A knock sounded.
“Lady Penelope?”
A calm healer’s voice—older, warm.
“Come in,” Poppy said, pushing hair from her face.
The door slid open to reveal Healer Shuyan, the elder healer from Poppy’s first night here—the healer with the fox-tail charms in her braids. Behind her stood Minghua, bouncing on her toes like she had been vibrating in place for the last ten minutes.
“Good morning,” Healer Shuyan said with a small bow. “If you’re willing, I would like you to join us in the healing grove today. Your hands showed natural steadiness yesterday.”
Minghua leaned in, whispering loudly, “It means she likes you.”
Shuyan gave her apprentice a patient look. “It means she listens well.”
“I said that,” Minghua insisted.
Poppy smiled despite herself. “I’d be honored.”
Minghua brightened as if she had been personally validated by fate.
“Come on! You’re going tolovethe healing gardens.”
They walked together through a winding path lined with dew-heavy leaves. Kits darted across their feet, chittering, chasing each other through the sculpture gardens. Poppy paused to admire it all—the foxfire lanterns, the hum of morning wards, the faint scent of warm herbs drifting on the breeze.
She had never woken anywhere that felt so alive.
“Don’t be nervous,” Minghua said, swaying happily. “The healers are very nice. Also, they gossip alot, but only about fun things. You’re safe.”
“Minghua,” Shuyan warned gently.
“What? It’s true.”
They reached the healing grove—a circular pavilion beneath an enormous gingko tree, golden leaves above them like sunlight caught in branches. Shallow basins steamed over gentle flame-runes. Herbs hung drying from the rafters, swaying softly.
It felt… sacred. Safe.
Shuyan guided Poppy to a low table filled with tools.
“We begin simple. Burn salve.”
Poppy nodded. “I’ll try my best.”
Minghua puffed her cheeks. “You’ll be amazing.”
“Minghua will assist,” Shuyan said pointedly.
Minghua’s jaw dropped. “Assist? Assist is so much less fun than supervise.”
“Precisely.” Shuyan placed bright silver leaves on the table. “Silver-lace fern. Grind clockwise, never counterclockwise.”
Poppy leaned closer. “Why clockwise?”
“Moon-aligned herbs bruise under reverse pressure,” Shuyan said. “They turn bitter.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry,” Minghua whispered. “I ruined an entire jar when I was nine. It exploded.”
