She didn’t dare to share what she had found with Ceridwen, who stopped by with herbs and tinctures after closing the flower shop on the first night.
“Valerian root. For sleep and to allay anxieties. Even like this, she is a bowl of tension.” The voice was steady even if the hands were not. Ceridwen dripped a little of the yellow liquid in the small bowl. A linen washcloth was then applied to Rhiannon’s forehead.
Pru eyed the large bag where smells played hopscotch with each other. She recognized some, scrunched her nose at others.
A familiar one was placed next to Rhiannon’s wrists and to the beating pulse points on her throat.
“Lavender. For calmness.”
“These are… ah…” Pru worried her lip, wondering how to word her observation without offending.
“Simple? Common? They are, Pru. Our mothers, our sisters have used them for centuries. The wisdom of the Earth is often simple. And common sense. And confused for something it isn’t. These remedies came into wide use from our people. And for these common-sense remedies, we were put to the match.”
This time, when she pulled out the third tincture, Ceridwen’s hands found their steadiness.
“Lemon balm. A few drops in the candle by the bedside.” Ceridwen tsked when her search for one did not reveal any. “I can’t believe she stopped lighting them.” With a shake of her head, a simple white wax candle from her satchel was placed by Rhiannon’s head. A sharp, sulfurous odor filled the air asthe match ignited before being replaced by the soothing citrusy aroma, subtle to not feel cloying yet distinctly there.
Pru lifted her knees to her chest and watched Ceridwen putter around the bedroom, every touch both meticulous and superfluous. Finally, when the book stack was moved for the third time from shelf to shelf, Pru gathered her courage.
“Do you think it was Lisa? Is it my fault?—”
“Don’t even go there, Prudence.” The halting word was sharp, cutting Pru’s thread of thought like scissors. “Moreover, the note appeared before Rhiannon introduced herself to Lisa anyway.”
She lifted her eyes to Ceridwen, but the oldest Crowhart was lost in her thoughts, watching Rhiannon slumber.
“I wanted to think it was Lisa.”
“Why, Ceri?”
“Because anything else is unthinkable.”
When Ceridwen added nothing, Pru simply waited. A beat, two. First came the sigh, then another.
“Tell me, Ceri. Please.”
“It’s not my place, Prudence. She will wake and then the two of you should probably talk.”
Pru turned away, unable to meet the knowing green gaze.
“Well, I can’t say that catching my sister in flagrante was on my year’s bingo card…”
Pru closed her eyes and shook her head, only to be met with a low chuckle.
“You are so easy, it’s not even sporting to tease you. And despite the world beating it out of her, you are both naive in exactly the same ways.”
“Oh?” Pru held her breath.
“That.” Ceridwen pointed at Pru’s face. “That right there, the eagerness, the curiosity, the—dare I say—naiveté. I miss that in her.”
Pru bristled, but Ceridwen waved her reaction away.
“No, she is neither eager nor naive. Not anymore. But she had been once. And now she is also older, if not wiser. She’s cautious.” Ceridwen sat down on the bed and took Rhiannon’s limp hand in hers. “And she is scared. The fear is more palpable than any emotion from her. Scared and in denial about the horrors in her head.”
Pru set her chin on her knees, the slacks material slightly scratchy, the friction anchoring her in the present and keeping her away from the memories of the terror in Rhiannon’s eyes.
“I wish she’d come to me with what ails her, but she won’t, Prudence. And so here we all are.” Ceridwen lips twitched. “But to spare you the embarrassment, I didn’t see anything. It was sure funny, though, to watch you scramble to hide and her…” The pause was so long, Pru unfolded from her chair and laid a hand on Ceridwen’s forearm.
“And Rhiannon?”
