Then she wove through the tables of other Apprentices toward the hybrid garden, careful not to crush any vines that had worked their way between the rows, some even growing up the table legs.
The smell of herbs hung so heavy Senna imagined she could reach out and pluck it from the air like a veil. In Haven, there were plants that didn’t exist anywhere else in the world. For decades Witch song had crossbred plants, traipsing across boundaries no one else could. Now, instead of a dozen plants of varying strengths to lower a fever, there was one—pesnit. One controlled the potency simply by how many leaves one used.
There were many, many such plants. Simple cures for everything from warts to infections. She struggled to snip a few leaves; she wasn’t used to using scissors with her left hand. While she took cuttings, she snuck a few leaves for the Ioa potion into her pocket.
Back at her table, she carefully rolled the leaves for the Ioa potion in parchment and tucked them in her pocket. She’d work on it when there weren’t any prying eyes to watch her.
Finished with that, she began the arduous process of creating the olive-green truth serum. As she worked, Mistin pulled up a chair and set up next to her. Senna was on the short side, but Mistin was positively tiny. She had golden skin, almond-shaped eyes, and lustrous black hair that hung nearly to her waist.
“Brusenna, maybe if we work on this together, we can avoid another of Prenny’s tirades,” Mistin whispered.
Senna eyed her sideways. When she’d first met Mistin, she thought she was twelve. She had later learned the girl was a full year older. Though they weren’t exactly close, Mistin was the nearest thing Senna had to a friend on the island.
“I’ve told you, call me Senna.” Retrieving her scraper, she carefully released a scattering of chesli pollen, which would exponentially increase the shelf life of her potion. The little bits swarmed like lightning bugs. With a ring of glass on glass, she stirred clockwise with her stir stick. The potion started to glow softly.
Mistin flipped open her book. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Don’t you like your name?”
Senna shifted uncomfortably. Her classmates rarely spoke to her. At her or around her, but rarely to her. She wasn’t used to making small talk. “I like it fine.”
“Then why don’t you use it?”
Senna slid a dropper back into the bottle then tapped her stir stick against the beaker. Matching her pitch to the clear tone that rang out, she sang.
Truth and honesty extract
Speak in only careful fact.
The potion swirled. She continued the song, her voice sweet and clear, until her sense of the Four Sisters told her it was ready. She added a few drops of alcohol. The potion shifted from clear to amber.
Mistin tipped her head to one side. “Well?”
Senna might not know how to “chat,” but she desperately wanted to try. “Brusenna wasn’t safe anymore. And I wanted to be someone new. Someone better.”
Mistin nodded as if that made perfect sense. “And are you? New and better?”
Senna remembered how terrified she’d been of her village, of the people inside. They wouldn’t frighten her now. “Yes, I think I am.”
“Then I shall call you Senna.” Mistin sang to her potion. The differences between their voices were immediately apparent. Senna’s soprano soared and the whole world seemed to still, as if listening. Mistin’s alto was like the creaking of old wood. She was one step above a Wastrel, or wasted Witch. A level one. Her potion was many steps ahead of Senna’s, but its color and luster were off. Her song just wasn’t strong enough for the transformation to take place.
If a Wastrel remained on Haven long, she became little better than a servant.
Mistin’s song dropped to silence. As if guessing Senna’s thoughts, she said, “Weakness in one area forces growth in another.”
Senna found herself aching to say something honest instead of the veiled niceties everyone else seemed to prefer. “Haven only sees one kind of strength.”
Mistin’s steely gaze met Senna’s. “Their mistake.”
Why did it have to be that way? Why were some innately more powerful than others, regardless of merit? Sorrow burning in her chest, Senna dropped in a few kenlish seeds. Almost ashamed of the clear ringing of her voice, she sang.
Banish all half truths and lies.
Even silence we decry.
The kenlish seeds slowly disintegrated as they swirled. But Senna’s potion wasn’t the only one to change. Mistin’s potion color went from a dirty yellow to honey. The black flecks floating inside shone like flakes of gold.
Mistin blinked. “How many potions could one strong Witch sing if dozens of Witches were mixing the ingredients for her?”