“For what purpose, you ask. How appropriate.” With a powerful thrust of his wings he rises into the air. “You flesh bodies are so obsessed with goodness, yet no other form of life on earth is capable of such cruelty. You need only convince yourselves your transgressions serve some ‘purpose.’ Even if it is only greed, or lust, or the raw desire for power that drives you. You will spill the blood of your kinsmen, lay waste to the earth itself, wreak havoc, and cause unspeakable suffering—any and all sins are justified, as long as they are a means to your precious, righteous ‘purpose.’”

His voice pierces me through. The icy wind from his beating wings freezes my blood.

“So it has been with you, Master Weed. You would do anything if you thought it might save Jessamine; in that, you have proven yourself human to the core. And so it is with Luxton. Once he fixed on his ‘purpose,’ the rest of his misdeeds followed with barely a moment of remorse: First, a venomous toast—”

The earth shifts beneath me. “The absinthe—” I stammer. “The toast for our engagement—the sugar cube—”

“You see how carefully the trap was laid? For, unless you were willing to die for your precious fiancée, you would never have dared come here, to my intoxicating garden of death. Luxton made you willing to kill, even willing to die—all in exchange for a few measly recipes.”

“Recipes?”

“Of course.” His laughter is like a rain of daggers. “Without your heroic efforts, Master Weed, all those pages in the apothecary’s precious book of poisons would still be blank.”

Now in flight, he swoops and circles me like a vulture. “How shocked you look!” he crows. “How horrified! That a man would poison his own daughter to gain power, in the form of a little deadly but exquisitely valuable knowledge—does this surprise you, Weed? Even after all my Poisons have taught you? Haven’t you been paying attention at all?”

He swoops down once more. The tip of his finger, sharp as a thorn, draws itself gently across my cheek. It is no more than the touch of a breeze, but I feel the hot blood well up and drip to the corner of my mouth, until the sharp metal taste is on my tongue.

Now rage fills me, the bile rises. I am poisoned, finally, with my own blood and anger, and there will be no cure for me but killing Thomas Luxton—not with a coward’s secret poisons, but with my own avenging hands—

Speechless with fury, I turn and sprint back to the cottage.

“Off you go, then, Master Weed! Consider it your fourth task.” Oleander’s laughter carries on the wind. “Vengeance against the wicked!”

I feel everything now, Oleander. Every moment is agony. Please—make it stop—

It is what you wished for, lovely. Remember?