“They were the best sisters I could ever ask for.” The girl had put the fires out, thankfully. The stench remained but at a fraction of its vigor. Steam rose from the heavy pots, hissing. She began to boil the six remaining bezoars again at daybreak, each in separate cauldrons. Once they were steeped to her satisfaction, she poured a generous amount into their own vials, each liquid darker than the other. Even the daeva thought the smell was terrible. It took a whiff of one of the cauldrons and hurried away, sticking its snout into the sand and blowing noisily.

“Polaire should have made a terrible asha. She was lazy and inept when it came to her lessons. She sang worse than I did, had no patience with the refined arts, and was too impatient for meditation. She had terrible coordination, which meant she was barely adequate when it came to dancing. She was fond of insults, swore a lot, and had a high opinion of herself. But she was popular. She was the most popular asha in the Willow district for two years before she scaled back her schedule. She was also highly skilled with runes—one of the best.

“Althy was different. She was every inch an asha—a whiz when it came to herbs and potions, skilled in both dancing and fighting. The problem was that she looked more like a jovial fisherman’s wife than anything else. She used that often to her advantage. I miss them both, though I don’t think they miss me.”

“Are you going to make more potions out of these, milady?” I gestured at the pots.

“Why else would I stand all this stink? But I’m not looking forward to drinking them.” She stoppered the bottles and placed them on a small wooden tray with the rest.

“Milady, you talked of two of your sisters. Lady Mykaela was the third. Who was the fourth?”

She smiled wryly. “Who else?”