Even half-asleep, Severine insisted on bringing her swordroll with her. Runa tried convincing her that Corvin didn’t want or need a sword. She should have saved her breath. Severine clung to the pack with the same single-mindedness that she’d checked them over that morning she spilled them out onto the floor.

  She seemed just as awake, too.

  Runa shook her head.

  “Don’t pay it any mind if he’s an asshole,” she warned Severine as she half-led, half-dragged her down the road. “Or when he says he’s not a healer. He’s the closest thing to it here, unless you want to climb down the mountain.”

  The lantern was still lit in Corvin’s window. Good; they’d caught him before he went to sit and eat his dinner in the corner of the tavern, grumbling and doling out remedies to whoever he judged hadn’t taken sufficient care of themselves that day.

  Runa knocked. Corvin pulled the door open, already dressed for the evening in his cloak and scowl.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  Runa didn’t let that put her off. If he wanted her to be taken in by his grouchy asshole performance, he shouldn’t have spent a week carefully tending her own magical injury. “She keeps falling asleep. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “And who is she?”

  “Severine. Remember? She fell out of the Cauldron?”

  “Can we say leapt gracefully instead of fell?” Severine stifled another yawn. “And I’m not—I’m just—tired. It’s been a long day.” She blinked. “Week? Year.” Another blink, and this one took obvious effort to open her eyes up from. “…Quite a few years, actually.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Well, this morning I figured she was just hungover, but—”

  Corvin’s scowl deepened. “I’m an apothecary, not a—”

  “I know. Should I bring her in?”

  Corvin sighed and ushered them both inside.

  Severine perked up, looking around with interest. “You’re a wizard?” she asked, one hand going to a fold in her over-dress. “I don’t suppose you need—”

  “No,” Corvin snapped, at the same time as Severine let out a faint sigh and said the same thing.

  “No, you don’t. That would be too much good luck,” she added, almost to herself.

  “If you’re here to sell things, you can leave,” Corvin snapped. “If you’re here for a remedy, then take a seat and tell me what’s wrong.” He showed Severine to the same chair Runa had sat in so many nights, and then turned to Runa. “Well? “

  “Well what?”

  “This isn’t a public play. Go amuse yourself somewhere else while I talk to my customer.”

  He refused to even talk to Severine about her health until Runa left. Which she did, reluctantly, only after Severine agreed.

  The night outside wasn’t quiet, yet. Locals still wandered in from the steep fields outside the village walls, stopping and yarning by the roadside, some on their way to Junilla’s, some homeward. The air was warm and still and smelled of woodsmoke.

  And cooking.

  Runa left the apothecary behind and followed her nose and several of her neighbors to the tavern. The big pot on the kitchen fire held the same permanent stew it always did, thick, aromatic and savory. No sausages tonight, though. It might have meat in it somewhere, but the only recognizable lumps were the vegetables Junilla spent her spare moments chopping with the heavy cleaver she always wore at her belt.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Your usual table’s free,” Junilla nodded to her.

  Runa hadn’t realized she had a usual table. “I’m not staying.”

  “Oh?”

  “Can I have a bowl to take away? Two bowls,” she corrected herself. “No. Three.”

  “Three? You and this Severine feeling hungry and antisocial, hm? You might as well take the whole pot.” Junilla sucked on her lips, her eyes going distant. “Severine. Common enough name, I suppose, in some parts…”

  “Think you know her?”

  Junilla’s eyes glinted absently. “Doubtful.”

  “You’re both Seasers.” She used the common term for people from the Peaceable Seas.

  “I left that part of the world a long time ago.”

  “So did she.”

  “So did you, so did Tam, so did everyone who washes up here. There’s a lot of it going around. Here, take your bowls, and—” Junilla took a deep breath in through her nose. “And don’t mind me. I’m feeling thwarted, and my cleaver won’t keep an edge, and until any of those catbirds come back dragging what I sent them after, I’m liable to make that everyone else’s problem.” She sighed. “With Bracklethorn gone, there must be too much grumpy bastard energy left in the air. Corvin can’t manage it all on his own, hard as he tries.”

  “Severine might be able to help with your knife problem,” Runa suggested.

  “Oh? Good with knives, is she?”

  Was she imagining the slightest twitch at the corner of one of Junilla’s eyes?

  “She has a fair few of them.”

  Junilla’s gaze grew distant. “Hm.”

  ***

  Runa headed back to the bakery, put on the dough for the following morning, and then took the stew to the apothecary in time to find Severine grimacing her way through a strengthening potion.

  “…But the potion won’t help if you don’t rest,” Corvin said, with the insistence of someone who’d already repeated himself several times.

  “I’ve rested plenty today already,” Severine said. “Ugh. What’s in this?”

  Corvin ignored her.

  “And how much do I owe you?”

  He ignored that, too. He looked even grumpier than usual, and when he caught sight of Runa, he snapped to his feet. “You’re back. Good. Do you have any idea what you just dragged onto my doorstep?”

  Behind him, vial of potion still at her lips, Severine went still.

  Runa raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

  What was he talking about? Severine was human, wasn’t she? She looked it. Not that looking was everything. Corvin went around on two legs, wingless and hornless. Some dwarves got tall. And it wasn’t as though Runa herself looked like everything she was.

  “It’s no wonder she can barely stay awake,” Corvin snapped. “She has the worst case of thaumo-spiritual entanglement I’ve ever seen. Whatever spell she’s under has burrowed deeper into her than your little curse did. It’s chronic. Inseparable.”

  “Is that all?” Severine relaxed and tossed back the rest of the potion. Wincing, she added, “I could have told you that. In between naps.”

  Corvin rounded on her. “Could you? You were remarkably quiet about your condition while I was coming up with your treatment.”

  “Condition?” For a moment, Severine looked confused. The sparkle dropped from her eyes, making the dark shadows beneath them stand out more. “You make it sound like an illness.”

  “It certainly presents like one.”

  “You’re sick?” Runa burst out. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’m not sick!” Severine snapped. Then she put on a new smile, sly and conspiratorial, and balanced her chin on one hand as she gazed up at Runa. “Unless you’re offering to help me feel better?” she purred.

  Runa blinked. The purr did things to her. Okay. The purr was clearly meant to do things to her.

  And it was so obviously a performance, the main thing it achieved was to make her wonder what Severine was trying to hide.

  Corvin’s scowl deepened. “I suppose there’s little point to me telling you the only way to stop it?”

  “None whatsoever.” Severine’s smirk curdled slightly.

  “In that case, I fail to see why you’re bothering me, as I presume it will be carrying you away soon.” Corvin began to clear away his workbench.

  Severine met Runa’s eyes. Something shifted like silver behind their warm brown. “It isn’t what’s been carrying me away, recently,” she said innocently.

  Heat traveled upwards from Runa’s collarbone, curling around the backs of her ears. She clenched her fists. Cold thoughts, she reminded herself.

  Corvin looked as though he would rather be anywhere but here. Or more likely, that he would rather they be anywhere here. “If you’re well enough to flirt, you’re well enough to leave,” he snapped.

  “When should she come back?” Runa asked, remembering how many sessions her arm had taken to heal.

  “She shouldn’t. I mean, ah, there’s no need for a second visit.” The thought seemed to cheer him. “No point, I should say. I can supply you with general strengthening potions, but there’s no cure for a condition like this.”

  “Will either of you tell me what you’re talking about?” Runa burst out, frustrated.

  Severine glanced between them both and sighed. She straightened, shedding the flirtation like an old cloak. “Oh, fine. But knowing won’t change anything.” She swallowed, hard, and Runa was suddenly sure that it would change things. “It’s—”

  “You know, I was really hoping I was wrong about this,” Junilla said from behind them.