Morning light slanted through the window of the botanical shop, warming the rows of terracotta pots where tiny silver ferns were just beginning to unfurl their fronds. It had been twenty-four hours since the elder left with his glass bottle, and the dust motes danced lazily in the quiet air between the shelves. I was busy wiping down the wooden counter with a damp linen cloth when the bell above the door chimed softly. Hunter stood just inside the threshold, his tailored black coat buttoned high against the morning chill, holding a damp leather ledger under one arm. He didn't look like a man who had spent the entire night patrolling the borders of a restless underground court.
“Three-quarters of the districts have accepted the delivery,” Hunter said, his voice carrying that familiar, gravelly weight as he stepped closer to the counter. He placed the leather ledger down on the polished wood, letting his fingers rest briefly on the brass clasp. “The western and southern wards took to the synthetic without a single complaint. They say it tastes clean, like well-water after a long rain, and the hunger has dropped enough to empty the holding cells.”
I paused with the cloth in my hand, watching a single water droplet slide down the side of a glass terrarium near the till. “And the rest?” I asked, keeping my voice level even though the skin at the back of my neck felt tight. There was always a faction that preferred the old ways, the messy and violent hunts that kept our kind tethered to the shadows.
“The old guard in the northern caves are making noise,” Hunter replied, leaning his weight against the edge of the counter with a quiet sigh. “They claim it lacks the rich tang of elf blood, calling it weak water meant for children and mortals. Cassian has been visiting their camp every evening since the solstice announcement, reminding them who sits on the throne.”
I tossed the damp cloth onto the counter and reached for a pair of brass pruning shears, my thumb tracing the worn metal handle. “Let them complain about the taste as long as they stay out of the streets,” I said, though the thought of Cassian moving through the northern caves like a ghost left a cold taste in my mouth. Hunter gave a slow nod, his dark eyes shifting toward the back room where the faint scent of crushed clover always lingered now.
“The elf is still back there,” Hunter noted, not unkindly, though his jaw tightened just enough to show what he thought of the arrangement. “The court won't keep quiet about his presence forever, Lilly. Word gets out when a creature from the northern woods practically lives beneath the Queen's floorboards.”
“He's helping stabilize the yield, Hunter, and you know it,” I said sharply, turning away to inspect a row of potted nightshade near the sink. Hunter didn't answer right away, just straightened his coat and turned toward the front door without another word. The bell chimed again as he stepped out into the morning street, leaving me alone with the ledger and the rising hum of the city outside.
I walked back through the narrow doorway into the workroom, intending to check on the remaining glass bottles we had set out to dry on the slate bench. The room was dim, lit only by the pale amber light filtering through the small high window that opened onto the alleyway. Levin was standing by the large oak table in the center of the room, holding a small, razor-sharp silver scalpel between his fingers. He had his left sleeve rolled up past the elbow, exposing the pale skin of his inner forearm where faint, greenish veins pulsed with a steady, quiet light.
“Levin, what are you doing?” I asked, dropping the pruning shears onto the table with a sharp clatter that made him jump.
He froze, the silver blade hovering just an inch above his pale skin, and looked up at me with those wide green eyes. “The elder said the northern minority wants something more potent,” Levin said softly, his voice as calm as a summer breeze, as if he were discussing the weather rather than his own veins. “A few drops of pure elven vitality mixed into the next batch would fix their complaints permanently. It would end Cassian's arguments before the council even meets.”