Geneve ‘borrowed’ good silver regals from Vertiline before heading for the apothecary. The Chevalier said she was going to ‘get drunk’ and ambled off, leaving their wagon in the care of a stable boy who looked struck dumb by her pale beauty.
It made Geneve grumpy, because no one looked at her that way. Her amber skin and red hair were not a thing people seemed to want. No Novice at the Tresward paid her attention. Boys and girls snuck off, but none took her hand.
I must be plain. She shook her head, locks lashing in anger. I’ll never be pretty like Vertiline.
The apothecary’s door banged open as she barged in. The little bell atop the frame jingled in panic. An old man harrumphed from the back of the shop. “What? Who’s there?”
She stormed forward. The old man watched her approach, unimpressed with her anger. Geneve put the small sack of regals on the counter between them. “I need to poison someone.”
The apothecary gave an apologetic smile. “I deal in healing. The odd love potion. That sort of thing. No poison.”
Geneve sighed. “I’ll be dead in a month if you don’t help me.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is!” Geneve nudged the sack of coins closer to the old man. “Here.”
“I’ll admit to curiosity. Young lass. Twelve or thirteen?”
“Fourteen. Almost fifteen.”
“Close enough,” he smiled. “At my age, that’s a rounding error.”
“A what?”
“The thing is, if I sell poison to a Tresward Novice—”
“How do you know I’m Tresward? I carry no sash.” Geneve felt her scowl deepen.
He snorted. “It’s writ larger than the Three moons above, girl. You walk like a killer. There’s a storm inside you.”
Geneve slumped. “That’s the problem. There’s no Storm.”
The old man rubbed his nose. “I think you should start from the beginning.”
“My Trial’s in a month. I can’t use the Storm. I need to fight fifty Novices and kill my tree.” The last words came with a slight hitch. Geneve realized she held a sob in check. “I don’t want to kill my tree.”
“You don’t mind fighting fifty Novices?” A blink.
“They can fight back.”
“Uh-huh.” The old man opened the sack of coins. “This is a lot.”
“I need a lot of poison.”
He closed the coin purse, hefting it. “Tell me your plan, and then we’ll see what can be done.”
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