letting me weep on to his tunic. He stroked my hair throughout, his fingers tangling in it, smoothing it, gently separating out the knots. It felt so good.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a rumble against my ear.
I looked up, into the shadowy depths of his hood, as he waited for my answer.
I kissed him.
I’d never kissed anyone before, but I kissed him, moving suddenly to press my lips against his. For one, two, three beats of my heart we stayed like that, my mouth on his. I thought that his lips moved against mine gently, so soft they might have been the brush of wings. I thought he was kissing me back.
Then he pushed me away with such force that I almost fell.
“No,” he said, wiping his mouth as though I’d dirtied him.
I turned immediately and tried to run but he pulled me back, holding me at arm’s length.
“Sorry,” he said, breathing hard. “I’m sorry I pushed you. And that I shouted. But you can’t… You mustn’t… Don’t, Errin. Please.”
In my life I’d never known such shame, and I nodded mutely. He let me go, and I ran home and made myself some poppy tea. The following morning I woke with a headache, a pain in my heart when I thought of him, and a note under the door asking for some willow bark salve.
We’ve never spoken of it, and until he took my hand in front of Unwin, we hadn’t touched.
I shrug slightly, dislodging his hand, and he removes it immediately. My shoulder feels cold in the place it rested.
“Did you want something?” I say flatly.
“I was on my way to meet my contact. I wanted to check on you. Both of you.”
“Thanks to you, we just had the best night we’ve had in three moons,” I say, and his face falls. “I’ve used most of it up trying to understand it, and I can’t. I admit I can’t; I need your help, and there’s only one drop left. Tell me what’s in it. Please.”
“You can’t make this, Errin. Nor should you want to.”
“Why not?”
“I wish…” he begins, then shakes his head. “I can try to get you some more. That’s all I can do.”
I look back at him. “How much? Could you get enough to last me a year?”
He makes a strange face, his lips pulled back, his cheeks paling.
“I’ll pay you for it, I’m not asking for favours.”
“It’s not that. I can’t—”
“You can’t tell me,” I cut across him. “Of course not. It’s probably a secret, right, Silas?”
“You’re not being fair.”
I shake my head at him. “Don’t talk to me about fair, Silas Kolby.”
He looks at me, his expression wretched, but I can’t feel sympathy for him. I turn away from him and wait until I hear the door close softly behind me. Then I return to the table. One more try.
Later, when I fall asleep, I dream of the man again. This time, we’re not in the apothecary, or my hut, or anywhere I’ve been before. It’s a small, stone chamber, simply furnished. It’s cold and dank, and something about it makes me believe we’re underground. The man sits on a wooden chair, leaning over a table stained with dark patches. He’s hunched over, looking defeated and weary, and I feel sad for him.
“Come here, sweetling,” he says, sensing me, and I go to him. He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head against my stomach. “What a mess,” he sighs. “What a mess.”
He reaches up and pulls me down, so I’m curved over him, then presses his lips to my throat. My eyes flutter closed and he kisses his way along my jaw. When he stops I feel dizzy.
“I have you though, don’t I?” he asks, his mouth on my ear, his tongue flickering over it lightly.
I find myself nodding.
I’m woken by banging sometime later, and bitter disappointment and cold air cool the sweat on my brow as I sit up, disoriented. My first thought is that the potion doesn’t work after all. Last night it was a coincidence that she was quiet.
Then the knock comes again, faintly, three raps.
On the front door. Not my mother’s door.
Every single terrible possibility in the world crosses my mind: that it’s Unwin; that it’s Kirin and his soldiers; that it’s raiders, or thieves. My best hope is that it’s Silas, but given what happened earlier, that’s fairly unlikely. I scramble out of the bed and freeze, muttering, Please go away over and