Page 37 of Bitten & Burned
My dearest Rowena,
I trust this letter finds you well enough, though I worry about your sudden absence from Caer Voss. The City feels emptier without your quiet diligence—I’ve had to remind myself more than once that you are not just down the road at Blackthorn, lost among your books.
I hope you have found what you needed in your…current company. I trust they are treating you with the gentleness your condition demands. I would hate to think of you in pain, or worse, misunderstood.
I do wonder if you’ve been alright since you left. I know the trip wasn’t long, but it was strenuous, up the mountainside. I hope you won’t need your amulet cleansed again before you return. No one understands the nature of your affliction better than I do. It pains me that you have let strangers shoulder a burden I was prepared to carry for you.
Should you wish to return, or even write, you know how to reach me. I remain, as ever,
Yours,
—S.D.
I frowned. What burden was he referring to? The treatment of my condition? Gods, I hoped I hadn’t given him the impression that he was the only relief I got. I’d have to write him and set him straight.
The next letter was about the same size and heft, but was postmarked two days after the previous letter.
Rowena,
Forgive the intrusion of another note so soon, but I find myself unsettled after sending my last. There is something I neglected to mention.
I’ve come across a fragment in one of our older folios—you may recall the Grieves Manuscript you transcribed last winter. There are passages there that may illuminate the root cause of your present difficulties. Of course, the work is incomplete without your eye for detail. No one could be trusted with this but you.
If you wish, I will have the pages prepared and sent under guard. Or perhaps you would prefer to come yourself and work here in privacy, as you once did. You know I would see to it you were not disturbed.
Please do not let pride or misplaced loyalty keep you from what you do best. There is no shame in turning to your mentor when the road ahead grows dark.
I await your reply.
— S.D.
Intriguing, to be certain. I would include in my return letter that he should send them by courier. It would be something I could do while I was here.
The last letter was indeed from Thalia. I opened it last, savoring the lavender and sage scent that wafted up from the paper within.
Rowena,
I hope this finds you well and that Halemont is treating you more kindly than the city ever did. You’ve been on my mind. I keeppicturing you in those echoing halls, getting lost, poking your nose where you shouldn’t.
When you have a moment, could you ask your vampire or any of his covenmates if they know anything about bloodroot? I’ve come across a few references in old herbal records, but nothing solid. It feels like something that shouldn’t be overlooked, and you’re always better at piecing these things together than I am.
Write me back when you can. And, if you’re miserable, come home for tea. The kettle’s always on.
— Thalia
Bloodroot? I’d heard of it before, but not in any old herbal records. More like whispered under the hush of darkness in the library at Blackthorn as students discussed whether or not to acquire some to help them study for their future tests.
As far as I could tell, it wasn’t an illicit or controlled substance, but I thought it should be. I’d have to ask Vael if he’d heard anything about it the next chance I got.
After refolding all my letters, I headed downstairs for breakfast. I could smell it from here. Anton was cooking up something delicious.
Anton was at the stove, sleeves rolled, hair slightly mussed in a way that made him look more like a decadent noble on holiday than a man cooking breakfast. The table was already set, steam curling from a pot of rich, dark coffee.
“Morning, darling,” he said without glancing up. “You’re just in time. Sit.”
I slid into a chair, watching the way he moved—precise, practiced, yet indulgent, like each motion was for his own pleasure as much as mine. The rich scent of butter and citrus clung to the air,making my stomach growl. “You’re awfully cheerful for someone who doesn’t have to eat breakfast.”
“I might not have to, but I prefer to,” he replied, plating something golden and fragrant in front of me before setting his own across from mine. “Pleasure and necessity aren’t the same thing. One I indulge far more often than the other.”
