Chapter 24 · Chapter 24

I scrubbed the flagged floor until the lime water ran clear down the drain, scattering dry mint and powdered thyme across the damp stones to drown the scent of blood and vinegar.

The copper kettle went back above the dead embers of the charcoal hearth; the earthen mortar and pestle, rinsed thrice, took their place upon the shelf beside the jars of salted almond paste and wild sage.

When the cellar smelled only of drying earth and bitter leaf, I drew the heavy oak trapdoor shut, setting the limestone flag back into its recess with steady, unhurried care.

Upstairs, the Albaicín courtyard was hushed beneath a moonless sky, save for the rhythmic drip of the fountain basin. Maryama was asleep in the south alcove, her breathing deep and even beneath her woolen mantle, while the courtyard remained shuttered against the street. I wrapped my dark wool shawl tightly around my head and shoulders, pinning the fabric beneath my chin before stepping out onto the tiled portico.

From the narrow lane beyond the outer cedar door came the sudden, sharp clatter of iron-shod boots striking cobblestone.

Halberds scraped against the rough plaster of the exterior wall.