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We give the man a wide berth and continue to the closed apothecary shop. Clover looks at the dark windows and turns to me. “Is this the place? It doesn’t look like they’re open for business in the middle of the night—imagine that.”

I pull the note from the inside pocket of my cloak. “Camellia instructed me to go around the back.”

Clover nods to the folded piece of parchment. “What’s it say?”

“It’s sealed, and she didn’t tell me.”

Clover studies the shop with a frown. “Do you think she’s gathering ingredients for something?”

“Most likely, though anything the apothecary sells should be harmless enough.”

“Something tells me Camellia wouldn’t have sent you here for a common throat tincture.”

Suspecting we’re dealing with necromancers just as Clover must be, I begin around the back, taking a narrow winding path that meanders through an herb garden. “Only one way to find out.”

The plants are just waking from their winter rest, sprouting from the ground to fill in the stubby brown growth that was trimmed back the autumn before. Bushes and trees fill the bare space, giving the dark garden structure even this early in the growing season.

A rickety wooden staircase leads to the entrance of the second level.

“Wait here,” I tell her.

“That’s not likely.”

Knowing there was little chance she’d agree, I nod.

“I’m not sure they’re going to welcome a visit this late at night,” Clover whispers as we climb the stairs.

We pause in front of the door, noticing there’s no sign of light inside. The residents are likely sound asleep. Uncomfortable calling this time of night as well, I knock quietly.

When no one answers, I hesitate.

“You could come back tomorrow,” Clover says.

“Camellia won’t be pleased.”

“Camellia can choke on one of her potions for all I care.” Then she winces. “But she has Brielle. I’m sorry—that was thoughtless of me. Go ahead and knock again. You’re here on royal business after all.”

I rap again, this time soundly. Half a minute later, a bouncing light appears through the cracks in the shutters. I take a step back, preparing myself, glad Pranmore healed my arm.

The door opens a crack, and an elderly man peeks his head through the gap. “What do you want?”

“I have a message from Princess Camellia,” I say.

He narrows his eyes at us. “Where’s the elf who usually comes?”

“She’s indisposed.”

“And who are you?”

“Her Grace’s knight,” I say tonelessly, nearly choking on the words.

He jerks his head toward Clover. “And the girl?”

“She’s a friend, though I don’t see how that’s any concern of yours.”

He raises his thin eyebrows, muttering to himself like he thinks we’re a little too pompous for his liking. But he releases the chain and opens the door. “Might as well come inside.”

We enter the room hesitantly, unsure what we’re going to find. But it looks like a normal home, with nothing particularly alarming in plain sight. A large black and gray tomcat with bright yellow eyes and a matted coat sits on the table, watching us.