“They were the best sisters I could ever ask for.” The girl had put the fires out, thankfully. The stench remained but at a fraction of its vigor. Steam rose from the heavy pots, hissing. She began to boil the six remaining bezoars again at daybreak, each in separate cauldrons. Once they were steeped to her satisfaction, she poured a generous amount into their own vials, each liquid darker than the other. Even the daeva thought the smell was terrible. It took a whiff of one of the cauldrons and hurried away, sticking its snout into the sand and blowing noisily.
“Polaire should have made a terrible asha. She was lazy and inept when it came to her lessons. She sang worse than I did, had no patience with the refined arts, and was too impatient for meditation. She had terrible coordination, which meant she was barely adequate when it came to dancing. She was fond of insults, swore a lot, and had a high opinion of herself. But she was popular. She was the most popular asha in the Willow district for two years before she scaled back her schedule. She was also highly skilled with runes—one of the best.
“Althy was different. She was every inch an asha—a whiz when it came to herbs and potions, skilled in both dancing and fighting. The problem was that she looked more like a jovial fisherman’s wife than anything else. She used that often to her advantage. I miss them both, though I don’t think they miss me.”
“Are you going to make more potions out of these, milady?” I gestured at the pots.
“Why else would I stand all this stink? But I’m not looking forward to drinking them.” She stoppered the bottles and placed them on a small wooden tray with the rest.
“Milady, you talked of two of your sisters. Lady Mykaela was the third. Who was the fourth?”
She smiled wryly. “Who else?”
18
“How long has he been dead?” Polaire wanted to know.
“Who?” They called it the khahar-de, old Runic for the “sisters’ ceremony,” and mine was set to take place only a week after Lady Shadi had made her debut. The party at the Dawnbreak would be smaller, with only the residents of the Valerian and my would-be sisters in attendance. Chesh, Likh, and Rahim appeared at intervals, taking more measurements from me and discussing colors and motifs with Mistress Parmina and Lady Mykaela. Polaire and Althy still made their daily visits, with Althy happily moving on to the kitchens to cook, despite Lady Mykaela’s protests that she was a guest. Polaire simply lounged around and did as little as she could get away with.
“That man who often waits outside the Valerian whenever Althy and I come to visit. I am told that he is your brother. No, that’s not right. I am told that he is your deceased brother.”
“He’s my brother,” I corrected her, offended on his behalf.
“Still looks dead to me, and I’ve seen a lot of corpses. He’s getting pale and raggedy around the edges. I’m assuming you haven’t blooded him yet.”
“I haven’t what?”
“Has no one been teaching you?” Polaire sank back against the cushions and frowned. “No use keeping you in the dark like this, girl, no puns intended. Most Dark asha make their debut first before they get to keep their familiars, but it would appear that you are not most Dark asha.” Polaire took a drink from her bowl and then marched out of the door, returning momentarily with a piece of twig. She threw herself back down on the pillows. “See this?” With deliberate quickness, she broke it in half. “This is your familiar as he is at the moment. He receives no strength other than the rapport you share with him, and he is denied sustenance through the usual means, like food and drink. But this.” She picked up her table fork and tried to bend it in the same way she had the twig. “See how it does not break? Now, tell me why this is so.”
“Because the fork is made of metal, and the twig is not.”
“Excellent. Our blood is made up of a certain kind of metal—I am hazy on the details; Althy will tell you more about it if you’re interested—that also works the same way with familiars. If you give him a bit of your blood, he will better simulate life. He will look like he breathes, blinks, has normal digestive tendencies without needing any of them to work. And when he hurts himself, he will heal almost instantaneously with blooding. One of the many advantages the dead have over us.”
I remembered Fox’s limp, an injury that had never went away. “Can I do that now?”
“I see why they have neglected to tell you.” Polaire waved a bread roll at my face. “He has all his limbs intact, so whatever aches and pains you think he has should wait until your own debut. There are repercussions to drawing runes you have no business drawing yet, as you should do well to remember every time you walk past the Falling Leaf.” The asha snapped her fingers, and the twig was immediately enveloped in Fire, reduced to ashes in the time it took me to jump back in shock. Polaire rubbed the soot off her fingers and then did the same to the fork. It sparked briefly, and its tips glowed a cherry red before fading again.
“Just as your familiar will break like a twig until he is blooded, so will you be reduced to embers if you draw in too much of the Dark. Wait until the time you are trained so you can glow like the iron in this fork.” Polaire leaned back and smiled. “Tea of the Embers. That’s a nice name, don’t you think? I’ll be sure to suggest that to the association should that time ever come. Ah—Farhi, isn’t it? And with Althy’s special haleem! You ought to try it, Tea. Althy stays up late the night before preparing, and the turkey melts like butter in your mouth… Incidentally, Farhi, would you be so kind as to bring in the Fox boy who waits outside?”
Farhi looked horrified by the command, but Polaire raised an eyebrow. The maid quickly left.
“Mistress Parmina forbids men from entering the Valerian,” I said.
“I’ve seen Rahim traipsing in and out of here at all times,” Polaire said. “For lack of a better word to describe him, ‘man’ works. Familiars follow different rules. Mistress Parmina won’t make changes until you petition her to. The old woman’s a shrewd player, though stingy as the seven hells. I’ve been told you’ve visited the Heartforger and were given a gift.”
I slipped the small stone over my head and handed it to her for scrutiny.
“I’m surprised he would give you something so precious at first meeting. You must have made quite an impression on the Heartforger and His Majesty.”
“His Majesty?”
“Didn’t you know? The Heartforger’s successor is Prince Kance’s older brother. Kance holds some sway over the old man, though that coot won’t admit it.”
I froze. I remembered the sense of tension in the room, Prince Kance’s and Kalen’s reactions. I now understood why Junior’s face had looked so familiar—behind his spectacles he had the king’s eyes and the same high cheekbones as the prince.
“Of course, when you’re in line to be the Heartforger, you’re expected to renounce all claims to your royal house. Must be hard on the brothers, but I know Kance has been doing his best to stay close. He’s always been the unflappable of the two—it’s Khalad who’s the hothead.”
Farhi hurried back into the room, followed shortly by my brother, puzzled and wary.
“Do you know who I am, Sir Fox?” Polaire asked.