“I believe there are ten silver astrels at stake on the date of your dismissal. I do not approve of gambling; therefore, no one shall win money from my dismissal of you. Take this list, and go—but remember to come back.”

Briar did as he was told. Osprey went with him. “He must like your work,” she commented admiringly as she gathered the special washes needed for a pox spill. “Guess I’d better return Tris’s silver astrel, if he’s on to the betting.”

“May as well give me back my wager on Tris getting the boot,” said the boy gloomily. “If he won’t get rid of me, there’s no way he’ll rid himself of her.”

“I noticed,” Osprey told him drily. “If she wasn’t already Master Goldeye’s student, I’d be plenty worried, believe me.”

Once Briar returned, he was put back to his former job. Nothing more was said about his accident.

That evening, just as Osprey announced it was time to close, a deep, emerald-green light dawned at Rosethorn’s worktable. Briar saw its reflection in the glass and polished stone around him and turned, looking for the source. The light grew brighter and brighter, silhouetting Rosethorn’s body.

“Crane, remember that change you suggested, switching from bloodstone to hematite?” she asked in a calm, ordinary voice. “You may have something.”

“In combination with—?” He walked over to observe what she had done, as calm as she. Tris danced from foot to foot behind them, trying to see. Osprey was more dignified, but she too was trying to bend around Crane’s side for a better look at Rosethorn’s worktable. Briar went to Tris’s chair and climbed it. Now he had a perfect view.

In the tray before Rosethorn, light blazed from a column of wells. “Juniper and yarrow, three parts, to one part wisteria oil,” Rosethorn said, answering Crane’s inquiry.

“Wisteria. Ah. That would explain the extravagant effects.” Crane turned and looked down his nose at Osprey and Tris. Seeing Briar on the chair, he raised his brows.

Rosethorn covered her tray with its glass top and turned around. “Oh, for Mila’s sake, calm down. It’s just the first key.” The outer workroom staff had crowded into the doorway to see what the fuss was about. Rosethorn told them, “It looks extravagant because it lit up, but we’re still a long way from a cure. We must find thirty-six keys, by our reckoning.” Crane nodded agreement.

Nonetheless, there was excited chatter in the washroom. When they all emerged from the greenhouse, Briar and Tris were invited to join the novices at the main dining hall. Rosethorn nodded permission. She and Crane wandered around the greenhouse to Crane’s usual office, talking softly.

The next morning Rosethorn came over to Briar’s table, he assumed to make that day’s first change to his slate of instructions. Instead she rested a hand on Briar’s shoulder. I need a favor, she told him mind-to-mind. My own magical reserves are low—I must be tired, because I’m not replenishing overnight as I should.

You need some of mine, Briar replied silently. Sure. You look tired.

Just once it would have been nice if you had been gallant and said I never looked better, she informed him. He knew she smiled under her mask because he could see the corners of her eyes crinkle up.

He ran a thick vine of his power through the point where her palm rested on his shoulder, letting his magic spill into her. He had plenty. His job entailed no use of it, while Rosethorn and Crane had been pouring theirs into experiments.

You want me to tap my shakkan? he asked silently, when she stopped the flow between them. I can call it to me here.

No, she said, though I appreciate the offer. Keep the shakkan in reserve. If you make too much use of it, you’ll get lazy with your own power. She stopped, then remarked, Well, well. I believe someone has found the second key.

She turned, taking her hand from Briar’s shoulder. Briar did the same and squinted against the white radiance that poured around Crane’s lean figure. Tris had turned away, shading her eyes with one arm. Osprey and her crew ran in and burst into applause.

“It is only the second key,” said Crane, his voice pleased. “There are many more to go—though I admit, it is good to see we are moving in the proper direction at last.”

“Osprey, is there tea?” asked Rosethorn. “I need a large mug with plenty of honey. Oh—before that, a small cup of willowbark tea.” Osprey nodded and went to get the cups herself: a pot of the daily mixture and a pot of willowbark were always on the brew in the outer workroom, in a spelled cabinet that also kept the cups and honeypot from harm. Those teas received as much respect as the magical research texts. None of them could have endured an entire day without tea.

“Willowbark?” Briar whispered, so only Rosethorn could hear.

She rubbed her forehead on the back of her glove. “Try squinting through lenses and running magic through all sorts of crystals. See how long it is till you get a headache,” she said with her old rude spirit. “Crane, let me see.” She went over to examine what Crane had done.

Briar frowned. Rosethorn never got headaches, even while laboring in her garden under the summer sun. He watched her walk to the center of the room, away from the counters, to lower her mask and gulp the willowbark tea that Osprey brought, making a face at its bitterness. She traded that empty cup for the other, sweeter tea she’d requested.

She’s lost weight, he realized. Why hadn’t he noticed?