Page 67 of Nocturn

I touched the mark that had helped me find it. What I sought was so terribly close. Sighing, I strode back before her.

“You must come for the grimoire on the eve of the ball. While everyone is busy with their distractions, you will have a chance to come here again. You must not hesitate.”

“A ball? There has not been talk of a ball.”

“That eve you will take the opportunity when it is presented. When your Warlord is busy tending to politics.”

“What does that mean?” I pressed my hand to the see-through surface. It was cold to the touch. I could see how thick it was too, another reason her voice was muffled.

Her eyes went blank. “You must go. The alchemist returns.”

My pulse had become erratic, causing my lungs to pinch with each inhale and exhale. I stumbled back. If I were caught here—it didn’t bear thinking.

“I will tell you one thing before you leave. That Sigil? It is nothing but a curse. A council ordained one. The only positive of that curse is not only that it allows you to read it, it has also drawn you to Larien texts.” Her white eyes widened. “Go. Now.”

I reeled as I rushed out of the hidden chamber, swinging the bookcase shut until it clicked.

The Sigil was a curse?

My breathing puffed out in harsh explosions. I have to calm myself down. I continued to chant it to myself as I hurried to the table where my cleaning apron waited as well as the thick gloves I had tossed.

Quickly donning the apron and tying it, I then pulled the gloves on to begin wiping the spatter of gore around the covered corpse.

“Saints, that has not happened in much too long,” Al crowed as he descended into the chamber no longer covered in goop. “I could not have that acid on my skin when I know not what it is.” He tsked. “Ah, young Amara, you have not finished the cleaning.”

I paused scrubbing the table where much of the rancid liquid had landed.

“I apologize, my lord,” I curtsied, peering at him from under my eyelashes for any indication he knew I had found his secrets behind the shelves.

“Posh.” He waved his hand with a grumble. “I will begin testing on that goop while you finish.”

“Yes, my lord.” I ducked my head, exhaling slowly as I swiped the final spot on the table, reeling.

How exactly had the council had a hand in cursing me with the Sigil?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Gardens

Isat on one of the stones surrounding the bubbling fountain that spat water from the mouth of a stone horse situated in the middle. My journal lay across my lap, opened a third of the way through. Full of the work I had put into it since Lord Draven gifted it to me.

On one hand, chronicling the plants had been a ruse to collect as many blooms as I needed, and on the other, it was oddly soothing to restart one of my favored pastimes.

My schedule had been set in motion, and almost an entire moon rotation had passed in the time Lord Draven had abandoned me.

I could not help but scoff.

Have I not learned not to be so touchy about him?

No, it had been another sennight since I had encountered the true prophet. Since then, I had not been left alone. Not that it mattered, I had yet to hear about any ball, and I struggled to beat back the doubt creeping forth.

I completed the description of the flower and its uses, or lack thereof other than used primarily for fragrance reasons, and flipped the page to place the bloom between the parchment. Once I returned to the bed, I would set a small stool on my journal to flatten it properly.

In the time I had been collecting specimens, I had seen plenty, but there were many flowers in this region I had never come across. And this was only the garden within the House of Lords.

None had yet questioned me for collecting blooms because they had no knowledge of botany. Which worked in my favor, because as useless and simple as the pretty mylk blooms were, the stems were not.

Dried, crushed, and added to the boiling liquid, it released something that clouded the mind. A small measure would stupefy. Too much would kill.