She pulled the cork from the first vial – the amber one – and sniffed.
Bitter herbs. A sharp, almost metallic tang. A hint of alcohol.
She dabbed a drop on her tongue.
The taste hit the back of her mouth like she remembered from old campaign days: harsh and earthy, with a dry bitterness that scraped its way down.
Recovery draught. For bruises, cuts, broken bones held together by will and a tight bandage.
She stoppered it again and picked up the second.
The pale liquid smelled cleaner. There was alcohol again, but under it, a cool, sharp scent like crushed mint ground with copper.
She touched that one to her tongue too.
The taste was cold and bright, then burned a little as it went down.
Mana tonic. The cheap, functional kind – more for clarity and stamina than for any big flashy spell.
Rhaen stared at them both for a long moment.
Then she sat down, carefully, with her back to the crystal trunk.
