I wasn’t complaining, though. In his own boorish way, he was watching out for me.
She picked up a pair of slim gold scissors with handles shaped like bird wings, then took a pitcher full of sparkling cerulean liquid, a vial of dried herbs, and chose another jar filled with petals in shades of frosty blue and silver. She brought everything over to her worktable, pulled a wooden bowl from a cabinet followed by a mortar and pestle.
After looking everything over one last time, she turned those ancient eyes on me. “I must take a lock of your hair for the tincture.”
“No.” Panic overtook me, and the word was out of my mouth before I realized I’d given a fear away to a stranger. Nonna’s warnings rang in my ears. We were always told to burn our hair and nail clippings, rather than allow anyone an opportunity to use the dark arts on us. “Is it necessary? The pain is already ebbing. I think his highness might have overreacted.”
Her gaze softened. “You have nothing to fear from me, child. You will drink the tincture in its entirety. Then we’ll burn the bowl. Nothing will remain for those who wish you harm.”
I felt Wrath’s attention on me like two hot pokers at the base of my neck but refused to look to him. This was my decision and mine alone. I took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”
Celestia clipped a small portion of my hair, sprinkled it over one part herbs and two part petals. She mashed everything together with the mortar and pestle until it formed a powder.
Once the consistency was to her liking, she whispered a charm in a tongue I didn’t know, then added a few splashes of the sparkling blue liquid to the mixture.
She poured everything into a silver chalice etched with runes and stirred vigorously. “It won’t be the most pleasant drink, but the Tears of Saylonia will help with the taste.”
“Tears of Saylonia?”
“Some say she’s the goddess of grief and sorrow. But there’s more to her than that. The tears are gathered at a temple in the Shifting Isles.”
“Where are they located? Here?”
She slid her attention to the prince as she stirred the drink in the opposite direction, the contents splashing from the sudden shift. “It’s almost ready.”
Wrath watched every step the matron made toward me with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. As if one wrong movement would signal the fight he’d been primed for.
I ignored his odd behavior and returned my attention to the approaching woman. “I’ve worn the amulet for decades, and I’ve never experienced pain like that before.”
“You visited the Crescent Shallows, did you not?”
“Yes.” My hair was damp and there was little use in lying. “How could you tell?”
“A good guess. Certain magic cannot enter those waters without grave consequences. Some say the water there once belonged to the goddesses and burns away that which doesn’t belong. Others believe the Feared seek to reclaim what was taken from them. And they do not care how they succeed in restoring their power, only that they do. Vengeance is a brutal pursuit.”
“The Feared?” I searched my memory for any stories or legends from childhood, but the name was unfamiliar. “Is that what you call the goddesses, or the demon princes?”
“Enough.” Wrath?
?s voice was quiet, but his tone brooked no room for argument. “Some would be wise to keep superstitions and old folktales to themselves.” He folded his arms against his chest, his expression hard. “Is her tincture finished?”
I glanced down at the devil’s horn charm. Wrath had told me to leave it on. I gave him an accusing look. “You neglected to tell me about any of the dangers. Now you’re concerned?”
Celestia narrowed her eyes, but didn’t speak for another few moments as she continued stirring the tincture. “If he knew the effect it would have on you, I doubt he would have taken you there. It’s his other secret you need to inquire about. He is fully aware of how that one affects you both. And yet he hasn’t uttered a single word. I wonder why that is? Perhaps we’ve finally found your Achilles’ heel, your majesty.”
Wrath went preternaturally still. The temperature in the room plummeted enough for me to see my breath. Jars rattled as the shelves shook from the force of the power he was holding back, the temper he was battling. The matron had clearly struck her intended target.
Intrigued even more by his response, I studied him closely. He was almost unrecognizable. There was no outward shift in his cold features, but I sensed the immense wave of magic he drew in like the tide.
“Careful,” he warned. “You’re treading on dangerous ground.”
“Bah.” She waved her hand at him, completely unconcerned with the growing hum of anger in the air. She handed me the chalice and motioned for me to drink.
I raked my attention over Wrath, and whatever had ignited his namesake sin vanished when he met my worried stare. The temperature returned to normal. He nodded at the cup. “It’s all right. Drink.”
I brought the concoction to my lips and halted. The smell was not even remotely pleasant. I steeled myself before the pain returned and downed it all in one gulp, ignoring the saccharine yet bitter herb taste. My symptoms vanished.
“You’re all set, child.”