Page 141 of Turncloak

“Apoth Zamorin, your grandson was recently sighted entering a known Whitewing drophouse.”

At this, Apoth Zamorin blinked furiously, as though trying to clear fog from her vision, then laid down the knife and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets.

“Is everything alright?” Auria asked gently. She’d never liked this part of her profession, whether in the courts or the streets—pressing witnesses, no matter how much emotional distress they were under.

In the far corner, Filan Ferrow tilted his head a fraction of a degree to the left, as though trying to hear better. The hair on Auria’s forearms prickled.

“Perhaps it might be best if we take you down to the Order.” Auria took another step forward until her palms rested softly on the weighing counter. “You’re not in any trouble, Apoth, but we want to ensure you’re safe and comfortable while talking to us.”

“They’ll know,” whispered Apoth Zamorin. Terror was carved into every syllable. “They’re watching. They’ll kill me before they let me follow you, and they’ll likely kill you too for good measure.”

Auria tried not to let her own fear show. “Who’s watching?”

“The Whitewings.”

“Why are they watching?” The transcribing quill hovered questioningly, as though struggling to pick their words up. Auria badly wanted to let the enchantment drop—what if the Whitewings did attack, and she’d drained her well to keep a quill afloat?—but she had the sense that the apothecary was about to reveal all. She needed those notes as testimony.

“They came to us months ago. Said they’d kill us both if we didn’t help them find certain ingredients, and we obliged. Spinebark, among other things. But then…then the Bloodmoons caught wind, somehow. Took Relar, threatened to brand him. Didn’t, in the end, for reasons I’ll never understand, but thank the Saints for regardless.” Tears spilled from her hazel eyes. “Now both sets of evil mages have us in their pockets, playing us off against the other, threatening and bargaining. One wrong step and we’re both dead, except every step is wrong in someone’s eyes.”

Another snarl of a knot, tied with yarns both scarlet and white.

“Where is Relar now? Is he in danger?”

“On an excursion to Bellandry with the Bloodmoons. They offered protection in exchange for his presence on the mission—that’s all I know. But not only are the Whitewings watching the apothecary, the scarlets are too.” The old woman’s wrinkly throat bobbed. “Protection, they say, but I don’t know.”

“Would you be willing to testify to all of this in a court of law?”

Apoth Zamorin’s eyes peeled wide and afraid. “I don’t—no, no, then they’d certainly kill us. I can’t.”

“We can offer special protection,” Nissa said, and Auria jolted. She hadn’t heard her colleague approach the counter. “There are witness programs—we could have you disappear. Start a new life somewhere else, under new names, new backgrounds. Neither the scarlets nor the whites would ever be able to find you.”

Apoth Zamorin looked from Auria to Nissa, and then finally nodded.

“Alright, I’ll—”

The bell above the front door tinkled, and Auria saw the horror on the apothecary’s face before she turned.

Two mages in scarlet cloaks.

Bloodmoons.

58

• • • •

Crossfire

The Bloodmoons—both women, one spire-thin and dark-haired, one a buxom blond—shot cold smiles at Apoth Zamorin, meant to intimidate, to intimate, without crossing into overt threat.

As discreetly as she could, Auria stuffed her transcription quill and parchment back into her satchel, trying desperately to think her way out of the situation. She couldn’t arrest the Bloodmoons. It wasn’t inherently unlawful for them to be here, and besides, it wasn’t her case. Nor could she leave Ila here to be killed, which she almost certainly would be.

She had to get Apoth Zamorin out of danger—without triggering a curse-off. Yet Bloodmoons would not let the Apoth walk out of here alive, arm in arm with the Silvercloaks, knowing she would be offered protection to testify against them.

Nissa’s hand twitched on her wand, her thoughts and calculations likely mirroring Auria’s own. Ferrow’s palm went to his own side, though he didn’t look directly at the Bloodmoons. The shopkeeper seemed to have frozen solid.

Auria cleared her arid throat. “Apoth Zamorin, perhaps you’d prefer to come down to Silvercloak headquarters to tell us more about your niece’s mail fraud. It sounds like quite the strange situation.”

A lie spun from thin air, a reason for the shopkeeper to be talking to the detectives other than implicating the two criminal organizations threatening her life.