He shrugs, that hand still tight around my elbow. “Yeah. We like privacy. Usually people avoid the area, but you…”
He trails off and I hear what he doesn’t say. I blazed right into that spell and knocked myself out. And now I turn up on his door chilledto the bone and unable to walk. He must think I’m out of my mind. Well,fine.I try to put weight on my ankle so he doesn’t have to assist me, and a sharp stab of pain shoots up my leg. I can’t help the wince that escapes.
“All right, up you go,” Willoh says, then scoops me under my knees to hold me in his arms.
“W-What are you doing?” I ask, clutching the straps of my basket and absolutely avoiding relaxing into his chest. A wave of hair falls over his eyes as he glances down at my face, just inches away.
“Huh, looks like you ended up in my arms after all.”
“Put me down!”
“Can you walk by yourself?”
“No, but…”
He carries me toward the cottage with ease. “Is that another magical flower in your basket?” he asks.
“…Yes.”
His laugh vibrates in his chest.
“Well, let’s see the damage,” he says, and a gust of magical wind opens the front door of the cottage.
Before he can carry me over the threshold, a black cat with long fur and narrowed eyes pads out and plonks itself down right in the doorway. It tucks its paws under itself as if to say it’s perfectly comfyrighthere.
“Mustard, my guy. Really?” Willoh says with a groan of frustration. Mustard doesn’t even blink. “Excuse us, Your Majesty.”
Willoh does his best to step over the cat without knocking me into the doorframe.
The inside of the cottage has my mouth gaping open. It’s a wide-open area bearing wood-paneled walls strewn with dried plants, various scenic oil paintings, hung lanterns, and, by a door at the bottom of the stairs against the left wall, a well-loved straw cat tower from which Mustard had perhaps just relocated. At the back of the room, a fireplace and kitchen unit hug the wall behind a large hand-carved dining table, the legs sculpted into intricate rootlike shapes, aroundwhich are four similarly engraved chairs, each with a brightly patterned cushion. Above the gray-stone fireplace, a few unlit candles sit beside small whittled objects—including two cats, a horse, and three figures—and a smaller portrait painting that I’m nosy enough to want a closer look at.
Willoh carries me to the right, through an archway that sections the right side of the room off from the rest. This area is lined with bookshelves full of textbooks and well-organized vials and jars that have interesting wax dots on the labels. There’s a simple examination bed in the center of the space and a desk with tools reminiscent of those in Creon’s apothecary.
“Where’s Gill?” I ask, tucking my elbows in so I don’t knock any of the vials out of place.
“Probably doing his best to avoid that nightmare on the doorstep.”
“Aw, poor Mustard.”
“Don’t pity him. He’s a demanding old grump.”
“I think he’s cute.”
“Ha ha,” Willoh says sarcastically, then places me on the bed in the middle of the workshop. “You won’t be saying that when he’s scratched your arms to ribbons because you’reone minutelate to give him some breakfast.”
“Don’t be late for breakfast, then,” I suggest, and Willoh snorts. I drop my cloak and flower basket to the floor, but not before peeking inside to check on the Odyssa. It’s a relief to see that they’re holding up better than I am.
Willoh straightens the pillow on the bed and motions for me to lie down.
“So, Pigeon said you’ve screwed up your shoulder and ankle?” he asks. I settle back and twist my fingers together. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
“I, um, fell down a cliff.”
Willoh cocks his head to the side. His earrings gleam in the sunlight pouring in from the windows.
“You fell down a cliff?”
“Yeah.”
