Page 41 of A Touch of Poison
I didn’t miss what she left unspoken. Not saying something and lying outright were two different things. For Rose there was a line between them.
But she had kept my secret from Bastian, her employer and friend.
Maybe she could be trusted, even if I couldn’t expect her to lie for me. Ella’s letter had been a reminder of how good it felt to have someone to confide in.
“Here we are,” she announced as we reached one of the city’s tall marble spires. She led me inside.
Instead of an enclosed entrance hall, the tower was hollow right to the roof, with shops hugging the outer walls. Landings marked every floor, and a small child peered down between a balustrade a few storeys up.
Garlands of flowers and dried herbs criss-crossed the space along with shafts of light that lit up motes of dust. It smelled floral and musky—oddly comforting, like one of Ella’s concoctions.
I ached with the wish that she were here. I had so much to tell her. On my bedside table sat a long, long letter to her, and I was still only halfway through describing everything I’d seen.
“Come on,” Rose called, already halfway up the staircase.
I hurried after her, clutching the magic around me.Quiet. Small. Contained.
Off the landing, three doors led to elegant shops with equally elegant signs. A perfumer. A leatherworker. A dressmaker.
“Not the best one in town,” Rose whispered as we passed. “I’ll take you to her later, so you can get something for the queen’s ball.”
The ball in my honour. I didn’t know whether to grimace at the attention it would draw or look forward to the opportunity to dig into unCavendish.
Right now though, I huffed, barely keeping up with Rose’s long strides as she led us up one staircase after another, not the slightest bit out of breath.
“Here we are.” Bright smile in place, she led me into a store whose sign showed a rearing stag. I gave a second glance before I passed beneath it, something about the style familiar.
Inside, various stands held bows of all shapes and sizes. Long and short. Recurved. From dark wood to a material so pale, it might’ve been bone. One even looked like it was made from a silvery metal.
Along the curving outside wall hung dozens, maybe even hundreds of arrows with fletchings in a rainbow of colours. The air hummed with magic, carrying the scent of linseed and cedar.
“Bastian said you need a bow of your own,” she said as she ushered me towards the counter, where a small fae with pale grey hair waited.
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” the fae added, spreading her hands. I might’ve wondered whether she belonged to Dusk or Dawn, but now she met my gaze and her eyes…
Black and pupilless, pricked with starry lights. She had to be Dusk.
Rose grinned and gestured around the shop. “They are the best bowyer in Elfhame.”
Theyrather thanshe, confirmed as the fae’s serene expression flashed into a brief smile at Rose. It felt like a reward and I found myself wishing to be on the receiving end. “Now, let’s see…” Eyeing me, they stepped out from behind the counter and produced a tape measure. Hooking the end under their toe, they unspooled it and measured my height. Next, they measured my arm span and asked how strong I was.
Gaze turning distant, they bustled towards a rack. “How’s your aim?”
“Uh. Good for a human?”
Rose cleared her throat. “Bastian was impressed, so it’s excellent. Even amongst fae.” At my questioning glance, she shrugged. “He isn’t one for exaggeration.”
A lick of warmth unfurled in me.
“Try this.” Not turning from the rack, the bowyer passed me a recurve bow a little longer than the one I’d used in the practice yard. “Just draw it.”
I obeyed, and they cast that starry gaze across me. “Mmm.” Nodding, they took it back. “I have just the thing.” They turned from the rack with a shorter recurve in a deep, rust-coloured wood—yew, perhaps. “This is your bow.”
“Don’t you want me to draw it first?”
“You can if you like.” They shrugged, a faint grin pulling at the corner of their mouth. “But I’ve been doing this a long time. I know it’s the one for you.” They held it out with both hands.
It didn’t seem a very scientific way of going about weapon selection. But when my fingers closed around the bow, a deep hum resonated through my hands as though its magic woke and reached for me.
