Fat candles dripped wax onto a wooden mantel above a generous fireplace near the center of the room, and incense sticks burned in neat plumes.
It seemed as if the Matron of Curses and Poisons was stocked for any devious pursuit.
I swallowed hard as the next wave of pain lashed through me. It felt as if my body was suddenly in the midst of a brutal war with itself. Whatever was causing the pain was winning.
With a strong hand on my back, Wrath guided me to a little wooden stool and turned on the matron. “Do something. Now.”
She clucked her tongue as she slowly crossed the room. “Demands and threats belong to the scared and weak. Neither trait suits you, so hush.”
“Don’t test me.”
Celestia went to a container filled with scissors and shears. Some had gold or silver handles, others were made of gleaming gemstones or dull bones from mortals or creatures from the underworld. I didn’t look too closely.
Wrath, however, loomed over her supplies. “Move faster.”
“I don’t interfere in your work, boy, don’t intrude on mine. Now stop hovering and sit, or get out and work that anger off elsewhere.” Her cold gaze turned to his. “Do it for her sake, not mine.”
Wrath didn’t leave, or sit, or comment further, but he did give the matron space to work. I decided I liked this fearless woman and wondered who she was to Wrath. Surely she had to know he’d just cut out a tongue. At the moment, the demon prince was especially ferocious, and she paid him no mind. I doubted very many were brave enough to turn their back on him, especially while his power was striking around like an angry viper the way it currently was.
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.”