things on the Plantes Which Confer Invisibilitie list, and how each item seemed so easy, and how each one had managed to fail so pathetically.
Something about the whole Plantes list was off. Wrong, somehow. I didn’t know much about magic, but wasn’t it a complicated business, as complicated as herbalism? You shouldn’t be able to create a magic as powerful as invisibility by simply plaiting a wreath and tossing it on your head, should you? No more than you could make an effective salve by throwing comfrey into a pot and letting it sit for three weeks. There’s more to herbalism than the right ingredients: There is also method. The same must be true for magic as well.
It came down to this: I needed a witch.
The problem was that the only person who had ever mentioned witches to me in any sort of authoritative manner was Marjit the Bathwoman.
After the bathing chambers cleared out from the servants’ jolly baths, I stole down to visit Marjit.
I didn’t mean to sneak, but I moved too quietly, and the lady squawked like a crow with pulled tail feathers when I came up behind her. “Why are you trying to frighten old Marjit?” She asked it jokingly. Even if she wasn’t in the prime of her life, she felt young. She’d said so many times.
“First,” I said, “let’s establish that I have a secret. And I need you to keep this a secret. All right?”
Her lips twitched, and she laughed. “I would have thought that anyone who brought a secret to me wanted its truth trumpeted around the land!”
“No! No, it’s important to keep this a secret. Because if my father finds out, he’s going to send me away. And if the princesses find out, they’ll probably . . .” I trailed off, wondering how to end that supposition. Poison me? “I came to you because I need a witch, and I thought maybe you knew one.”
The laughter left Marjit’s eyes. “This is a lucky day for you,” she said. “For I am
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