He watched her walk away, with Vae trotting beside her.
As he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he felt a warning twinge in his back.
“Enough,” he said.
It surprised him how bitter his voice sounded that he couldn’t work anymore today. He’d never minded before when he had to stop.
But that was before it mattered that someone might think he was weak.
One last thing, he thought as he vanished the tools. He’d get a bucket of water to wet down the new plants, and he’d use Craft to take the weight of the full bucket instead of forcing his body to do more than it should. Then he’d get something to eat and sit in the shade while he studied the next part of the book on—
*Gray? Gray!*
His body stiffened in response to the panic in Vae’s voice. He saw Cassie at the far end of the garden, backing away from that weedy spot, one hand clamped over her mouth.
Something wrong. Something terribly wrong.
*Gray!*
He ran.
The moment Vae saw him running toward Cassie, she ran toward the house. He had no idea who the Sceltie was calling for help, but he was certain she’d do her best to rouse everyone she could.
He slowed to avoid running Cassie down. “Cassie!” Maybe it was nothing worse than a snake or a dead mouse. Maybe . . .
She turned to look at him. Her freckles were the only color in her face.
“It’s witchblood,”she whispered. Then she threw her arms around him and held on as if her life depended on it. “It’s witchblood.”
Her legs buckled, and he went down with her, wincing when his knees hit the ground.
“So many,” Cassie sobbed. “So many.”
He didn’t know what to ask, didn’t know what to do, didn’t understand why those black-edged red flowers upset her so much.
*Cassie? Cassie!*
Not alone, Gray thought as the Sceltie returned, whining anxiously.
Voices. Shouts. He couldn’t twist around to see, but moments later Theran and Ranon were there, asking questions he couldn’t answer while Cassie sobbed.
Then Shira was there, on her knees beside him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is she hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Gray said, so shaken he began to stammer. “She looked at those weeds and got upset.”
“Not w-weeds,” Cassie gasped before she started crying harder.
“Mother Night,” Shira muttered. She called in a bottle Healers used to store tonics, yanked out the stopper, then grabbed a hunk of red braid and pulled Cassie’s head up. “Here. Drink this. Drink!”
Cassie drank. Gasped. Gulped air.
But she settled. When she rested her head on Gray’s shoulder, she was still shaking but no longer crying.
Shira sat back, took a swig from the bottle, then held it out to Gray. “You too.”
He obeyed and took a long swallow.
“What is that?” Theran asked.
“Brandy,” Shira replied.
By now the rest of the First Circle except Talon had reached the spot—even Powell, who was still puffing from the run.
Gray looked up at Theran. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Not your fault, Gray,” Theran replied softly.
“So many,” Cassie whispered. “So many.”
“So many what?” Shira asked with that quiet voice Healers used when they were asking about something painful.
“One for each,” Cassie said. “That’s how it grows. That’s how you know. One plant for each. Living memento mori. Can’t be killed once it takes root, can’t be hidden. Ground soaked in blood nourishes the seed.”
Gray saw the shock on the men’s faces. Saw Shira pale.
“Cassidy . . . ,” Shira said.
“It grows where a witch was killed,” Cassidy said. “It grows where her blood was spilled in violence. So many died in that spot.”
“Mother Night,” Ranon said.
Gray wasn’t sure which of them was still shaking—he or Cassie—until she pulled away from him to sit up on her own.
It was him.
“Can I have more of that?” Cassie asked, reaching for the tonic bottle.
Shira handed it over without a word.
“Do you know who might have died here,Theran?” Ranon asked.
Theran looked sick. “I’m not sure. Thera, I think. And Talon’s wife.”
“I’ve seen so much of this stuff growing in Dena Nehele— and in the Shalador reserves,” Ranon said. “Was told it was just a weed, an invasive weed. Mother Night.”
Feeling timid, Gray touched Cassie’s shoulder. “What do we do now?”
“It’s overgrown with weeds and hasn’t been tended for too long,” Cassie said. “So we’ll tend that ground and the witchblood that grows there.” She paused. “The Black Widows in the Dark Court told me that witchblood knows the name of the one who has gone, and if you know how, the plant can tell you whose blood nourished the seed.”
Mutters. Murmurs. Shira shuddered.
“I can ask how it’s done—if you want to know,” Cassie said, looking at Shira.
“I—Grayhaven?” Shira said, looking at Theran.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if . . . I don’t know.”
Cassie nodded. When she shifted position, Theran offered a hand to help her stand up.
Gray got to his feet, wincing a little and pretending he didn’t see the way Shira was studying him before Ranon pulled her up.
“We’re going to clean up that ground,” Cassie said.
*Gray and Cassie need to rest,* Vae said.
“Yes, they do,” Shira said. “Lady Cassidy’s hands are still fragile, and if she’s going to stay out here and supervise, I want Gray to stay close by and keep her company. But I’d like to help clean up that part of the garden.”
“So would I,” Ranon said.
“Gray?” Theran said. “Do you have tools we could use?”
Gray called in the tools he’d vanished, handing them out as Theran, Ranon, and Archerr came up to claim them.
“The short-handled claws would work better for the tight places,” he said. “They’re still in the shed.”
“I’ll get them,” Ranon said, handing the hoe to Shira.
They worked in the garden the rest of the morning, moving carefully between plants that now held a different meaning.
Gray watched them, frustrated because all he could do was watch. There was an odd comfort in knowing Cassie was just as frustrated that she couldn’t help.