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“We’ll see you around,” Pepha told her. Mezhimar nodded.

“I guess I won’t have to hide pickled cabbage in his bedding after all,” Mezhimar whispered in her ear as she walked past.

Iryana just shook her head and headed back.

With the final basket of linens propped against her hip, Iryana slipped into the main house’s hall to hand them over to Hadima.

Her sister fluttered around the room, checking on her patients, who lay on pallets around the room. It smelled of blood and death: metallic, sickly sweet, and pungent.

Iryana watched as one of the patients started crying out, sending Hadima beelining toward their bed. A young assistant poured a cup of tea and handed it to Hadima, then lifted the patient’s head. Blood-soaked bandages were wrapped around her entire torso. Her face was pallid and covered in a glossy sheen of sweat.

Seeing people like this, hurting and dying, was more painful than she had expected. It gave her a claustrophobic feeling, like being trapped in her father’s sickroom, the groaning and moaning, the smell of medicine, and the smell—

“What are you giving her?” Iryana demanded, voice strained. The smell, faint against the reek of blood and death, was earthy and bitter.

Hadima froze, cup halfway to the woman’s mouth.

“You know what it is,” Hadima admitted softly.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

A tremor raced through her as she stared at a cup, so similar to the ones she had given her father for all those years.

“How could you?” Iryana croaked, barely seeing the hall around her and instead tumbling through the pain of her memories.

Before Hadima could respond, Iryana ran out of the room. She caught herself in the hallway in the other wing of the house, bending over and grabbing at the wall to keep from collapsing. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Desperate hands ripped at her collar, trying to free her throat, to get more air.

“Iri!” Hadima shouted as the clack of boots raced toward her.

“Go away,” Iryana begged. She couldn’t stand to look at her sister right now.

“They’re dying,” Hadima pleaded, coming closer instead. “I can’t save them, I’ve tried. The poppy tea is the most merciful death I can offer.”

Iryana squeezed her eyes shut, begging the tears to go away. She couldn’t fathom it. “We’ve spent months burning the poppy fields, and yet you kept it here? In this house? And you’re giving it to the soldiers?”

“Just the ones who are dying.”

“You don’t understand!” Iryana stood straight as her voice rose. “You didn’t see what it did to him. You didn’t see how it drove our mother away. You weren’t there!”

Hadima stumbled backward, wincing. “I know I wasn’t, but we’ve always used it in cases like this. Many medicines are lethal in higher dosages. It’s just that—”

“No. It’s not the same, and you know it!”

“Iri, I’m sorry.” Hadima reached out to touch Iryana’s arm.

She pulled back and ran to their room, slamming the door behind her. The energy left her, and Iryana sank to the floor, tears burning down her cheeks.

She felt so small, so helpless. She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her head in them. It was no different from when she’d hidden from her screaming father, listening to her mother trying and failing to calm him. She was just a little girl who couldn’t do anything.

Iryana crawled into bed, facing the wall, and let sleep claim her.

When she woke, her sisters had already left for the day, which was for the best because Iryana still felt raw. There was a part of her that understood Hadima’s reasoning, but the hurt little girl in her still couldn’t stand it.

It was now the twenty-first day of the Bitter Moon and Iryana tried not to think about how much time was still left for things to worsen. At least Limhiz’s staff kept the ground stable and their homes standing.

Once she’d eaten a quick bowl of porridge and bundled up, Iryana slipped out of the house and headed toward the wall. She checked in, getting the updates on the waves of dakii attacks and casualty numbers. They’d lost two more soldiers during the night.

She was just climbing down from the wooden gate tower when she saw a familiar broad set of shoulders.