She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. ’ ‘But I am not stopping you from carrying on your business. ’ He grinned. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. I cannot turn into a bat.
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