Her prescription seemed to hold reason to Noble. Not for the first time — certainly not for the first time since he had found Mrs. Cartwright in the ocean with a broken neck — he wished that he knew more about healing. But it was too late to change now; he'd determined to be an independent potioneer, and now he was one, and he could not afford to go back to the start of a different career. Even if he sometimes fantasized about it.

Thinking about his disappointment in himself had been a helpful way of bracing for the water-and-witch-hazel mixture she poured onto his arm, but Noble could not help but exhale an almost-moan at the relief it brought his skin.