I start to go inside, but hesitate with one foot in, one out. What am I getting myself in to? I don't have any time to ponder the thought before Ranger nudges the back of my knee with his nose, trying to shove past me into the house.

“Stay out here buddy.” He protests with a pathetic whine that I can still hear though the heavy wooden door after I shut it. I know he'll eventually realize that his efforts are proving futile, and he'll settle down to rest somewhere nearby instead of scratching at the door.

Inside the house is comfortable and warm, but the woman is out of sight somewhere. I had expected to find tinctures and bottles, some concoction brewing in a stoneware pot, but they are nowhere to be seen. Instead the glow of a hundred candles light the interior, illuminating a neatly arranged desk and the shelves of books that sit behind it with a warm glow. A pot of ink, capped, and the quill placed nearby, have left no evidence staining the desk. Even the candle holders are neat and clean, though I'm sure she burns enough of them for the melting wax to have coated them many times over.

I can hear rattling and clanking coming from around the corner, just before the woman comes back with a tray laden with cups and a tea kettle.

“You like tea? Of course you like tea.” She says, pouring two cups and placing one in front of me. “There's sugar and milk if you're so inclined. I haven't had lemons in years, so you're out of luck there. I suspect that's what you would actually want in it.” She says almost expectantly.

The way that she speaks is demanding, blunt, and leaves no room to disagree with her thoughts. Eerily, she's not wrong about a my preference for lemons.

“I used to love lemon in my tea.” I admit somewhat sheepishly, although I have no reason to feel ashamed of it. People in this area consider brewing tea with lemons nearly sinful, but it's a regional oddity as far as I'm concerned.

There's a brief pause. “Tell me about Iarba.”

Iarba. The word brings back a flurry of memories, most good, but the ones that aren't so good make me catch my breath. This woman knows more than she's letting on, and I'm suddenly hesitant to continue talking to her. I grew up in Iarba before it was destroyed, but she couldn't have known that just from my preference for lemon tea, could she? Everything I say, every twitch of my mouth, tells her something about me that I don't want to reveal.

I take a moment to stare idly into my drink, stir it, and take a sip. I'm stalling, trying to get my thoughts into order, and I'm positive that she knows it. The tea is fragrant and strong, with a hint of... “Lemon?” My eyes dart back up to meet hers. The flavor brings a rush of memories, of my father showing me how to brew it just so, how to combine the bitter flavors of different herbs to somehow make a sweet concoction, and sitting on the porch taking sips of it as the sun fell slowly to the earth, before the moon rose to take it's place.

“Lemon.” She nods, but provides no explanation.

Perhaps if I hadn't tasted the flavor before, I never would have noticed it's subtle presence. Was it some kind of test? We both stare at each other for a long moment, and the silence becomes too uncomfortable for me, finally prompting me to speak.

“It was a very small, but important place. I lived there a very long time ago with my family. It was before The Riverlands burned. I suppose that much must be obvious.” Her gaze seems to force the words out of me, and for the first time I notice that her eyes have flecks of purple in them, like many of the people I grew up with there.

“My father was an alchemist.” She nods slowly as I continue. “I don't know what position he truly held because I was rather young at the time. I don't remember too much about the place to be honest, but I do remember him showing me different things he was working on. He could split the sunlight into pieces with a brick of glass. Once, he was showing off his work to the duke and I saw him create great clouds of smoke just by pouring two liquids together. That's how I knew what you did couldn't be too harmful.”

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“He sounds like a very intelligent man.” She leaves the words hanging in the air.

“He was.” I agree. “But he's been dead for many years now.” As I say the words, she slouches slightly in her chair, but I continue without asking her to explain it. “Most of my family died when the city was taken. My eldest brother found me in time and took me here, assuring me that my mother would be here soon, but she never came. When he left, that was the last time I saw him. That was the last I saw of any of my family.”

This time she's the one who takes a moment to sip on her tea. “What was your fathers name?” she asks innocuously.

Distrust blooms within me. I'm tired of her pretending to guess at my past. Clearly, she must know the answer, but wants to keep playing games. “Does it matter? You said you needed my help, but you haven't told me what for. I don't have time to waste, not today.” My usual resolve has returned.

She shrugs, accepting my refusal to continue, but I feel like she would have kept pressing for answers about my past for hours if I'd let her.

“I'm running low on supplies. You don't have any idea--” She pauses for a moment. “You have every idea just how hard it is to keep something like that in stock. I need someone smart enough to know the difference between a mushroom and a muskrat, and who is nimble enough to go get it for me. I'm not as strong as I once was, so the deep woods aren't a good place for me to go wandering, and my usual help is indisposed at the moment.”

She leaves enough room in the conversation to give me a chance to speak, but I don't take it. The deep woods? I haven't been there in a few years. I haven't been able to wander that far without fear for my husband making me turn around and head back home. It's the same fear that makes me want to turn around right now.

The woman places something on the table in front of me, dried and black. “This is Mendax, or Liar's Mushroom as it's better known. It grows in a very specific place. It's most of the way up a rocky incline, east of where the river is just a few feet deep, near a group of caves, but not inside them. I need you to go see if there's any there.” Her voice, after all of her earlier confidence, sounds sad as she says it. She's visibly crestfallen, and seems deep in thought.

Her uncertainty prompts me to question her. “What do you mean if? You said it grows there. Why wouldn't they still be there?”

“Oh those fools!” She shouts, making me fall back into my chair, startled. “Those fools think they know everything but there's so much they don't know. They wanted nothing to do with anything I said. I knew we weren't safe. I knew disaster would come. But did they listen? No. No the gods would keep us safe, provided we were pious and humble, and prayed for safety. Damn them and their arrogance.” She's fuming and her hair has fallen into her face. “Oh, they didn't force me out, but I knew I was no longer welcome. I packed up my things and left, and this is where I ended up. All the better for me in the end.” Her words trail off limply. “Let them rot where they fell.”

Silence takes over the room once more. It feels awkward, but I pick up the mushroom from the table and try to lead the conversation again. “So you need more of these, and I'm supposed to get them for you. I hate to sound trite, but what's in it for me? I have more important things to be doing.” I say, taking one final drink of my tea.

She snaps out of whatever dark fog she was wandering through inside her mind. “That's where you're wrong, child. Do this for me, and I'll pay you one thousand gold pieces.”

Tea cascades out of my mouth, a fine mist bursts out as I start coughing, and I gag and as I try to keep the rest of it from settling into my lungs. “One thousand? Just what kind of mushroom is this?” I ask.

She picks it up and twirls it in her fingers. “It's the difference between life and death.”