Page 43 of Fallacies

Light, flawless skin, shoulder-length golden hair that barely brushes her collarbones. Her eyes are green like clovers, bright and vibrant. They match the fine-line ink that wraps her arms in delicate vines and flowers. Even though everyone else wears smocks, she’s in denim overalls, and there’s a cheery look on her face that falters when she notices me.

“You must be Lucina.” She pulls off her gloves as she approaches, tucking them into her pocket before offering her hand to me. “I’m Aster.”

Of course she is.

I hesitate before taking her hand. “You know who I am?”

Aster looks on the edge of laughter, an incredulous tilt to her heart-shaped lips. “You’ve been the talk of Pirn,” she says, bright green eyes sliding to Callan. “Ever since the Captain made such a spectacle on Selumira.”

Callan stares blankly back at her, with no evidence that what she’d said affected him at all.

“We have a few questions for you,” he says finally. Callan’s tone is every bit the Captain—short, stern, and straight to the point.

“And skip the pleasantries?” Aster mocks offense, which leads Callan to draw in a deep breath.

I’m not quite sure who to look at. I suddenly feel like I’m eavesdropping on a conversation I shouldn’t be a part of.

Aster’s head tilts to the side. “Don’t talk to me like you don’t know me, Callan.”

Gross.

“The business we’re here on has nothing to do with you, just information you may or may not know.” Callan’s face remains unreadable, completely indifferent. I, on the other hand, am surely grimacing.

Aster stares back at his stoic face, as if she’s expecting it to crack. Or at least, that’s how I’m interpreting the look.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

Her green eyes dart back to me. “What’s your question?”

It takes me a second to find my words. “Uh, do you know of any herb or…plant…” I look to Callan for approval, unsure of what we’re allowed to share, and I continue my question when he nods, “...that could grant clearance through a ward?”

Aster’s brow lifts, and she plants both hands on her hips as she surveys us both. “What kind of ward?”

“Blood,” Callan supplies.

Aster stares off for a moment, rolling her lips together as she thinks. When the answer strikes her, she lets out a small laugh, and my brows furrow.

“You’d have to take the perfect dosage,” she sighs, “mixed with a fraction of the antidote, and even then the chances of surviving are slim, but…” Aster glances at me. “Ashvine.”

My lips part to ask a follow-up question, but Callan beats me to it. “Why the fuck is that funny?”

That wasn’t my follow-up question.

Aster looks a bit shocked at his tone, but not at all remorseful. “Not funny, sorry, just a coincidence.” But it looks like she might laugh again. Aster’s attention falls back on me, and I’m not confident that she’s very sincere as she says, “It was awful what happened to you, Lucina.”

My eyes narrow, a beat of silence passing between us.

Either she thinks I’m stupid, or she herself doesn’t have much behind the eyes.

“You sold it to him, didn’t you?” I reply. “The Ashvine. You sold it to Fenton.”

All the amusement is wiped from her face, and I feel the weight of Callan’s stare as I piece it together. Where else would he have gotten the poison? He sure as shit wasn’t growing it behind his cabin.

Aster fumbles for an explanation, static filling the space we stand in. “I-I only sell poison with the antidote.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t sell it at all,” I fire back.

“Well, maybe,” Aster sneers, “you shouldn’t take drinks from strang⁠—”