When Linata shifted half a step aside, Andrea’s boot sole had just pressed onto the doormat of the apothecary when a sharp commotion rattled down from the attic — as if someone in panic had kicked over a pestle. Instinctively, her hand closed over the hilt of her curved blade. The acrid smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, and beneath it drifted the faintest trace of Abler’s magic — like crushed starlight, hidden within the reek of Nethermoss.
“Come in.”
Linata’s voice was steady, flat as still water. She turned smoothly, sliding the poisoned dagger back at her waist as naturally as one might hang an apron. She left the door ajar, letting the wind from the alley carry in dead leaves. One fell at Andrea’s boot tip.
Andrea’s eyes swept across the counter: dried mandrake stacked on the left, mud-streaked baskets piled on the right, and in the corner a copper cauldron bubbled, releasing bitter-smelling steam. Most conspicuous of all was the ledger lying open on the counter. On the page:
“Abu: Owes three bowls of moss broth, owes one roll of bandage — total, seven silver coins.”
A blot of ink marred the corner, as though the writer’s hand had been startled mid-stroke.
“What are you looking for?” Linata tossed another log into the cauldron’s fire. Sparks snapped against the sooty tiles. “I only sell medicine here. No credit.”
Andrea’s gaze lifted to Linata’s white coat. The cuff was stained a mossy green — snow-lizard bile, the same she’d seen used to poison arrowheads in the Demon King’s arsenal.
“I’m looking for someone.” Her voice was kept deliberately calm, though her hand never left the blade. “Red eyes. About this tall.” She raised her hand to measure. “His speech sometimes slips into an old dialect.”
The attic floor gave a creak. Linata’s lashes lifted, and she cast a quick glance at the stairwell. A shadow of amusement tugged faintly at her mouth.
“Red eyes? Twilight Town’s taverns are full of red-eyed werewolves who go mad when drunk.” She stirred the bitter brew with her long spoon. “But—”
“She’s my sister!”
The voice thundered suddenly from the stairwell, strained high with deliberate panic. Abler stumbled down, shuffling in a frayed cloth shoe missing its sole. His hair stuck wildly to his temples, his collar yanked high to hide what glowed beneath. The instant he saw Andrea, he froze, then rushed forward, shoving himself between the two women. His elbow knocked over a bottle on the counter.
Crash! Purple powder spilled across Andrea’s boot.
Her brows knitted tight — it was tracking Revealing Powder, which clung to skin for three days without fading. But she caught the frantic flicker in Abler’s eyes, and the warped collar revealing a sliver of glowing red demon-marks. The words on her tongue she swallowed back.
Linata stooped to collect the shards, holding a piece of porcelain between her fingers as she drawled,
“Sister? Your family name is Ab, and she looks more like—”
“She takes after our mother’s side!” Abler cut her off too fast, his voice cracking. He seized Andrea’s arm and dragged her toward the attic. “Her name’s Anya. Came from the south to find me. Got into trouble on the road. Just wants to stay here a few days.” He forced a smile toward Linata that looked nearer to weeping. “I’ll pay her rent! Take it out of my debt!”
Andrea staggered at the pull, the powder leaving pale violet footprints on the floorboards. She lowered her gaze to the prints, then looked at Abler’s back — the torn hem of his black robe revealed patched homespun cloth beneath. A far cry from the dark brocade of Demon King City.
“Stay here?” Linata rose, dropping the shards into the bin. “This shop has only one attic. You’ll make her sleep in the medicine cupboard?”
“I’ll take the floor!” Abler and Andrea blurted at once.
The moment hung, both struck silent. Abler’s ears flushed scarlet; Andrea turned away quickly, pretending to study the herb chart on the wall.
Linata studied them, then suddenly tugged down Abler’s collar. The demon-marks on his neck pulsed bright, writhing like restless snakes.
“Your wounds aren’t healed. Sleep on the floor and when the holy silver poison relapses, your bill doubles.” She let the collar fall and turned for the stairs. “Anya, was it? Come. There’s an old sofa in the attic. Curl up on that for the night.”
Andrea followed. As she passed Abler, she hissed in a voice only he could hear, “Your Majesty! You—”
“Hush.” Abler caught her wrist, his palm burning hot against her skin. His red eyes shone like live coals in the shadow. “Don’t expose me. Not yet.”
The attic was narrower than she’d imagined. A rickety bed took most of the space; at its head lay a heap of Abler’s old clothes. A wooden chest stuffed with herbs filled the corner, and the air carried the mingled scent of ointments and dust. Linata pointed at the sofa by the window.
“Make do there. And don’t fumble in the night — half the jars on that table could kill with a touch.”
Andrea’s gaze drifted over the table: a beaker of green liquid labeled “Werewolf Depilatory”; a silver dissection knife still stained with dark red; and in the corner, pinned beneath clutter, a crumpled scrap of paper marked by a crookedly drawn Ice-Crystal Rose. Abler’s handwriting. She knew it.
“Understood,” Andrea said, her voice low. She tugged off the boots stained with Revealing Powder and moved toward the sofa — but from below came Abler’s wail:
“Ah! Linata, not so hard! That needle’s for the Mayor, not for me!”
Linata’s reply floated up, edged with amusement:
“Who told you to get in the way? If the Mayor’s leg doesn’t heal, you’ll shovel dung instead. Anya!” Her tone rose suddenly. “Come down. We need someone to stoke the fire!”
Andrea’s fist clenched tight. Once, in Frostvale, she had led three hundred death-sworn to rout the Human Coalition. Now she was to feed the fire of a human apothecary? Yet when she reached the stairwell, she saw Abler gritting his teeth as he drove needles into the Mayor’s leg, while Linata loomed beside him with a vial of yellow fluid, threatening, “Fidget again and I’ll dose you with laxative.”
The anger on her lips slipped away.
By nightfall, the apothecary quieted. The Mayor had been carried home by family. Abler, pleading “pain,” had retreated to the attic, leaving Linata and Andrea to clean in the kitchen. The cauldron’s fire burned low. Linata prodded the coals with iron tongs, sparks catching in her gray eyes like hidden stars.
“You and Abu… known him long?” Andrea asked suddenly, her fingers tracing the Ice-Crystal Rose etched on her blade’s scabbard.
“Not so long. Barely a year.” Linata paused, then added, “Last rainy night he collapsed at my door. Covered in wounds. Claimed he was a trader robbed by bandits.”
Andrea’s hand tightened sharply. A trader? He had made himself so small.
“And you?” Linata turned, tongs clattering against the hearth. “From the south? Those hands of yours don’t look like a farmer’s.”
Andrea’s palms bore the thin callus of years gripping a sword. She instinctively hid them behind her.
“Used to… work for a caravan escort.”
Linata pressed no further, only smiled — though it never reached her eyes.
“A caravan escort, hm? Then keep an eye on your ‘brother.’ He’s hopeless. Went gathering moss once, nearly sank in the marsh. I had to haul him out.”
Andrea’s throat caught. That man — who once broke enemy ranks alone in Frostvale, whom even the demon elders honored — sinking in a marsh?
The floorboards above creaked. Both women looked up to see Abler leaning on the stair rail, hair tousled from sleep.
“You haven’t slept yet? I… I’m thirsty.”
Linata turned to fetch water. Andrea stepped swiftly forward, murmuring in his ear:
“The rebels are building strength. Krog recruits black-market mercenaries in your name. Anos is still hunting for your trail.”
Abler’s gaze darkened instantly. He took the cup Linata handed him, fingers pale at the knuckles.
“I know.” He drank, then abruptly asked Andrea, “Do you have money?”
She blinked. “Money?”
“Mm.” His ears reddened. “The shop’s short on funds. Linata said… she needs another hand. Room and board, even a wage.” What he didn’t say was that in the afternoon’s tally, Linata had raised his debt to two thousand gold, warning that if he couldn’t repay, she’d pawn him to the tavern as drudge labor.
Andrea’s eyes flicked to the demon-marks pulsing faint at his throat, then to the pile of empty bottles stacked in the corner. Realization dawned. She drew a cloth pouch from her boot — a handful of well-worn silver coins, all she had left from selling off her armor piece by piece.
“I have money.” She pressed it into his hand, voice low. “Tomorrow I’ll probe the town for news. And… find work.”
The rough weave of the pouch scraped against Abler’s fingers. He wanted to say no need — but then thought of Linata’s ledger with its cruel numbers, of her silent endurance with patients who haggled her fees.
“Don’t strain yourself,” he whispered, his red eyes glowing like twin embers in the dark. “Information matters. And you—”
“I know.” Andrea cut him off, turning for the stairs. At the landing, she glanced back. Linata sat by the hearth with her ledger, moonlight silvering her hair, her profile softened — nothing like the sharp-tongued woman who threatened with laxatives by day.
Andrea turned away, her step light. Perhaps, before reclaiming Demon King City, learning how to survive within this apothecary was no ill start.
In the attic, Abler tucked the silver beneath his pillow, fingers stroking the demon-marks at his throat. The pain of holy silver still lingered, but somewhere inside was warm — like back in Frostvale, when Andrea shielded him from an arrow with her life, or now, with Linata downstairs tending the Mayor’s medicine.
From beneath the bed he drew a hidden wooden box. Inside, a map sketched in charcoal marked the rebels’ deployments. His finger traced the characters “Demon King City” — and Linata’s words from earlier came back: “If you want to do great things, learn to keep accounts first.”
Perhaps she was right.
The mist outside thinned, stars breaking through. Abler slid the box back beneath the bed, listening to the apothecary quiet — Linata dousing the lamp, Andrea shifting on the sofa.
He closed his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving faintly.
The road of vengeance stretched long ahead. But tonight, at least, he did not lie alone in the attic, staring at a cold demon crystal.