Page 18 of The Seeker

“That was it?” Derek’s tone was laced with annoyance.

I smiled sweetly. “Yes, sir. I do need to stop by the healer’s quarters as well, but I’m not certain if you’re to escort me there?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied quickly as we stepped back through the door that led into the interior courtyard.

“Then I shall see you later, Derek.” I dipped my chin before walking to the healing quarters on my own.

Friar’s door was open a crack, and I pushed it open without knocking.

Her back was to me as she stirred a large pot over the flames. The scent of cinnamon flooded my nose as I surveyed the room. “Is my love potion ready yet?”

Friar jerked and spun, her breathing labored. “Runa, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry,” I replied, my gaze catching on one of the jars on the shelf to my left. “I was passing by and thought I would see if you had enough moonflower?” I lifted the basket in my hands.

Friar turned back to the pot. “Yes, I have plenty. This should be done at sunset tonight.”

“Excellent,” I said, my foot stepping slowly to the left.

“Runa?”

“Hm?” I stopped my movement.

“You were right.”

Now I was confused. “About?”

She sighed. “I should have told you my plan sooner. If you have a moment . . .” Her eyes moved to the door, which was still ajar. “I’d like to discuss it with you now.”

I nodded, moving further to the left as she crossed the room to close the door, her long black braid swinging behind her. The moment her hand touched the door, I reached for the jar I’d been eyeing, sliding it into my sleeve as the door clicked.

Friar faced me, her blue eyes lacking their usual sparkle as she took in my appearance. “Here. Come sit.” I could feel her stress like it was my own and realized this was equally as hard on her as it was me.

I moved to where she motioned—the wooden bench along the wall by the pot—struggling to keep my prized jar in my sleeve.

“I plan to take over Malheim.”

My jaw dropped, and my neck swiveled automatically. “Friar . . . what?” I gave her a once over, unable to impose the image of a viscount over the demure healer I’d come to know.

“You heard me. I’m going to kill Leif—make myself the new viscount.”

My throat was dry. I despised Leif, I really did, but something about Friar being the one responsible for his death and taking over Malheim didn’t sit right in my stomach. But I couldn’t put my finger on why.

“With Otho Viscount of Ralheim, and Cal the leader of Salheim, this is the final stronghold.”

I struggled to swallow. These didn’t sound like the words of a healer. “But⁠—”

She turned to me suddenly, her finger pointing at me. “Don’t make me regret telling you.”

I shook my head, finally forcing the lump down my throat. “I won’t. I’m just . . . surprised is all.” Surprised she could speak so freely of murder and assuming the role that was responsible for my oppression.

“Surprised about what?” she asked, stirring the pot once more.

“Just . . . that this is your plan. I thought maybe we would run, or⁠—”

“This is better, is it not?” She arched one of her dark eyebrows. “This way we don’t have to worry about saving those who are loyal. All who help will be rewarded . . . in a way. I plan to create a distraction in the middle of the night—when he won’t be expecting it.”

My hand was shaking, and I set the basket in my lap down, hoping Friar didn’t notice. “And Otho . . . this is what he wants?”