was in danger. Why?”
It feels treasonous to talk of it with a Lormerian, but it’s not as if she can tell the king what I’ve said. “She’s not just a girl. She’s an alchemist. That’s why.”
“There are no alchemists in Lormere.”
“That’s what everyone thinks. But there are. They have their own kind of Conclave, hidden from the royals.” When she frowns I explain. “The Conclave is where Tregellian alchemists live. It’s hidden. Secret. The Lormerians did the same thing, except instead of hiding, they disguised their version as a religious order. They hid in plain sight.”
“Are you an alchemist?”
“No.”
“Then why do you need to find her?”
“I was hoping she could help me. That we could help each other.” Dimia looks puzzled. “I’m in some trouble,” I add.
“What kind?”
I take another drink of wine, enjoying its warmth. Then I explain, as best I can, about the threat of evacuation, and Mama’s illness, though I don’t mention the beast. Then I tell her how Silas gave me a potion that seemed to heal her, but when he wouldn’t give me more I withheld the girl’s whereabouts until he agreed to help.
She raises her eyebrows, leaning against the mantel. “You blackmailed him?”
“No. It wasn’t like that. He said he’d help, and that he didn’t blame me for trying it. I believed him, and … and I told him she was here.” I pause. “He betrayed me. He waited until I went home to get my mother and our things, and he left without me.”
She holds her hand out for the goblet and I pass it to her. “So, he’s on his way here too, I take it. To find a girl who isn’t.”
“I expect so. I don’t know which of us will be more disappointed. No offence meant.”
She shrugs. “Where is your mother now?”
“She’s in an asylum,” I say quietly. “While I was with Silas, soldiers came and took her away. And they found… Someone died in our cottage. I didn’t kill him,” I hasten to reassure her when her eyes widen. “A man was attacked in the woods near the cottage and Silas brought him to me. I was an apothecary apprentice, so he hoped I could save him. I tried, but he died, just after he told me the girl was here. I had to run. So I decided if I could find the girl alone, I could tell her she needed to go to the Conclave and escort her there. I hoped the alchemists would be grateful enough to help me in return.”
Dimia offers the goblet to me again and I drink. “Except she’s not here. What will you do now?”
I lick the wine from my lips. “I need to get my mother back. They think she’s depressed, and grieving, but it’s not that, it’s bigger than that, and if I don’t get her out… She’s all I have,” I say, my voice breaking. “I’ve lost my father, our home, my apprenticeship, and my brother this year. I can’t lose her too.”
Dimia’s jaw drops, her mouth hanging open. I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat as she tries to contain herself. “You lost your brother? Lief?”
I look up at her, stunned. “Did you know him too?” I stare at her. “Did you meet him at the castle?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice sounding far away, her forehead drawn into a frown. “Is he…”
I nod, and her hands rise to cover her face, her back bent as though the weight of the world presses on her.
Mama, Lirys, Carys, Dimia. All these people who grieve for my brother.
I’m surprised I have any tears left after last night, but it seems I do.
“I’m sorry,” I say when they’ve stopped, my breath still coming in shuddery gasps.
She has already composed herself and stands stiffly by the fireplace, her expression strained. “Don’t be.”
“That’s why I have to get my mother back. We’re all the other has now.”
“And he wouldn’t have left you,” Dimia says softly. “Not if he could help it.” When I look up at her, she smiles briefly. “What little I knew of your brother, I know he loved you. And your mother.”
I can’t look at her. “Thank you.” The goblet appears before me and I take it gratefully.
“What if I could help you instead?” she says suddenly. “What will you give me in return?”
The words fall from her mouth so quickly it’s as if they’ve escaped, rather than been spoken. “What?”
“You said you were training to be an apothecary?”
“I was. I’m