herbs and dried fruit, using a mortar and pestle to powder ingredients. Ishvari stood before him, panting like a dog after a hard run. Rage flared up within her against this man too for not healing her friend. “Give me your strongest sleeping potion!” she demanded. The monk must have recognized her for he quietly entered the cottage and returned with a corked glass vial. “Three drops in water before sleep,” he said. “To last you two or more moons, mind you.”

Snatching the vial out of his hand without a word of thanks, she raced back to her room and sat on her mattress, shuddering like a leaf in a storm. She fought the urge to toss the entire contents down her throat—the pain was agonizing, and yet something unsullied within her denied her a coward’s obli...

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