Page 22 of Lake of Sorrow

“Well, I didn’t get a chance to make honey drops.” Kaylina stood patiently as the taybarri slurped her finger, washing the back of her hand and halfway to her elbow in the process, but she couldn’t help shifting her weight, longing to make another batch of fertilizer to try on the plant.

“Did that answer your question?” Jankarr asked Vlerion.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll be right back.” Kaylina withdrew her hand, wiped it on her trousers, and headed for the courtyard.

“Hold.” Vlerion lit a lantern and handed it to her. “Call if you need help.”

“We’re letting her go in there alone?” Jankarr rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“She’s been in there alone often. The castle hasn’t hurt her.”

“Has it hurt you?”

“Ask Targon how it feels about rangers,” Vlerion said.

The taybarri tried to follow Kaylina into the keep, but they couldn’t fit through the doorway. She paused in the vestibule to look back at Vlerion, noting that he hadn’t answered the question. Had the cursed castle tried to hurt him before?

Even if it hadn’t, it might not be pleased that he’d helped Targon escape by cutting vines from the plant. Of course, she’d also helped the ranger captain escape. Would the castle remember that? And hold a grudge?

By now, whatever intelligence possessed it might have figured out that she was working with the rangers. And it didn’t like people who worked with the rangers.

All she could hope was that the fertilizer had appeased it.

“The taybarri want to follow her,” Jankarr noted as his mount, tongue washing blue lips, thrust his head through the doorway. Crenoch and Levitke stood right beside it.

“They like her honey,” Vlerion said.

“Yes, I remember. The mead too, as I recall.”

“That makes them pass out. They won’t be dumb enough to try it again.” Vlerion looked at the back of Crenoch’s head.

He whuffed and sniffed indignantly.

“I’ll be right back,” Kaylina repeated and headed toward the kitchen.

The smell of soot from the fire lingered, and she had to step over burned debris. Once she cleared her name and could return to trying to open a meadery, she and Frayvar would have a lot of work to make the place serviceable. Again.

Bleakness crept into her at the thought of starting from scratch, especially when they’d been so close to their launch before, but it was her dream. They had to make it work. She tried not to think about how she was now helping the rangers and doing nothing toward proving her innocence.

An ominous moan came from the rooftop, something she’d once dismissed as wind blowing over the crenellations but now knew had to do with the curse. A rattling of glass followed, one of the chandeliers shaking as if in an earthquake. Kaylina hurried out from under it, reminded that one of the huge fixtures had fallen during their first night there.

She couldn’t help but feel the castle was as agitated as it had ever been. Because the fertilizer had worn off? Or because she’d returned with rangers?

In the kitchen, she grabbed the same pot she’d used before. Aware of the rangers waiting, she didn’t start a fire, instead doing her best to mix the honey into cold water from the well. It didn’t work effectively, but she headed upstairs with the pot, a ladle, and the lantern, hoping it wouldn’t matter, that the plant could take sustenance even from gloppy honey water.

“When there’s more time, I’ll make a proper batch,” Kaylina promised the dark walls.

Another moan wafted down from above. Again, the feeling that the castle was irked with her came to mind. Hoping it was her imagination, she pressed on.

When she neared the tower, she paused to eye the section of wall that vines had erupted from to attack Targon. Nothing stuck out of the stone and mortar now, but a few shriveled husks lay on the floorboards, the pieces that Targon and Vlerion had cut.

The hole remained in the floor of the tower room, the boards Kaylina had torn free leaning against the wall. The red glow that seeped down was stronger than ever.

Belatedly, she realized she didn’t have anyone to hand the pot up to her after she climbed through the opening.

As she debated calling up the rangers and putting them at risk, a thick vine slithered out of the hole to dangle not two feet from her face. She jumped back, water sloshing in the pot. The tip curled as if offering itself as a hook.

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