Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [45]
“Another one done,” she announced, casting off the end of the bracelet and cutting the dangling tail of yarn.
She dropped the strip of knitted wool into a pot of rainwater that contained three others. Measuring the remaining yarn, she saw she had enough left for one more bracelet, but only if she knitted so tightly her needles would squeak.
Roger stopped frowning over the Shijn text and frowned at her pot of bracelets and rainwater instead. It looked like eel stew, Poppy thought, and she didn’t blame him for frowning. However, if he said anything disparaging …
“Now I add basil and nightshade and mint,” she told him. “Which is another ghastly combination of odors certain to put me off dinner.”
“Where did you learn about this?” He gave her a sidelong look. “I assume it was part of your family’s defense against the King Under Stone, but how did you come by the knowledge?”
“Walter Vogel, one of our gardeners, was a white magician,” Poppy said. “He told Galen, who is married to Rose now, about basil being good for protection, and nightshade for warding off enchantments. Galen read about adding mint later. It gives you clarity of mind.”
“Interesting.” Roger prodded the mint leaves on the table next to the pot. “So this Galen has continued studying magic?”
She moved the mint away with the tip of one needle. “Yes,” she said. “Walter disappeared after Galen and Rose got married, but we found a trunk full of spell books in one of the garden sheds.” She set aside her knitting. Trying to make the stitches tight enough that she wouldn’t run out of yarn was tiring, and she wanted to get the other bands done as soon as she could.
Commandeering another of the small spirit burners, she put her pot of rainwater and knitting over it and began adding liberal bunches of mint, basil, and nightshade. It hadn’t been easy finding nightshade in Castleraugh. For one thing, it had taken Poppy an hour and several dictionaries to figure out the Bretoner word for it, since her governess had never taught her to translate the names of deadly poisons. Then she’d had to find an apothecary that would sell it to her.
Many carried it, but only one would hand it over to the princess, who had been on the verge of hiring a thief to get her some by the time she found a shop seedy enough. The one-eyed shopkeeper had laughed during the entire transaction, as though delighted at the idea of her poisoning someone. When she’d assured him that she only wanted it for medicinal purposes, he’d blinked at her in a way that she guessed passed for a wink, and laughed even harder.
“How much of that are you supposed to put in?” Roger watched her throwing in the herbs with narrowed eyes.
“I really don’t think there’s a mearurement,” Poppy said breezily. “We usually just toss some in. It’s also good to keep fresh nightshade and basil with you, in your pockets maybe. Although you smell like an herb garden if you do.”
“Interesting,” Roger said again.
But Poppy could tell that he didn’t think it interesting so much as dubious. He was so precise about everything that she knew watching her throw her herbs in willy-nilly was making him twitch. She added the last of the basil and put a lid on the pot.
“How is yours coming?” She nodded at his concoction.
Roger ponderously checked his pocket watch, then took the lid off the pot and stirred it with a long silver spoon. He sniffed the horrid stuff, checked with the text one last time, then took the pot off the burner.
“It should be ready,” he said.
“How do we test it?”
Poppy’s voice was high and nasal, since she had pinched her nose when he took the lid off the pot. The reek of it was really terrible, like unwashed feet, mushrooms, and cinnamon mixed together. Combined