“Ha! I knew that would chase the boredom off your face.” Niamh’s grin revealed bloodied gums and teeth stained scarlet. The grin faded. “I’ve not lied outright to you, Imogen, but I’ve withheld much from you—things you’ve a right to know—things I should have told you long ago were I not such a coward.”

Alarmed as much by claims of cowardice as she was by Niamh’s bloody mouth, Imogen rose. “Your tea should be cooled now.” She pointed a finger to halt Niamh’s protest and straightened her blankets.

“Not another word, Mother. We bargained, you and I. The box and then the tea. You have your box. Now you’ll have your tea. And no more foolish talk of cowards.”

She returned with the warm tea and held the cup as Niamh sipped and dabbed her dry lips with a soft cloth. The cloth came away spotted red. Both women stared at the stains for a few moments before Niamh spoke.

“We both know I’ve little time left to me. I should have done this sooner.” She handed the book to Imogen. “This book is for you. Recipes I didn’t have the time to teach you, bits and pieces of a life lived and mistakes made, discoveries of wonder.” Tears edged her eyelids. “Recollections of your childhood.”

With those words, the book grew heavier in Imogen’s hands. Like Niamh, she caressed the book reverently. She met her mother’s dark stare. “Why would you say such things make you a coward?”

Niamh’s gaze never wavered. “Because they aren’t what you need to know most, and some misdeeds are too painful to write down or speak of, including the origins of your curse.” She shushed Imogen’s protests. “Listen to me. Promise you’ll read the book when I’m gone and remember that I loved you as my own.” She clutched Imogen’s gloved hand. “Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Seemingly satisfied with Imogen’s answer, she fell back against the pillow, her pallid features blanching the color of sun-bleached bone. “Look in the box. There’s a trinket there, a thing far costlier than a treasure house full of gold.”

Shaken, Imogen reached into the box and lifted out a piece of silver jewelry. It looked like nothing more than a noblewoman’s lost pendant on a delicate chain. Fine workmanship and far more valuable than anything she or Niamh owned but certainly not unique and not equal to the gold in a treasure house. She touched it, and a shock of vibration shot up her arm so strong, she yelped.

The pendant sat heavy and warm in her hand, weightier than its appearance suggested. The strange vibrations continued to pulse along her fingers through her gloves. Raised by a witch of Niamh’s caliber, Imogen didn't startle easily at the odd and sometimes frightening manifesting before her, but she inhaled when the intricate knotwork within the symbol moved, reforming in serpentine motion until a new pattern took shape.

She glanced at Niamh who smiled in satisfaction. “What think you of that piece?”