fall to his death from them, adding to their popularity by showing the breeding of the clientele.
Since the money in my purse wasn’t my own, I decided to use the horse lifts.
I joined the four gentlemen and one lady who were already in line, waited for the lift to lower itself, then handed over my thin silver bit and stepped aboard.
It was no more than an open-sided box with a brass rail running around the edge. Thick hempen ropes connected to the corners, giving it some stability, but any extreme motion set the thing swaying in a most disturbing fashion. A smartly dressed boy rode up and down with each load of passengers, opening the gate and signaling the horse drivers at the top when to begin their pull.
It is the custom of the nobility to put their backs to Severen as they ride the lifts. Gawking was something common folk did. Not particularly caring what the nobles thought of me, I stood at the front rail. My stomach did peculiar things as we rose from the ground.
I watched Severen spread out below. It was an old city, and proud. The high stone wall circling it spoke of troubled times long past. It said much of the Maer that even in these peaceful times the fortifications were kept in excellent repair. All three of the gates were guarded, and they were closed at sundown every night.
As the lift continued I could see the different sections of Severen as clearly as if I were looking down on a map. There was a rich neighborhood, spaced with gardens and parks, the buildings all of brick and old stone. There was the poor quarter, the streets narrow and twisting, where all the roofs were tar and wooden shingles. At the foot of the cliff a black scar marked where a fire had cut through the city at some point in the past, leaving little more than the charred bones of buildings.
Too soon the ride was over. I let the other gentles disembark as I leaned against the railing, looking out over the city far below.
“Sir?” the boy who rode the lift prompted wearily. “All off.”
I turned, stepped off the lift, and saw Denna standing in the front of the line.
Before I had time to do anything other than stare in wonder, she turned and met my eyes. Her face lit. She cried my name, ran at me, and was nestled in my arms before I knew what was happening. I settled my arms around her and rested my cheek against her ear. We came together easily, as if we were dancers. As if we’d practiced it a thousand times. She was warm and soft.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her heart was racing, and I felt it thrilling against my chest.
I stood mutely as she stepped back from me. Only then did I notice an old bruise fading to yellow high on her cheek. Even so, she was the most beautiful thing I had seen in two months and a thousand miles. “What are
She laughed her silver laugh and reached out to touch my arm. Then her eyes flicked over my shoulder and her face fell. “Hold on!” she cried to the boy who was closing the gate to the lift. “I have to catch this one or I’ll be late,” she said, her face full of pained apology as she stepped past me onto the lift. “Come find me.”
The boy closed the gate behind her and my heart fell as the lift began to drop from sight. “Where should I look?” I stepped closer to the edge of the Sheer, watching her fall away.
She was looking up, her face white against the darkness, her hair a shadow in the night. “The second street north of Main: Tinnery Street.”
Shadow took her, and suddenly I was alone. I stood, the smell of her still in the air around me, the warmth of her just fading from my hands. I could still feel the tremor of her heart, like a caged bird beating against my chest.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Deadnettle
After my trip to Severen, I deposited my lute case in my room and made my way to Alveron’s private rooms as quickly as possible. Stapes was not pleased to see me, but he showed me in with the same bustling efficiency as always.
Alveron lay in a sweaty stupor, his bedclothes twisted around him. It was only then I noticed how thin he had grown. His arms and legs were stringy and his complexion had faded from pale to grey. He glowered at me as I entered the room.
Stapes arranged the Maer’s covers in a more modest fashion and helped him into a seated position, propping him up with pillows. The Maer endured these ministrations stoically, then said, “Thank you, Stapes,” in a tone of dismissal. The manservant left slowly, giving me a decidedly uncivil stare.
I approached the Maer’s bed and brought several items from the pockets of my cloak. “I found everything I needed, your grace. Though not everything I hoped for. How do you feel?”
He gave me a look that spoke volumes. “It took you a damn long time getting back. Caudicus came while you were away.”
I fought down a wave of anxiety. “What happened?”
“He asked me how I was feeling, and I told him the truth. He looked in my eyes and down my throat and asked me if I had thrown up. I told him yes, and that I wanted more medicine and to be left alone. He left and sent some over.”
I felt a panic rise in me. “Did you drink it?”
“If you’d been gone much longer I would have, and to hell with your faerie stories.” He brought another vial from beneath his pillow. “I can’t see what harm it could do. I can feel myself dying already.” He thrust it toward me angrily.
“I should be able to improve matters, your grace. Remember, tonight will be the most difficult. Tomorrow will be bad. After that, all should be well.”
“If I live so long as that,” he groused.
It was just the petulant grumble of a sick man, but it mirrored my thoughts so precisely that ice ran down my back. Earlier, I hadn’t considered that the Maer might die despite my intervention. But when I looked at him now, frail and grey and trembling, I realized the truth: he might not live through the night.
“First, there’s this, your grace.” I took out the tippling flask.
“Brandy?” he said with muted anticipation. I shook my head and opened it. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and sank back onto the pillows. “God’s teeth. As if my dying wasn’t bad enough. Cod liver oil?”
I nodded seriously. “Take two good swallows, your grace. This is part of your cure.”
He made no move to take it. “I’ve never been able to stomach the stuff, and lately I even vomit up my tea. I won’t put myself through the hell of drinking it only to sick it back up.”
I nodded and restoppered the flask. “I’ll give you something to stop that.” There was a pot of water on the bedside table, and I began to mix him a cup of tea.
He craned weakly to see what I was doing. “What are you putting in that?”
“Something to keep you from being sick, and something to help you pass the poison out of your system. A bit of laudanum to ease your craving. And tea. Does your grace take sugar?”
“Normally, no. But I’m guessing it will taste like stumpwater without it.” I added a spoonful, stirred, and handed him the cup.
“You first,” Alveron said. Pale and grim, he watched me with his sharp grey eyes. He smiled a terrible smile.
I hesitated, but only for a moment. “To your grace’s health.” I said, and took a good swallow. I grimaced and added another spoonful of sugar. “Your grace predicted it quite well. Stumpwater it is.”
He took the cup with both hands and began to drink it in a number of quick, determined sips. “Dreadful,” he said simply. “But better than nothing. Do you know what a hell it is to be thirsty but not be able to drink for fear of throwing up? I wouldn’t wish it on a dog.”
“Wait a bit to finish it,” I cautioned. “That should settle your stomach in a few minutes.”
I went into the other room and added the new vial of medicine to the flit’s feeders. I was relieved to see they were still sipping at the medicated nectar. I had worried they might avoid it due to a change in flavor or some natural instinct for self-preservation.
I also worried that lead might not be poisonous to sipquicks. I worried they might take a span to show any ill
