Two weeks passed in a blur of sheared stems and foul-smelling glass jars of monster blood collected from the night shift. I wiped the condensation off my dark velvet gown, adjusting the crown that rested too heavily against my raven hair as I checked the brass pressure gauges in the lower laboratory. The air smelled of crushed peppermint and copper, a wretched combination that clung to the stone walls and refused to leave. On the long cedar workbench before me sat three new orders of custom flora destined for mortal and supernatural buyers across the city.
My hands moved steadily across the roots, carving small runes into the dirt to stimulate rapid growth. I needed to find a way to make endless blood bottles of monster blood, and I knew I could do it with my level of magic if I just adjusted the catalyst ratio correctly.
A heavy footstep echoed on the stone spiral staircase, breaking the steady hum of my distillation pipes. Hunter stepped into the lantern light, shaking the damp night chill from his tailored black coat with a sharp flick of his wrist. He didn't look at the bubbling green flasks or the ledger box tucked safely beneath the counter. His dark eyes locked onto mine with the flat intensity of a soldier who had spent the last fortnight doing things he hadn't asked permission for. I set down my pruning shears, letting the cold metal clatter against the wooden board. I hadn't asked him to track Levin through the twilight borders, but I didn't need to ask to know he had done it anyway.
“You’re back earlier than I expected,” I said, keeping my voice light and professional as I reached for a clean wiping cloth. “Did you find the silver ferns I ordered from the eastern marsh, or did the courier lose them again?”
“I didn't go to the marsh, Majesty,” Hunter replied, his gravelly voice dropping into the empty space between our workbenches. “I went after your elf.”
I froze, the cloth bunching up in my fist while a strange, sharp ache flared in my chest. I hadn't felt the physical tug of the blood-bind since the night Levin drank the unpurified batch, but my pulse still remembered the rhythm of it too well. “There was no need for that,” I murmured, turning my back to him to check the temperature of the burner. “He bought his nightshade and left the domain. He isn't our concern anymore.”
“He became our concern the moment he walked into your shop and let a curse bind you before it broke,” Hunter said, stepping closer until I could smell the ozone and damp earth clinging to his clothes. “I tracked him from the city limits all the way to the northern wood where the migrant elven communes set up their temporary tents. It took me fourteen days of watching from the treeline to see what game he was playing.”
I turned around, leaning my hips against the edge of the stone basin to keep from showing how badly I wanted to hear the rest. “And what game is that?”
Hunter let out a dry, humourless scoff that sounded more like a cough. “He was trying to find a place to stay by helping elf villages with their harvests and defensive wards. He uses that natural spring scent of his to coax stubborn blossoms out of the frost, thinking it buys him a permanent roof over his head.”
“If he has such useful skills, why are you standing here instead of watching him settle down?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at my oldest guard.
“Because they won't let him in,” Hunter said, a twitch of amusement finally cutting through the hard lines of his face. “He helps them with everything they ask, but they kick him out after three days because he is completely obsessed with vampires.”
The silence in the subterranean laboratory suddenly felt too loud, the hiss of the pressure valves sounding like someone laughing at a private joke. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, staring down at the dark green stain on my thumb. A vampire-obsessed elf wandering the outskirts of the woods, rejected by his own kind because he couldn't stop talking about my kind. It was absurd enough to make me want to laugh, or scream, or perhaps throw my favorite pruning shears at the nearest stone wall. Hunter let out a short, rough bark of laughter at the irony that a vampire-obsessed elf didn't stay longer around me when he actually had the chance.
“Imagine that,” Hunter muttered, shaking his head as he pulled a silver brooch from his collar to straighten it. “He spends half his time asking travellers about the underground court and the Queen who runs it, and the other half trying to grow black roses in daylight. The elders in the commune finally told him to pack his bags before he brought unwanted attention down on their heads.”
“Well,” I said, forcing my tone to remain flat and indifferent as I picked up a glass dropper filled with monster blood. “At least he’s someone else’s problem now, not ours.”
“Is he?” Hunter asked, his amusement vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that heavy, unwavering gravity. “Because while I was watching him, I noticed someone else watching him from the shadows of the northern ridge. Someone from our own court.”