Sapphire crouched over a narrow wooden table, her brow deeply furrowed in concentration. The small workroom smelled of damp earth, smoke, and crushed leaves. Before her sat three shallow bowls, carefully arranged in a straight line. Each held a sample from their previous visit to the Brooks, one filled with clear brook water, another with dark, grainy soil, and the last cradling pale brookside flowers, their petals still fresh despite the journey.
She reached for a small vial and carefully poured a few drops of each water sample into separate pouches of dried herbs. The herbs had been chosen with care, some to react to toxins, others to reveal decay or spiritual residue. Sapphire leaned closer, watching intently.
Nothing happened at first.
Then one pouch darkened slightly. Another released a sharp, bitter smell. A third thickened into a sticky clump.
Her fingers, already stained green and brown, moved swiftly as she noted each reaction on a scrap of parchment. She sniffed cautiously, her nose wrinkling.
Next, she plucked petals from the brookside flowers and crumbled them onto a heated stone resting over a small flame. A thin ribbon of smoke curled into the air. Sapphire muttered softly under her breath as she leaned in, inhaling the faint scent, sweet at first, then oddly metallic.
Her hands moved quickly now, scribbling notes, touching textures, lifting samples to the light, sniffing, observing. She was so absorbed that she failed to notice the breeze that stirred behind her.
"You really are stupid."
Sapphire jolted with a loud gasp, nearly knocking the heated stone onto the floor. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she spun around.
Fletcher, the fool of Waydell, leaned lazily against the doorway. A crooked jester's cap sat on his head. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he casually tossed an apple into the air and caught it again.
"You're handling raw samples with bare hands," he said lightly. "What, you want your fingers to rot off? Or are you hoping to become the next village warning tale?"
Sapphire scowled.
"Don't sneak up on people."
"You were too busy playing herbal goddess to notice me." He grinned and took a bite of the apple. As he smiled, one canine tooth caught the light—slightly longer, slightly sharper than the rest. "Next time, wear gloves."
She hissed under her breath and turned back to her work.
"I'm testing contamination."
"Oh?" Fletcher stepped closer, peering at the bowls with exaggerated interest.
"So now you're playing alchemist. What are we looking for? Angry spirits? Cursed earth?"
"A cure to barrenness," Sapphire replied coldly. "And unlike some people, I actually want to do something about it."
She carefully avoided mentioning Lord Typhon, and the agreement she had made with him.
Fletcher's smile faded just a little. He squatted beside her, his tone shifting.
"You think it's the water making women barren?"
"I can't conclude yet," Sapphire said. "But the brook water is strange. It's contaminated, yet the plants around it still grow green."
She lifted a cluster of leaves and showed him. They were vibrant, untouched by decay.
"That's what I need to prove," she said
"Maybe the poison is subtle. Small doses won't kill a plant outright, but over time, it could poison anyone who drinks the water."
Fletcher added as he studied the leaves, Sapphire then nodded slowly.
"Not bad… for a fool."
He allowed himself the faintest smile.
"Please. Just treat me to lunch if I'm right."
As she continued blending, boiling, draining, and adding various herbs Eugene had reluctantly supplied, her frown deepened. Fletcher, now crushing a mixture beside her, shifted nervously.
"I overheard my father's butler," he said quietly. "He mentioned something about cyanide. Said he got the information from the palace."
Sapphire froze. Then she shook her head sharply.
"That can't be right. Cyanide would kill everything, the plants, the trees, even animals. But the flowers are still blooming. The leaves are green. It doesn't add up."
She lifted a leaf again, examining its healthy color.
"If it were cyanide, nothing would survive here."
She glanced at Fletcher.
"How sure is your father's butler?"
"I'm clueless," Fletcher admitted. "No idea how he got palace information. Probably paid some fool. Alchemists are under strict supervision now, king's orders."
Sapphire froze mid-motion.
She stared at Fletcher, shock washing over her face.
Sensing her fear, Fletcher smiled faintly.
"Don't be scared. As long as you're not a certified alchemist, you're not in danger."
But his words did nothing to calm her.
If anything, Sapphire's worry tripled!!
***
Typhon's boots clicked softly against the stone floor as he stepped into his study, the door creaking open under his grip. He said nothing as he entered, pouring himself a deep red drink from the decanter on the sideboard.
Sapphire stood at the threshold, wringing her fingers nervously. "May I have a word, Milord?" she asked, her voice careful.
He glanced at her, eyes scanning her from head to toe, unreadable. Without a word, he turned and entered fully, settling into his chair. Sapphire stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her.
He sipped his drink, his eyes fixed on her as she approached, he could feel the blood pulsating through her veins, hear the faint rhythm like a whisper in the air, and her scent, wild and clean like crushed herbs and rain, curled around his senses, maddeningly distracting. Sapphire could feel the heat of his gaze crawling up her skin, her chest tightening with nerves. Every inhale she took felt too loud, too obvious. Her fingers clutched the folds of her dress.
"I was experimenting," she began, "with some material I gathered… from the brook."
His glass paused midair.
"You went to the brook?" Typhon's voice was low, but the edge in it made her stomach twist.
She faltered. "Yes, I… I needed samples for something I was studying, Eugene went with me."
"You took Eugene?" His tone sharpened. "He didn't inform me."
"I didn't give him a choice," she said quickly. "Please don't blame him."
It took a while for the stiff butler to warm up to her and she did not want him to get on the Lord's bad side
He exhaled through his nose and drank. "Do you know why no one lingers on that cursed ground?"
"No," she said truthfully.
Typhon leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine, watching her like one might a flame dancing too close to oil.
"I asked around," she added. "No one would tell me anything. Then Fletcher said something about the palace alchemists. That they suspect cyanide in the water."
That caught his attention.
"And why does that interest you?" he asked slowly.
"Because it doesn't make sense." She stepped closer, her voice steadier now. "Cyanide wouldn't let the plants grow so healthy. People are falling sick, yes, but the trees, the flowers, they're still thriving. Something isn't adding up, and no one will talk."
Typhon was silent, his jaw working.
She went on. "Why does the king keep the alchemists sealed off in the palace? Why are their findings hidden? What aren't we allowed to know?"
"You're digging in dangerous places," he said darkly.
"And you think silence will protect us?" she snapped, surprising even herself.
Typhon stood, glass in hand, walking toward her with a slow, deliberate step. He stopped mere inches away, towering over her.
"Stop asking questions that don't concern you. Find a cure! That was the deal!!"
"They do concern me," she breathed. "People are dying."
He stared at her, his eyes unreadable, but something behind them flickered. Guilt? Fear? Frustration?
Then, with a grunt, he turned away and downed the rest of his drink.
"Stay out of it, Sapphire," he muttered. "Before you stir something you can't put back."
But she knew from his silence… he was just as troubled as she was.