"Yes. He was watching the pot. He was afraid it would turn bitter if it stewed too long."
"He said you hate anything sour or bitter."
I thought to myself, that foolish old man. He died without ever realizing I'd been lying to him.
I never actually minded sour or bitter things.
I just hated taking medicine.
When Master first found me, I was badly wounded. A two-year-old pup, half-shifted and covered in wounds that smelled of something ancient. My health never fully recovered after that, and I needed wolfsbane tonics constantly just to stay alive.
It drove me mad. Every now and then I'd dump the doses in secret.
When Master caught on, he bought sour jujubes to coax me, saying that if I ate one first, the medicine wouldn't taste so bitter.
I didn't want to cooperate, so I told him offhandedly that I didn't like anything sour or bitter.
Even though I could never win against Master's relentless coaxing, I still obediently took my medicine for six years. But he kept those words of mine close to his heart.
After I recovered, nothing sour or bitter ever appeared on my dinner table again.
I took the pot from Matron Thornwell's hands and, as if I couldn't feel the scalding heat, drank half the soup in one long gulp.
The remaining half I poured out beside Master's body.
I wiped my mouth. "Not bad, old man. But the blood mixed in makes it a little fishy."
"Have a taste yourself. Pay attention next time you make it."
That was what finally shattered Matron Thornwell's composure.
The tears she had held back for so long broke free all at once.
"Lynara, there won't be a next time. Your master is dead!"
Oh, right. There wouldn't be a next time.
Fine. Since Master couldn't look after me anymore, it was my turn to protect him for once.
I unfastened the cloak Master had sewn for me with his own hands and draped it over his body. My voice was calm. "Matron, watch over Master. Don't bury him."
"He'd be too lonely by himself. I'll find him some company for the grave."
Matron Thornwell couldn't stop me. All she could do was weep and beg me to come back alive. Somewhere beneath her words, I caught the salt-and-lavender scent of her grief thickening until it was almost unbearable, the hearth-smoke in it gone cold.
I carried my short sword and walked toward the Sovereign Grounds.