Page 17 of Courting the Fae Captain (Romancing the Realms #4)
‘The herb is only as good as its master. Nurture it, and a fine potion one shall procure.’
An Alchemist’s Guide to Herbal Remedies
T he castle apothecary was blissfully quiet, sequestered in the eastern wing in a ward that was scarcely travelled by anyone other than the occasional servant.
The healer was a no-nonsense female who ran a tight ship, but despite her regimented routine, Margaery had a softer side, too.
I could see the care she put into her craft—felt her love for it, like I loved the science of alchemy.
Being down here in the quiet calm was much more preferable to the chaos of the castle beyond.
I still couldn’t believe what Raithe had done to Portia.
How casually he’d snapped the bone. How cold and calculated he’d been, as if his punishment was just a slap on the wrist. But I supposed with a father like his, he’d probably faced much worse growing up.
And I couldn’t forget how old the captain was …
all the things he must have seen and done.
I sighed as I gathered some valerian root and mint from the bushels drying in a row above the bench, then set them in a mortar and pestle. The tincture, once ground and made into a tea, would help some noble male or female sleep better, or at least ease their nerves. I could have used a cup myself.
The steady grinding as I twisted the pestle was a comfort as I looked around the apothecary.
It was generously supplied, with all manner of herbs and spices from Mithria and beyond.
A dream—my dream, in fact, to have such a store one day.
There was something to be said for the quiet, easy rhythm of plucking herbs and amplifying their properties.
The most unassuming herb could be the deadliest foe.
The most beautiful flower could be an enemy’s downfall.
I wasn’t only curious about the poisonous types, of course, but I’d learned their uses from my mother when I was a child.
She’d also loved working in the apothecary, but Father had put a stop to the hobby after a time. Perhaps he’d grown paranoid that she’d poison him. I wouldn’t have blamed her.
Shit. My stomach did a little somersault as the thought popped into my head.
My mother, who had once participated in the Rite and who had likely been in this very room long ago, perhaps even preparing the same tincture.
I dumped the mortar and pestle onto the workbench and rushed to a shelf where Margaery kept all her records.
She’d have me reprimanded if she caught me snooping, but it was worth the risk.
I ran my finger over the tomes. Purchase orders, recipes, several books about herbs and their uses, and stocktakes.
I grabbed one of the latter. It pried open with a creak, and I glanced down at the first page.
Name, date, item… Yes, this was exactly what I needed.
With a snap, I shut the book and popped it back on the shelf, then scanned the date of the journal on the spine.
We were in Adamantium Age Ⅶ now, but Mother would have been here sometime in Onyx Age Ⅶ.
Each of the five Ages lasted 100 years and represented the cycle of life—the Bronze Age, which represented birth; the Silver Age, which represented growth; the Golden Age, highlighting prosperity; the Onyx Age, representing calamity; and then the Adamantium Age, finishing off with death.
The cycle restarted with the Bronze Age.
Each full cycle of 500 years was counted numerically as Ⅰ.
Past records must be stored somewhere, though, given the lifespan of a Fae, it would need to be a large space.
And given the Rite was an ancient tradition …
I frowned. There must be hundreds, thousands of tomes to go through.
Fuck . I didn’t need to find a small library. I needed to find a damn archive.
“Working hard, I see,” a husky voice said in the stillness.
I jumped, then tilted my head as I turned to its owner. “Tending to our court’s many needs, I see.”
Raithe smiled as he prowled into the small chamber. “I’ve been waiting for a report, Lockhart. I don’t like waiting.” He advanced, forcing me to retreat a few steps until I bumped into the shelf.
“I’ve been a tad busy trying not to get killed,” I replied a little breathlessly. Gods. This male and the way my body wanted to bend in fright before him.
“Ah, yes, the fanged one.” He smirked. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
My brows lifted in surprise. “Your little show of power, that was for me?”
He stepped closer again, until all six-foot-something of him was towering over me. “Despite what you might think, I don’t go around breaking females’ limbs for the fun of it.”
“You wouldn’t be the first male to do so,” I pointed out.
“I am not the Pentad,” he said in a low voice. “I do not condone the killing of females for sport. I would have thought that was obvious by now, given my mission. I don’t want to hurt any females; I want to help them. I will, however, do what I must to protect my interests.”
A tendril of shadow seeped out from his finger, curling around my body in lazy but tight spirals.
I eyed off the threat slowly, then looked him in the eye.
“Before you decide to get all murderous, I might have a lead.” I cocked my head, considering.
“First, have all of the past Rites taken place at this castle?”
Raithe lifted a hand to his stubbled chin. “For a long time, yes, but not always. The earliest Rites were held in nature, back when our kind had not long sailed to this land, and the courts weren’t yet established. We hadn’t met our gods then, nor did we have our dark powers.”
I waved a hand. “An astute history lesson, but in the last 200 years, for example, they took place here at Castle Cliffscote?”
“I believe so. Why is this important?”
“My mother took part in the Rite,” I said softly. “She would have been at this very castle fighting for her life.”
The creeping shadow seemed to pause, then loosen ever so slightly, almost like it was caressing me now.
“I would have been training in the navy whilst her Rite took place…” Raithe cocked his head.
“I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of dealing with your father multiple times, given his command over the merchant routes in Domeratt and thereby the seas in which my navy resides, but I don’t recall meeting your mother. ”
“You wouldn’t have. She disappeared when I was a child. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
Raithe’s eyes darkened. “You don’t say.”
I took a deep breath and brushed the pain aside. I couldn’t go there right now, least of all with a stranger, so I redirected the subject. “I need you to show me to the castle archives.”
His brow raised. “You’re hunting for evidence from when she was here? To what end?”
“My mother loved working with herbs and tinctures, so I’m betting she would have been posted in this apothecary. There might be something useful in the records. She also?—”
“Records which have no bearing on the present,” he interrupted, his shadow pulsing in warning. He stepped closer until his chest was flush with mine, then curled a wave of my hair around his finger. “My patience is wearing thin, little lark.”
I glared up at him. “If you’d let me finish, you big brute, I was going to say she also liked to journal.
She would hide them in a panel beneath her bed back home so Father wouldn’t find them.
If my hunch is right, she would have kept a journal here, too.
I’m betting there’d be some interesting observations in it.
” At his blank expression, I continued, “I need to find out which room she stayed in so I can search for her journals. Journals filled with helpful information, perhaps even secrets the Pentad wouldn’t want known.
If we’re really lucky, possible locations for enslaved females? ”
“You’re reaching.” His shadows receded, but he tilted my chin up. “But consider my interest piqued. I’ll take you to the archives, but if your search comes up empty…”
“I’ll have you to worry about,” I retorted, slapping his hand away. “You’ve made your point. Now, which way to the archives?”
Raithe laughed. “Oh, no, little lark. This isn’t a trip we can take during the day.
Too many eyes watching. The guards would search you on your way out, not to mention the questions that would arise from my accompanying you.
The Bridegroom isn’t supposed to have favourites.
Not at this stage of the Wedding Rite, at least. I’ll come for you at midnight. Ensure that you’re ready.”
“How do you—?” He was gone before I could finish my sentence.
With an amused shake of my head, I finished making the sleeping tonic, taking the liberty to craft a special vial for myself.