““From the moment you first told me he longed to return to being a Trader, I have been wondering that same thing. Why do you think he might have killed himself?” A thought crossed her souls. She shoved it aside. Gesturing awkwardly with her cup, she said, “There was something I didn’t tell you yesterday. The night he died, I heard Father come out of his bedchamber, and as he passed by my door, I smelled a strange odor. It shocked me when I realized that the odor wasn’t coming from your house, or... being carried in on the wind.” As the coals in the hearth ate into the branches she’d added, flames licked up around the wood, and liquid amber threads shot through his short black hair. “It was a memory?” “Yes. I’m almost certain the bitter smell was dried water hemlock.” For a time the silence was broken only by the distant groan of thunder and the echoes of children laughing. “Do you think he went back to his bedchamber to get it? So that he could put it in the stew you’d made for him?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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