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“You are coming with me,” I say.
Briar takes one step backward. “My lady, I cannot.”
“You can.”
“If the housekeeper sees me idle…”
“You will not be idle. You will be assisting me in the solarium.”
“With what?”
“My authority is limited, but it is sufficient to decide who assists me in my own rooms. Today, I require you.”
She knows what I am doing. That seems to frighten her nearly as much as the Zagfer healer.
“The lord may object,” she whispers.
“Lord Morwen’thir permitted me to establish an herbarium.”
“He did not say you could treat servants.”
“He did not forbid it.”
The distinction may prove thin if Rhysandir chooses to challenge it. His control reaches every chamber, every storehouse, every person within these walls.
Until he does, I will use every narrow opening his rules leave me.
I take the folded linen from Briar’s arms and place it on the shelf beside the door.
“Inside.”
She obeys.
The change in temperature makes her cough again. This time she cannot suppress it. She bends over, one hand braced against her thigh while the other covers her mouth.
I guide her toward a stool beside the brazier. “Sit upright.”
“I should fetch water for you.”
“I have water.”
“The pots need turning.”
“They can survive ten minutes without your supervision.”
She sits reluctantly. Her shoulders remain raised, as if she expects someone to drag her back to work.
I pour water from a covered jug into a small iron pot. The embers brighten when I stir them. A pinch of dried rirzed goes into the water first. The leaves soften and release their sharp, green scent.
From the lowest shelf, I retrieve a wrapped medicinal root brought from my former clinic. Its skin is knotted and gray, its flesh a deep yellow. Only three pieces remain. Lowtown healers use it sparingly because traders demand too many dalers for a fresh root.
I cut a thin portion with my knife and crush it beneath the flat side of the blade.
Its pungent vapor fills my nose and makes my eyes water.
Briar coughs once. “That smells terrible.”
“Then it is ready.”
