Page 51 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
Can you think ofanydifferences between the tinctures you make here versus in Waldron?” Phina asked.
We were standing side by side at a small workstation in the center of the lab, surrounded by flower beds and buzzing bees. On the table were Hylder flowers and berries; a jar of dried thistle; a pitcher of clear spirit; as well as various utensils, including a quartz stirring spoon much like the one in Phina’s classroom.
I spread my palms in a shrug. “Healing tinctures are pretty simple. For Hylder, I grind the flowers and berries into a paste, incorporate—”
“How young are the flowers?” Phina cut in.
“Depends on what I can find”—I picked up a sprig—“but I prefer half-budded, half-open. Seems more potent that way.”
“Hm.”
“What?”
“It’s just that…well, that’s exactly how I makemyHylder tinctures.”
She probably hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but I took it as one. The fact that I made a healing tincture the same way asPhina Farkeptthrilled me. Granted, I’d learned most of what I knew about tinctures from her books, but the validation was still meaningful.
“Can you not think ofanythingyou might do differently from common methods?” Phina pressed.
I shook my head. “It’s not a complicated mixture.”
“Demonstrate, would you?”
I’d made countless Hylder tinctures for Phina since I joined her program five weeks ago, trying to recreate the effectiveness of the one I’d brought from home—but I’d never made onein frontof her. Just the idea made my hands clammy—but at least I wasn’t stuck sorting Noble’s notes. After a week of organizing his mess of papers, it felt like a mercy to be out in the garden.
“Pretend I’m not here,” Phina prompted.
I reached for the Hylder sprigs and berries, selecting them as I would normally—that is, rather haphazardly—and began grinding them with a mortar and pestle. When the mashed berries, buds, and tiny petals were the right consistency, I dropped them into a clean pitcher, added a sprinkle of dried thistle leaves for added protection, and a splash of the spirit to suspend the ingredients. Then I lifted the spoon—
“Wait,” Phina said. “Do you use a quartz spoon at home?”
I pinched my lips and shook my head. A quartz spoon was a neutral material that limited contamination; at the Collegium, it was considered the superior utensil—but in Waldron, I made do with simpler methods.
“What do you usually stir your tinctures with?”
“I don’t,” I replied. “I shake them.”
“With or without a lid?”
I picked up the pitcher and gave it a swirl, sloshing the dark purple liquid around until it was thoroughly mixed. When it was ready by my usual standards, I held it out to Phina. She dipped a clean spoon into the liquid, observing it with her magic. I waited expectantly, hoping beyond hope thatthisbatch would please her.
When she frowned, I did, too. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m doing differently.”
“Perhaps it’s not the method, but the ingredients. Take me through your sourcing again.”
I rested my palms on the table, thinking. “I gather the ingredients myself. The thistle comes from the western hill in Waldron—the southeast-facing slope, all-day sun—and the Hylder grows a bit south of town, along the Wend. I usually get my clear spirit from distillers in Waldron or from merchants from neighboring towns.”
“Do you remember which distillery the spirit came from?”
I shook my head. “It was likely a few sources—I often consolidate clear spirit into one jug to save space. I pay more attention to the alcohol content.”
Phina winced and ran a tired hand through her short hair, as if this practice were utterly inexcusable.
“Sorry,” I said again. “You’re probably horrified.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re scrappy, remember?” Phina bumped my shoulder with hers, and though we were failing to solve the mystery, her playful encouragement buoyed me.
“Are thereanydifferences at all between these ingredients and the ones back home, aside from where they’re grown?” my professor asked.
