Page 74 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Zarina?”

“My twin sister.”

Her empty stare immediately makes me regret asking. I should have stuck to my earlier determination not to pry. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

Valora shrugs. “It’s natural to be curious.”

“Was she—is she alive?” I ask carefully.

“Will you please stop being so morbid?” Valora lets out a half-hearted laugh with a roll of her exasperated eyes before her voice turns serious once more. “She’s very much alive—but I see little of her—and sometimes that feels far worse when you have to grieve the living.”

“What happened?”

Valora’s gaze shifts. “Now’s not the best time to exchange life’s wounds.”

Everything from learning about this warrior princess to the darkening sky outside pumps me full of nervous energy. I jolt to my feet, murmuring my agreement. Picking at the cuticles around my fingernails, I pace back and forth. “It’s almost time to meet with Agatha.”

“You should probably prepare for the reality that sometimes missions fail,” she warns, crossing her arms.

No. I can’t fail at this.

I have to prove that I’m more than what Ashland accuses me of, that I’m⁠—

I kick at the iron side of the locked chest sitting at the foot of my bed. Profanity flies from my mouth as I nurse my toe—but suddenly, the pain means nothing as I grow very still.

Valora’s violet eyes snap to mine.

“The queen’s trunk—” I frantically tug at the rusted and corroded lock, so disfigured that it barely resembles its original form. “Valora,” I grunt, “we have to get this open.”

“No can do. That lock is twenty different types of fucked.”

I stare at the trunk that’s been an eyesore and a source of clutter in this room since I moved in…

Surely, there has to be a way to open it.

Valora gives me a rueful pat on the back as she says, “We’ll have to figure it out after we return from the garden. If there’s enough time.”

Thirty-Five

Under the full moon’s silvery glow, we trail behind Agatha’s sturdy silhouette along a narrow path inside the herb patch. The autumn chill has left much of the vegetation dead and crunchy under our feet, yet the place still brims with an overgrowth of red-berried yew trees, oleander shrubs, and various herbs and root vegetables.

“This way. Do keep up,” Agatha warns as she clutches her starched apron. In the farthest corner, a spriggy half-alive bush that doesn’t look special in the least sits overgrown and untrimmed, wedged between the hemlock and pennyroyal. “This is it,” she says, taking a pair of scissors from her pocket.

“The Sea-Witch said it must bloom under the watchful eye of the Spirit Goddess,” Valora reminds her.

“What does that even mean?” I ask, tiring of the riddles.

Agatha smiles and hands me the gleaming shears. “Look up.”

I do as she bids, the little stars twinkling from their velvet blanket.

Valora gasps and points upward. “The Constellation of the Goddess.”

I let out a breath before snipping a handful of the herb and wrapping the sprigs in the handkerchief along with Valora’s hair. My heart beats faster—maybe we could complete this task after all.

“I won’t be sparing you anymore, so don’t be wastin’ that. Nobody will eat my cookin’ without enough flavorin’,” Agatha mumbles. “It’s bad enough we have to ration.”

We plant wet kisses on both sides of her surprised cheeks before rushing off.