“I’m old, but I’m not deaf,” Delora said. Remarkably, there was a hint of humor in her voice.
Kiva listened as the steady chopping sounds began, recalling what her brother had said about Delora being an apothecary.
My guess is that she’s spitting on our ancestors by using that dagger as her work blade.
Torell had been right. Instead of using any of her standard kitchen knives, Delora had chosen Torvin’s blade as her apothecary dagger, the weapon that was a symbol of his reign — of their reign, as his heirs.
Kiva shook her head, marveling at the woman’s nerve.
“All done,” Delora declared a few minutes later, and Kiva whirled to find the chopping board empty and a small stoppered vial resting beside the dagger.
Delora plucked up the offering, rolling it between her fingers. “You said you want your magic gone. Did you mean forever?”
My magic is a part of me. Like an arm or a leg.
Jaren’s words came back to Kiva as she considered her grandmother’s question. While her present circumstances meant her power was more a burden than a blessing, the idea of never being able to access her magic again made her feel cold all over. Even if she’d forced it away for a decade, it had always been there, ready to come forth at her command. If it disappeared forever . . .
“No,” she replied. “I just want to be able to control it. To stop these magic bursts from happening. I just need time.”
When she no longer had to hide her magic, there was so much good she could do with it. So many people she could help, following in Torvin’s footsteps.
Delora didn’t look pleased with Kiva’s answer, but she still handed over the vial.
“This will dampen your magic, lulling it to sleep. Take one mouthful now, and then one every morning with breakfast.”
Kiva unstoppered the vial and gave it a whiff, recognizing hints of tilliflower, silverwheat, garrow, and mirkmoss. She’d also seen tumumin and hogweed on the bench before her grandmother had made her turn around. She didn’t, however, reveal her rudimentary knowledge of potions, instead saying, “There’s barely enough here for three days.”
“That’s because it’s not a permanent solution,” Delora said. “And even if it was, I don’t have enough ingredients on hand for more.”
Kiva looked at her in panic. “Then what am I supposed to —”
“Come back on Tuesday, and I’ll try to have some more waiting for you,” Delora said. “You have enough to last you until that night. You’ll be fine.”
Kiva wasn’t as confident, especially given what she would face upon her return to the palace. She might never be allowed out again.
Though . . . there was always the secret tunnel exit, if she had no other option. But finding a horse would be a problem.
“I’m not sure if I can,” Kiva hedged. “It’s difficult for me to —”
“Come back, don’t come back, I don’t care,” Delora stated, wiping a cloth over her dagger.
With three days to figure it out, Kiva set it from her mind and raised the vial to her lips, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. An uncomfortable sensation prickled beneath her skin within seconds, but just as she grew concerned, it vanished, replaced by a sudden coldness that made her gasp aloud. Before she could get used to the feeling, it turned into a burning so intense that she nearly cried out. A moment later, ice flooded her veins all over again, and then —
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Kiva felt the change, like part of her had simply disappeared. Her hand trembled as she held it out and called her magic to the surface, waiting for the tingling and the golden glow to appear. But there was nothing to summon.
My magic is a part of me. Like an arm or a leg.
Jaren’s words replayed again, and Kiva realized how right he was. This feeling of something missing, of something so vital to who she was now gone . . . It was enough to make her want to smash the rest of Delora’s vial on the ground.
But she didn’t.
It wasn’t forever, Kiva reminded herself, almost desperately. She could put up with it for now, a small sacrifice for a larger goal.
Breathing deeply as she adjusted to the strange, hollow feeling inside her, Kiva looked to her grandmother and asked, “Is this what you take? To stop your magic?”
“I told you, it’s not a permanent solution,” Delora said. “You need to learn how to control your magic, not repress it. That’s the only way you’ll stop your outbursts.”