Stars of Fortune(78)

“Then it would be bitchy to refuse. I feel like I used up my daily quota of bitchy.”

“You used it well. I need a pouch and a couple of tools.”

He came back with a pouch slung over his shoulder, and the knife he’d given her before, this time in a rough leather sheath.

“I should have told you how I’d empowered it.” He snapped it on her belt. “I’ll tell you now, if she sends a different sort of attack, I can’t know if it will hold up the same.”

“If and when, we’ll find out.”

He took her hand as they started down. “You’re not afraid.”

“There’s part of me, inside, still terrified. That part wanted to cut and run screaming this morning. I’m not sure what part of me refuses to do that—but I’m trying to get used to it. Where’s everyone else?”

“Riley’s sleeping. She got little to none last night, and I think, despite the bravado, she’s worried about the ruling of this council of hers.”

“If they rule to punish her for fighting with us, they’ll have to get through us to do it.”

“And listen to you. So fierce.”

“It’s a waste of time to be mad at her, though I still am, a little. I know about having secrets, but—”

“You shared yours with her, with me. And we held back.”

“And I understand why. It still stings, but I understand.”

“It might help if I tell you when you left the table Sawyer looked thoughtful and troubled. If there’s more to him and his compass, he’s struggling over whether to tell us or not. Annika? There’s something deep there.”

“I know she’ll give us everything she can. Doyle . . .”

“Ah, Doyle. Whatever he holds, he’ll hold tight until he’s damn good and ready to loosen it. But I trust him.”

“Why?”

“He’s a warrior at the base, isn’t he? He’ll fight with his last breath, and defend those who fight beside him. And that includes a dog. He carried Apollo from the field.”

“All right.” She sighed. “All right, that’s a good reason. For now. What are we looking for out here?”

“Certain plants, roots. We’ll harvest herbs on the way back. Bones would be good if I can find them.”

“Bones?”

“Bird, lizard, small mammals. Natural things that can be used for my purposes. I’ll have to send for some of the more complex ingredients, or things that don’t grow here, but we can increase my supplies. Here, these poppies to start.”

He showed her how to harvest plants, roots, leaves. When he identified something unfamiliar to her, she sketched it.

Back at the villa he taught her how to use the mortar and pestle, how to jar and label.

“It’s not all a snap of the fingers or flick of the wrist.” She noted down the steps for distilling poppy in her sketchbook.

“Power should come from work, time, effort. Care,” he added. “As the most important things do. I’m used to doing this sort of thing on my own,” he admitted. “Or with another magician. But you’re a quick study, and what you can do here saves some of that time.”

“It matters to me.”

“I see it does.”

“You could show me more. The medicines especially. You and Doyle both think this last attack was a test, and the next will be worse.”

“I do.” He held a hand over a small, bubbling cauldron, gauging its progress.

“I can feel the wounds, if I let myself. But I don’t know how to use what you make to treat them. Or not enough.”

“I need to learn more myself, as this has never been my area. We’ll work on it.” Through the thin haze of smoke, he looked at her. “Together.”

He gave her a book on the healing arts. She decided to take an hour by the pool to study it, at least acquaint herself with the basics.

She made notes of her own on using comfrey for burns, milk thistle for sprains. How to prepare echinacea for its many uses. She glanced up when she saw Doyle some distance away on the lawn, apparently making something out of . . . canvas or burlap.

Alone, of course, she thought with a twinge of resentment.

She spotted Riley cresting the little rise, coming toward the pool carrying two wide-mouthed glasses filled with icy liquid.

“Magnificent Margaritas,” Riley said, and held one out.

“Thanks.”

“Still mad?”

Sasha took a sip—it was pretty magnificent. “I’m tired of being mad.”

“Then I’m sitting down. Heavy reading,” she added with a glance at the thick book with its carved leather binding.

“I’m going to learn how to help Bran treat injuries.”