The Blackthorn Key

I couldn’t find any words. I just bowed my head and leaned into the warmth of his hand.

His eyelids began to droop. The poppy tea was working. I helped him lie down again, and pulled the covers over him. “Sleep well, Master.”

I extinguished the lantern on the table. I carried the other one to the door before he spoke.

“Wait.”

He stared into the flame of the lantern. It flickered, tendrils of smoke dancing over the glass.

“It’s Oak Apple Day tomorrow,” he said.

“It . . . yes. The king’s birthday.”

“And your own.”

He remembered.

“Did you and Tom collect your oak sprigs?” he said.

“This morning.”

I was wondering why he’d stopped me for that, and then he said, his voice nearly a whisper, “Do I ask too much of you?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. “Master?”

“No one ever gave you the choice,” he said. “The orphanage made you study. The Guild gave you the test. I brought you here. No one ever gave you the choice.” He looked into my eyes. “If I sent you away, to walk a different path,” he said, “somewhere you’d be safe, somewhere you couldn’t be hurt . . . would you choose it?”

His question stunned me. Had any master ever allowed his apprentice to choose? I remembered his secret conversation with Hugh.

We have to make a choice, and soon.

When the killings had started four months ago, Tom and I had teased each other that assassins were coming to get us. It didn’t take long for our jokes to stop, as the reality of what was happening to our city began to weigh on us. Tonight, alone in the dark, I’d been more scared than I ever had before. I still was. Part of me wanted to go: go somewhere safe, no Stubb, no killers, nothing more to fear. But that was us, together. Leave Master Benedict behind? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

I said it with conviction, so he’d know it, too. “No, Master. I’m grateful for the life you’ve given me. Whatever happens, I want to stay with you.”

He didn’t say anything. I waited at the door, not sure if he wanted me to go. I got the sense that he wasn’t sure, either. Finally, he spoke.

“I have something for you.”

He pointed to a small package, wrapped in linen, resting on top of one of the book stacks.

“What is it?” I said.

“A present.”

I was stunned. The last two Oak Apple Days, Master Benedict had brought home my favorite, fresh roast pig, for supper. He’d eaten sparingly, mostly watching with amusement as I stuffed my face with the sweet white meat, slurping grease from my fingers. I’d always thought the pigs were special for the holiday. Now I wondered if he’d really bought them for me.

But this . . . I’d never got an actual present before. “Can I . . . can I open it?”

“I suppose it must be past midnight by now. So tomorrow is officially today.” He nodded. “Go on, then.”

I pulled at the cloth. It fell away.

I lost my breath.

Underneath was a polished silvery cube, slightly bigger than my palm. On the top, engraved in the metal in fine, smooth grooves, was a series of circles.



With trembling fingers, I turned it around. On each of the other faces, a single symbol was engraved, five in all:



“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Do you recognize the metal?”

I tapped one side with a fingernail. It wasn’t silver. It didn’t feel quite like tin, either. I bounced it in my hand. It weighed a little more than a plum. “Antimony?”

“Good. Otherwise known as?”

“The Black Dragon. Some say it has mystical properties. But it makes you throw up if you eat it.”

“Excellent.”

I hugged the cube to my chest. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t get too excited.” His eyes twinkled. “That’s only half your present.”

My jaw dropped. “There’s more?”

“You get the rest if you can open it.”