Bloodroot demanded more from her. Its red-veined leaves could be mistaken for half a dozen useless weeds, but Maude knew the signs: the faint copper tang that lingered when she brushed the stalks and the way they bowed ever so slightly toward the ground. Eventually, she spotted a patch and dug carefully around the base, easing a small cluster free before shaking the dirt loose.
Shadowbell flowers, though, left no trace. She hadn’t expected them to. Elusive, dusky things, they bloomed where the light forgot to reach. So Maude pressed deeper into the woods, the air cooling around her.
At last, the hillside appeared: steep, jagged, the kind of place where shadowbell sometimes clung in narrow cracks of stone. She eyed it warily. The climb wasn’t one she wanted to make, but desperation weighed heavier than caution.
Maude dug the toe of her boot into the slope, skidding as loose stone rattled down. She caught herself on a sharp inhale, fingers latching onto a jut of rock that scraped her palms raw. Breathless, she hauled herself upward, dirt crumbling beneath her weight and smearing across her skirt in gritty streaks.
At the top, she steadied herself on her knees, scanning theterrain. Deep fissures in the stone. Shadows thick enough to cradle something rare. Her fingers brushed aside tufts of grass, peeled back moss.
And then?—
Dusky petals.Shadowbell.
Relief punched through her chest as she reached for the bloom. But the stem bristled with near-invisible thorns, and when her wrist brushed against one, the sting was immediate, sharp as glass. She hissed, jerking back, but not before a long, clean slice opened along the skin.
Blood welled instantly. She pressed her hand to it, muttering the beginnings of a healing charm. The wound stayed open.
Maude froze, her stomach dropping.Notshadowbell. Tricker’s bane. A parasite plant that mimicked whatever you most wanted to see. Bailey had told her once it “liked the taste of stupid,” and she’d sworn she’d never fall for it.
The bloom pulsed faintly, like it was breathing her in, and the cut burned cold, spreading like frost up her arm. She gritted her teeth and tore a strip of fabric from her skirt’s hem, binding the wound tight.
“Fantastic,” she muttered, more irritated than afraid.
She backed down the slope carefully, her legs unsteady, the satchel heavy at her hip. Fury churned under her ribs, hot enough to outpace the pain. She should’ve known better. Shedidknow better. And still she’d let herself hope.
By the time she reached level ground again, her wrist throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and she wanted to throw herself into the nearest ditch from embarrassment.
She grimaced, stalking back toward Pickles.
As she broke through the tree line, Wesley came into view by the horses, arms full of plants. He had rosemary tucked under one elbow, yarrow sprouting from his fist, and a little clutch of moondust caps dangling like trophies. He looked like a walking farmers’ market.
The smugness vanished the moment his gaze dropped to herwrist. The badly wrapped cloth was already soaked, blood dripping sluggishly down her fingers. He strode toward her.
“What happened?”
“I’m fine.” Maude waved him off. “Don’t get all worked up. I can handle it.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I said I’m fine.” She shoved the bundle of herbs into Pickles’s saddlebag.
He didn’t move, just stood there with his ridiculous armful of plants. “What did you hurt yourself on?”
Maude exhaled hard, like dragging the words out of her throat was physical labor. “Tricker’s bane.”
That shut him up for a second. His brow pulled, but not in disbelief—more like calculation. “You should pack it with witch hazel. Or comfrey, if you’ve got it. Pressure won’t hold otherwise. And burn the wrap before the fibers turn.”
Her head snapped around. “How doyouknow that?”
He shrugged as if it was nothing. “My mother was a healer.”
Was.
The word lodged under her ribs. She snapped her mouth shut on the dozen questions that clawed to the surface. Something in the way he said it—matter-of-fact, without elaboration—made her hesitate.
Maude turned away, suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm and slightly dizzy, and she did not know why. She shook it off, gripping the saddle carefully before using her good arm to hoist herself onto Pickles’s back. She let out a small sigh of relief when it didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected.
“Did you find everything you needed?” Wesley asked, handing her the bundle of herbs he’d gathered.
