Page 22 of Kissing Potions and Elves
I tip up my chin. “I study herbs, their properties, and effects.” I gesture to the organized shelves. “I’m creating an updated herbal compendium. The current Elven guide is centuries outdated.”
She studies me curiously. “What made you wish to take on such a large project?”
I hesitate briefly, remembering my visit to an Elven mage years ago—an uncomfortable memory, but one that made my research even more necessary.
When I sought out a mage to cast theHeartshadespell, I’d been startled by how archaic the process was. This suppression spell is commonplace among Elven nobility, designed to dull the recognition of one’s fated mate.
It’s used to prevent future complications and heartbreak, especially for those already promised elsewhere. Since I am betrothed to Lady Elyssia, I considered it a prudent measure. I’dnever questioned the necessity of such magic before. At the time, it had simply seemed practical.
I’ve had a problem with headaches ever since, even though the mage assured me they would subside after a few months. I’ve spoken with many others who have experienced the same issues. Which is yet another reason I felt motivated to pursue my research.
I turn to Isobel. “Our knowledge of certain magics and potions is dangerously outdated,” I add, pushing aside my lingering discomfort of the memory. “It’s important that we understand as much as possible about the ingredients used, what these spells do, and what consequences they may hold.”
“That’s incredible,” she says, voice full of awe. “What a noble thing to do.”
Her words take me by surprise. Among Elves, especially the highborn, my interests are viewed with disdain, a pursuit deemed far beneath my noble heritage. Yet here she stands, genuinely impressed.
“It’s merely my passion.” I shrug, trying not to let her praise go to my head. “Most of my kind don’t value it. But knowledge has always mattered greatly to me.”
She smiles. “Well, I think it’s wonderful.”
I clear my throat again, uncomfortable with how deeply her approval affects me.
“Perhaps you should take a look around and see if you recognize any of the ingredients you used in the tea.”
Immediately, she looks down at her hand, anxiety flickering across her features.
Unease coils within. Why does she look so uncertain? Does she have any idea what she may have used? If she cannot identify the herbs, reversing this inconvenient spell will become significantly harder.
My gaze inadvertently drops to her lips, plump and slightly parted with worry. Gods above, why must she look so tempting?
With a frustrated huff, I force myself to look away, reminding myself that this attraction is merely the potion’s doing. I clench my jaw. This entire situation is most inconvenient to say the least.
CHAPTER 11
ISOBEL
My heart hammers as I stare helplessly at the endless rows of jars. The shelves are filled with neatly labeled ingredients, each container inscribed with elegant Elven script.
I recognize none of them. Without Tressa’s careful symbols sketched beside the names, or my usual method of painstakingly matching squiggles, I’m utterly lost.
Humiliation prickles hotly at the back of my neck. I wish I knew how to read properly. I’m worried Lyrion’s going to discover that I’m illiterate. Even Tressa doesn’t know. I already get the impression that Lyrion doesn’t think very highly of humans, and I’d hate for him to think even less of me than he already does.
“Um.” I turn toward Lyrion. “Could you… please show me the headache potion spell in your book? The recipe, I mean?”
He frowns, confusion flickering in his violet eyes. “The potions are arranged alphabetically. It’s under ‘H’ for ‘headache.’”
Of course it is. Heat rushes to my cheeks, embarrassment sinking deeper into my bones. I look down at the tome lying on his worktable and swallow hard. “Could you… please find it?”
Lyrion sighs impatiently but strides gracefully to the book, flipping it open. A hint of irritation flits across his features as he taps one slender finger against the page. “There.”
My veins fill with ice as I stare at the graceful, looping letters on the parchment. These letters and symbols appear very different from the ones in Tressa’s potion book. I focus as I study the shapes, trying to commit them to memory before I search for the corresponding ingredients on the shelves.
Stalling for time, I ask, “If you have all of this, why do you come to the café for Tressa’s potion tea?”
“My headaches are often so bad, I cannot concentrate well enough to trust myself to mix the ingredients correctly. And most Elves do not treat themselves with their own potions anyway, including myself. It’s the best way to prevent any accidental mishaps.” He arches a brow as he gives me a pointed look. “Normally, that is.”
I wince inwardly.
