“I’m Henry.” He’s younger than I am, but not by much. Hetucks some of that hair behind an ear, and sharp brown eyes glance at Rocco again, then back at me. “A lot of us saw you pass through before. If you stop at the tavern, they’re probably still laying bets on whether you’re royalty.”
That startles a laugh out of me, and I remember the gossiping women speculating over whether I was a princess. “No, I’m definitely not royalty.”
Rocco climbs down from the wagon, and he must overhear us, because he says, “Miss Tessa is the king of Kandala’s personal apothecary and adviser.”
Henry’s eyes sharpen further. “Is that so?”
My heart gives a little jolt, like Rocco is lying. I almost want to deny it—even though I suppose it’s true. Rocco just makes it all sound soofficial, when I quite accidentally fell into the role.
But I nod, then shrug a little, because I don’t want to put on airs. “I’ll be coming through town again in the next few days to put together more supplies. I told your king I’ll be available to his people while we’re here, so if you know of anyone who’s sick, or ailing, or needs—”
“Oh, there are plenty of people who are sick and ailing,” Henry says. His eyebrows go up, and he glances at Rocco again. “The king of Kandala would share hispersonalapothecary?”
“I—ah, yes. He would.” I honestly have no idea, but King Harristan isn’t here, and it’s not as if I can say he’s a selfish lout who’d keep me all to himself. I consider Henry’s comment aboutplenty of people. “Would you be able to let anyone know that if they need my services, we can come back here . . .” I think quickly, trying to remember the state of my apothecary kit back at the house, and how long it might take to put things together and make some salves and tonics. “Ah . . . ?the morning after tomorrow?” I look at Roccofor confirmation, since I’ll need him to drive the wagon, and he nods. “It’ll take a little time to put a full kit together, but I can make a few basic supplies to start with.”
Henry nods. “My sister works in the courier’s office, so she can spread the word.”
“Good.” I smile. “Thank you for the food.”
He gives me a nod. “You’re welcome, Tessa Cade.” He smiles at Rocco. “And Erik Rocco.”
Then we’re off again.
We eat in silence, and the food is delicious, the sugared tea a relief after the heat of the day. The horses clop along at a walk, and the chickens cluck at our backs as the last of the light fades, leaving a sky full of stars twinkling overhead.
Rocco is the first to break the weird silence between us. “It’s late, and Rian mentioned thieves, Miss Tessa,” he says. “We could leave the goat for tomorrow.”
I can’t read anything from his voice. “Sure,” I say. “We have enough to unload already.”
“I could return on my own,” he says.
I hesitate. “You don’t want my help?” Though maybe that’s a stupid question. I can’t drive the wagon. And I doubt I know any more about goats than he does.
Maybe he just doesn’t want my company after I wrecked our chance to get back to Kandala.
He glances over. “I didn’t want you to feel you had to take time away from preparing your apothecary kit.”
Oh. I stare out at the darkened path. “I’ll probably need to get more supplies once I take stock of everything, so we can go together.” I hesitate again. “If that’s all right.”
“Of course.”
We’re quiet again for a little while, until we both turn toward each other at the same time.
“I’m sorry—” I begin.
“Forgive me—” Rocco starts.
But we both break off, staring at each other.
Eventually, he has to look back at the road, and he adjusts the reins. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I couldn’t do it,” I say. “I couldn’t convince him to take us back to Kandala.” I frown and fold my arms against my stomach. “I just saw the ship in the harbor, and it reminded me of . . . everything.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says. “None of thisis your fault. It’s not your responsibility to get us back. It’s not even your responsibility to help Rian’s people.”
“I can’t keep doingnothing,” I say. “You were right before. I need to move.” I look up at the stars and think back to when I was younger. I was so eager to help my father each day. He was always patient, even when I was very young, showing me every herb, every plant, every leaf, every petal. I learned how to make teas and elixirs and how to grind roots into dust, and how to weigh and level right down to the tiniest measurements. My father was careful and composed, so I learned to be careful and composed. With people, my mother was gentle and kind, so at her side, I learned to be gentle and kind. When the fever sickness began to spread, much changed—but not his patience and composure. Not her kindness. We were distributing stolen Moonflower, and I knew it was a risk. But they were willing to risk their lives to save others, so I was too.
I consider all my father’s books and records and ledgers, some of which I have in my pack back at the house. All his research, and he never suspected poison. None of us did. Well, someone inKandala knew—and they were doing it deliberately. This is worse than simply making profits off the medicine. I keep waiting for this to hit me like a fresh round of loss, but maybe there’s been too much. The sadness is already too thick, and there’s no room for more.
