The next day, Alistair knocks on Patrick's door to wake him, telling him that their first lesson will start in a half hour. Patrick scrambles around the castle, trying to get in a decent state before he's late. He runs a cloth over his body, dresses, and flees to the kitchens to find something to sate the gnawing in his stomach. He goes to Lena's room, but she isn't there, and makes his way to the courtyard without her.

In the middle of the garden, a large wisteria tree stands, connecting all the gravel pathways. The tree emits a low hum, courtesy of the bees. Alistair stands under the tree, shaded by the purple flowers.

"It's a good day today," Alistair says. "The sun is bright."

Patrick nods. "Where is Lena?"

"Runningwind is helping her ride. She's out with her and the brats."

Patrick can only assume that Alistair is referring to the twins.

"Shall we begin? How well do you know your plants?" Alistair asks, leading Patrick into the garden.

Many of the flowers Patrick isn't familiar with. Lena would call them rich people flowers, flowers that are bought to look pretty rather than eat or use as medicine.

"Um, I know the ones around my town," he answers.

"Hmm," Alistair hums.

It's a necessity to know the plants of the forest when you're poor and it's your only source of income and food. Patrick can name all the plants and their uses: yarrow for fevers and colds, ginger for stomach problems, feverfew for tea, witch hazel for any kind of skin irritation, starflower for oil, speedwell for coughs, fireweed for swelling and wounds, violet for eating and abrasions, more plants with more uses. He knows what to stay away from. He knows anything that's a nightshade is deadly: petunias, angel's trumpets, belladonna, moonflowers, etc.

So, when Alistair leans over and picks an angel's trumpet off the tree nearest to them and hands it to him, he's a bit startled. Patrick takes the poisonous flower as if it will kill him with a touch and twirls it between his fingers. The flower is the size of his hand and the color of dawn. The edges curl ever so slightly.

"Angel's trumpet," Patrick says. "Nightshade. Every part of it is toxic."

Alistair smirks a little and Patrick is unsure whether he is pleased or not. "Now, I want you to eat it."

"Excuse me?"

"Angel's trumpet is poisonous, yes, but it can be used to awaken magical powers."

Patrick stares. He can hear Lena screaming 'horse shit' in his head. "I'd rather not."

Patrick doubts one angel's trumpet will kill him, but he knows that even one is enough to cause fits of vomiting, hallucinations, and fever. Patrick remembers one little girl who was wandering in the woods with her father and ate an angel's trumpet. She vomited and passed out. The poison was enough to kill her in less than a day. It was the talk of Vertbank for weeks on end. The plant was uprooted soon after.

"It won't kill you."

"I know."

Alistair looks at him and Patrick looks down at the flower.

"Don't you trust me, Patrick?"

"No," says Patrick without thinking.

Much to his surprise, Alistair laughs. "Why are you here if that's so?"

"I want Lena better and if we had stayed there would be no hope."

"Harrison has his doubts, but I believe you'll be a fine apprentice."

Patrick eyes the man skeptically to which Alistair laughs again.

"Armies are bought. Loyalty only comes where there is gold, but what happens once the gold has run out? You, my boy, have a drive stronger than let's say William or Oliver or their masters. They want power, but you want to save your friend. Their drive leaves when the stakes are more than they're willing to risk. My sellswords are, after all, sellswords. You won't give up, will you? Or is your life worth more than Lena's?"

"So you're using me?" Patrick asks carefully.

"If you wish to look at it that way. I get my pendant and you get the key to reversing Lena's curse."

Patrick stays silent for a moment, speaking only once he's thought it over.

"I thought we were out here for lessons."

"This is the lesson, my boy. You need magic to get the pendant. Awaken your potential."

Patrick can't think of a way out of this. He feels Alistair's eyes on him as he thinks.

"Here." Alistair reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a small flask. "Wine. To get the taste out of your mouth."

Patrick doesn't know what to do. He folds the angel's trumpet up into a bite sized piece and takes the flask from Alistair. He sticks the flower in his mouth, the nightshade, and downs the wine.

Patrick doesn't immediately feel sick, but that doesn't mean anything.

"Well, we're done here. You can do as you please."

Patrick watches as Alistair walks away down the path, feeling a little queasy. He's not sure if it's from the flower or not.

Patrick heads back toward the castle, in search of milk. His mother always told him if he accidentally eats a poisonous berry to drink milk, lots of it. He hopes that will dull the effects of the nightshade.

Patrick passes some bluebells, reminding him of the ones in Aodhan's cell. Aodhan's a healer, maybe he can help with the dizziness. Patrick nearly runs into the castle wall he's so dizzy and decides that seeing Aodhan would probably be a good idea.

In the kitchen, Patrick chugs a few cups of milk. He promptly vomits onto the floor, to which a concerned looking servant comes over and cleans up the mess. He tries to help, but she waves him off and tells him to go lie down. Instead of that, Patrick finds his way to the stairwell that leads to the dungeon. Aodhan smiles when he comes in and moves from his spot on the bed to one on the floor by the bars. Patrick joins him there, feeling less dizzy when he sits solidly on the floor.

"I'm sorry I didn't visit yesterday," Patrick says.

"That's all right, sweet thing. Did something happen?"

"Lena went blind and I went to that meeting."

"Poor thing. Tell her I send my best wishes." Aodhan thinks for a second. "Ah, the one Aithne came down because of?"

"I will." Patrick nods. "That's the one. I'm guessing she didn't convince you."

"She didn't try very hard. Aithne's too neutral to be of much use for them."

"Why is she here then?"

"Alistair wanted to recruit her. Perhaps he wants someone that can face a dragon without fear of fire."

"Aithne can fight a dragon?"

"Probably not." Aodhan smiles and then frowns when he looks Patrick over; he must hear the struggle to speak in Patrick's words.

"Come here," Aodhan says, reaching a hand out between the bars.

Patrick does and Aodhan lets his fingers lie on his temples. He feels instant relief, the nausea dissipating, leaving him a bit disoriented. He hears Aodhan hum a little and then the fingers on his temple start to move in a circle and Patrick feels like he's going to puke again before all feelings of upset vanish completely.

"Poison," Aodhan murmurs, retracting his hand. "Have you been eating things unknown in the woods or has someone been sticking things in your tea?"

"Neither. Alistair made me eat an angel's trumpet."

Aodhan just frowns further. "Did he tell you what that does?"

Patrick nods.

"He doesn't need to be doing that to you." Aodhan sighs a little. "Do you know that some Vaenian tribes still use the angel's trumpet method of power? Once a child turns sixteen they must eat one."

"Doesn't that kill them?"

"The strong ones are the ones that survive and the ones that don't, weak."

"Is that what Alistair was doing?"

"Might have. It's a stupid thing to do."

Patrick stays and chats amicably with Aodhan for a while until he hears footsteps and voices sound from above. Patrick bids goodbye to Aodhan and heads to dinner. Lena is already seated when he walks into the dining hall, but Patrick feels a little despaired when he notices she's sitting between Oliver and William. He's not mad that she has made friends; she's never been able to make friends in Vertbank except for him. It's just that he feels kind of left out. So, he just waits awkwardly to the side until Aithne comes in. He sits next to her which makes her beam.

"The little scamps whisked away your fair maiden, I see."

"I guess so."

"Do you fancy her or is this a case of brotherly protection? I can't quite tell."

"The latter. We were engaged before we came here, actually. Both of us are relieved to be out of it."

"Oh, eew. I never had to deal with that, thankfully. My parents died before they ever got the chance."

Patrick looks at her. He doesn't know how to respond to that.

Alistair walks in and seats himself, calling to Patrick, "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine," Patrick answers, wondering if he should've stayed in his chambers and played sick.

"That's a relief," Alistair says, the look in his eyes illegible.

They eat and Patrick goes to find Lena, but she's already disappeared and Patrick can't help but feel disappointed. He supposes he can't have Lena's attention all the time, but he hasn't gotten to speak to her at all today.

Patrick borrows a horse from the stables, the same one he rode last time, and rides into Fallmage, the town just outside Verthollow. He wastes time looking at all the items he doesn't have any money for.

Once nightfall hits, he trots back into the castle and puts his horse away. He retires to his chambers, changing and burying himself into the blankets on his bed. He's wide awake and it takes him a few minutes to fall asleep, but once he does, he slips into a dream.

He's on a boat in the middle of the ocean, odd because Patrick's never seen the ocean. He looks around, finding dark water on all sides of him, stretching far past the horizon. The boat is rocking violently and the rain that is falling from the blackened sky stings once it hits his skin. Screaming vultures fly around him, picking at his hair, his skin, tearing away flesh. Patrick bats them away with an oar, but where one falls into the shadowy sea, another takes its place. It's dark, yet Patrick can make out a little shadow-like figure hovering in the sky, devouring the vultures alongside him. It seems never ending, that is until one of the vultures nicks his throat and he wakes with a start.

Light pours into his room, making Patrick squint his eyes. He forgot to shut the curtains when he went to bed. Patrick sits up, startled to find the same shadowy figure from his dream, sitting on the end of his bed. It's not any sort of shape, like a drawing he might have made with charcoal when he was younger. Two solid white eyes peer back at him, glowing. No bigger than a cat, it sits eyeing him.

"Uh. Do you want something?"

Patrick doesn't think he's been this creeped out, ever. He understands why the old men that come to his village with stories of the supernatural are so hysterical.

The figure shifts into a familiar shape- a cat. It's pitch black fur rises up as it stretches, yawning. It's eyes remain the color of chalk, seemingly seeing nothing, yet seeing everything. It crawls over to him, bumping its head against Patrick's knee. Tentatively, Patrick runs his fingers along the silky fur of its head, causing a purr to rumble low in the cat's throat.

All right, is this any more weird than a curse that's turning my best friend into a statue or Aithne lighting her fingers on fire or Aodhan taking the symptoms of nightshade away with a simple touch? I suppose not.

Patrick hears a knock on the door and Lena's voice sounds out. "Paddy, we're going out with Alistair. You need to get your ass in gear."

"In a minute!" he calls to her, standing.

He throws some clothes on and runs his fingers through his hair. The cat winds itself around Patrick's legs and he wonders how he's going to explain the shadow turned cat. Lena's outside the door, along with Runningwind, who seems to have become her guide. Lena's wearing a riding habit, although Patrick doubts that will matter to her. She's never ridden sidesaddle and he knows she won't start now that she's sort of a lady. Patrick catches glints of gold on her fingers as he closes the door behind him. It's worse than when he last looked, but she should still be able to work her fingers.

Patrick looks down at his feet, noticing the cat is either gone or hasn't followed him out. He decides not to say anything and follows as Runningwind takes Lena's arm and guides her out to the stables.

Alistair is already waiting for them when they get there. The horses are saddled and Patrick has half a mind to take the saddle off, but he doesn't know if that's rude or not so he leaves it be. Runningwind is dismissed by Alistair so Patrick helps Lena onto her horse. Patrick jumps onto his horse and grabs Lena's reins to pull her along.

"The horse matches your hair," Patrick tells her and Lena smiles in response.

"Now, don't go wandering off," Alistair says, driving his horse in a circle before heading off in a slow jog once Lena and Patrick are ready. "You might get eaten."

"Yes, the blind girl is going to run off," Lena quips a bit snarkily.

"What's in the woods?" Patrick queries, effectively stopping Lena from going on a rant that he knows is coming.

"Rabbits, foxes, wolves, bears, other normal things. There's also many types of fair folk: pixies, elves, dwarves, and trolls. Luckily we don't get goblins. Sometimes the occasional leprechaun shows up which is always a bucket of fun. Out in the fields you can see unicorns if you're careful. Our forest isn't hardly as dense as the Pink's so we don't really have to worry."

"Have you been to the Pink?" Patrick asks.

His and Lena's favorite stories as children were the ones about the Pink Mountains. It was always fun to think about the magical and terrifying tales and decipher which ones were true or not. Now that Patrick thinks about it, those tales might not be all lies.

"I've seen them, never travelled in them. I travel by water, to stay out of trouble."

"Aren't those just as problematic?"

The bodies of water have earned their names. The Aureate Sea is named for the fabled mermaids that sink ships, leaving the water littered with gold; the Sanguine Ocean for the sea monsters said to haunt and kill in those waters; and the Glass Sea, for the crystal clear waters. Patrick's never been to any of them, but he figures there's a reason for everything.

"Oh, sure, but I'd rather be eaten by a sea monster than driven mad until I fall off a cliff," Alistair says.

Patrick sort of agrees, but he's not going to say that aloud.

"Where are we headed?" Lena asks, shifting in her saddle.

"Out to the meadows. There's berries and fruits around that we can eat for lunch. We can talk there."

They trot at a slow pace and once they reach their destination, it's been around a half of an hour. The meadow is pretty, Patrick will admit. It looks like something out of a story book. Tall yellow flowers grow from the grasses and butterflies flit around carelessly. The three dismount and Alistair uses the leads to tie them to a tree near the edge of the forest. The horses immediately become occupied with chewing the grass beneath them.

Patrick notices that out in the field a dappled grey horse is bent over, chewing on the sweet grass. A long, spiraled horn rests on the spot about its eyes.

"Lena, there's a unicorn," Patrick says.

Lena frowns. "I can't believe there's a unicorn and I don't get to see it!"

"Once we get you fixed you'll be able to see all the unicorns you wish," Alistair assures, moving to find a spot to sit in the grass.

"Can I touch it?" Lena questions.

"I wouldn't get too close to it, Lena."

"Why not?" Lena cranes her head around to the sound of Alistair's voice.

Alistair laughs. "Unicorns are quite aggressive, actually. I had a friend who was stabbed in the heart by its horn. Stuff like that is fatal."

"He was killing it for its horn, wasn't he?" Patrick asks.

He recalls one of his mother's stories saying that a unicorn horn is one of the most effective medicines. It's said to cure any sickness and in some cases, grant immortality.

"Yes, and for its fur. They were used to make clothing and their horns to make medicine."

"Does unicorn horn medicine actually work?" Lena questions. "Can it reverse curses?"

"It does if prepared the correct way. If it is not prepared the correct way, it is highly poisonous. So is the meat. It can heal almost any wound or sickness, but it does not reverse curses," Alistair explains.

"So, basically I'm fucked?" Lena gathers.

Alistair raises an eyebrow at her obscenity. "We'll get the pendant back, Lena."

"I thought we would but I'm not so sure anymore."

"It's only been a few days," Patrick soothes. "We'll wait some more."

"Listen to him," Alistair agrees with a nod.

Lena mutters some colorful words and Patrick whacks her arm lightly.

"Go collect some berries. I'll get apples and peaches. Remember not to take too many blackberries. They're the faeries' favorite and you don't want to leave cursed because of blackberries." Alistair grimaces a little at Lena's scowl.

Patrick nods, grabs Lena by the elbow and heads back over to the horses where the berry bushes are located. He pulls out the hem of his shirt and began to pull berries off the twigs and place them into his shirt. Lena does something similar, but struggles. She accidentally squishes the berries. Patrick doesn't offer his help because he knows she'll just reject it.

Patrick gathers a whole pouch and goes to tell Lena they've got enough. Patrick hears her yelp and shout out a "By the bloody Bells!" so he scurries over to her. All of her berries are strewn over the forest floor. She's cradling her hand, her blank gold eyes looking pointedly at the bush. A tiny wrinkled face sticks out, looking like it's laughing. Its big black eyes look toward Patrick and it vanishes. Patrick is reminded of the little hobgoblins in his mother's storybook.

Patrick says nothing of the hobgoblin and grabs Lena's hand, inspecting it. The bleeding wound gouging her skin looks like a bite mark, only with razor sharp teeth.

Patrick guides her to the edge of the Posy River and gently cleans off the wound. He tears a part of his shirt off using the rocks and wraps it around Lena's hand.

"Is it bad? It sure hurts." Lena winces.

"I....no, I don't think