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.