Kalay and I sighed in unison over our breakfast as the deep ringing sound from the city bell tower reached our house, even on the outskirts. Time for another day of work. Another day of lying to the world.

Kalay rushed to change and fix his hair, then we set out into the light glaring from the dry, pale red earth. We immediately flipped up our linen cloaks’ hoods to shield us from the sun. Maybe the kur could withstand its rays, but we would burn quickly, especially my pasty skin.

We passed several reddish beige clay houses, almost identical and boring, along the winding cobblestone streets on the way to work. I earned several glances and poorly concealed whispers, but I maintained my pace even though I craved to run. Stay calm. Don’t look. Walk slow. Don’t raise suspicion.

Lord Ledda Arenda’s manor was flat roofed like any other house, but built out of blinding white stone with three stories instead of two, and surrounded by a matching stone wall only interrupted by a narrow barred iron gate. I grimaced at its opulence, a massive, glaring reminder of who mattered—and who didn’t. Since that day six years ago, I was on the side that didn’t matter.

One of the guards at the gate smirked as we got close. “If it isn’t the Marabis. Running late as usual?”

I shot Kalay a raised eyebrow, but he just scowled at the guard. “Open up,” he grumbled.

“Right, right.” The guard unlocked the gate and swung it open. “Oh, and Seran, there’s a servant waiting for you with a request from Lord Arenda. Better get to it.”

I nodded silently while Kalay glared at the man for daring to order me around. Then we hurried down the path through the courtyard’s overflowing flower garden. How much water did it take to keep all this alive? What a waste for something that couldn’t be eaten or used in potions.

Kalay and I parted ways just inside the manor’s entrance, and I made my way down the hallways lined with plush red carpet, relieving some of the pressure on my feet. I needed new shoes before I wore holes into mine.

Ninau Aiti, the kur girl, leaned against the wall outside the apothecary’s office, wearing the manor’s servant uniform, a simple white robe that failed to hide her curves. A leather cord necklace was tucked underneath her robe, always hidden but never left at home. I never bothered to ask about it.

Black tattoos weaved their way from her cheekbones, around her eyes, to her temples, where large black horns sprouted, curling up and back behind her rounded ears. Her horns and long, wavy black hair matched her dark eyes, which flashed with annoyance when they turned on me.

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She gestured to my office door and followed me in. “Lord Arenda requested a potion,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “For… issues in the bedroom. The lord and lady are trying for another child, so he says it’s urgent.”

Another child? They already had nine. “I’ll get started.”

Ninau didn’t move.

“Was there anything else?” I asked.

She smiled. “I was told to wait until you’re done.”

So, I’d have an audience. Great. I held back a sigh and started gathering ingredients. A few dried herbs, water from the faucet, pestle and mortar, and a hinged double-sided sieve. I started the water boiling over the stove in the corner, then ground the herbs in the pestle and poured them into the tightly meshed sieve, clamping it shut. I poured hot water into a bowl, then dunked the sieve into it and leaned against the counter.

I glanced around at my small, cramped office, with its shelves full of ingredient jars and the wooden counter wrapping around the room. Was there anything I was running low on? I scanned each jar until my eyes fell on Ninau again. She tapped on the counter near the door, still watching me.

“We have to wait,” I said.

“I see that.”

Several minutes passed with Ninau tapping her fingers and staring me down, while I wrote a list of ingredients I needed refilled and did my best to ignore her. She didn’t seem to understand the concept of politeness. Or patience.

I pressed my fingers to the side of the bowl, which had cooled to the stuffy room temperature. Cool enough. I plucked the sieve out, dropped a funnel into the mouth of a vial, poured the potion in, and stopped the vial with a small cork. It would be bitter, but it would do the trick. “Here.” I handed it to Ninau, who snatched it and left without another word.

One by one, I started working through the day’s list of potion, balm, and cream requests for illnesses, injuries, headaches, issues of the mind, and other more personal problems like the lord’s. I was barely into the list when Ninau stormed back into the office, banging the door against the edge of the counter.

“Lord Arenda refused this,” she said, holding out the vial which was still almost full. “He says it’s too disgusting. He wants something that’s actually pal… pala… something he can actually drink. Like right now.”

I narrowed my eyes at the girl but took the vial back, setting it aside for now. Too disgusting, huh? In that case… “Can you get a glass of wine from the kitchens?”

“Just a glass?”

“Yes, just a glass.”

“Hmph.”

While she was gone, I got back to work on the day’s list, managing to get through a couple more potions before she came back with the wine. Then I dumped two-thirds of the lord’s potion into the sink and refilled the vial with wine. I swirled it together and handed it over. What the lord wanted, he got.

Ninau eyed it skeptically but shrugged and left without questioning me. My stomach had settled, so I downed the rest of the wine myself and got back to work, until the kur girl returned again with a grin and an empty vial this time.

“Lord Arenda sends his compliments,” she said, giving the vial back. “This might be a daily request for a while.” She chuckled and left again. Finally, I could have some peace and quiet.