“Oh, you’re not interrupting at all,” the woman says, and gestures me in. “I’m Ruth; it’s nice to meet you. Please, come on in. I’ve just brewed a pot of tea.”
I guess I am a little tired after walking all the way here…
“Thank you.”
Ruth closes the door behind me, then I follow her over to the carved wooden table near the kitchen. To the right, in the organized workshop where Will healed my injuries, the tools on the desk show she’s in the middle of measuring out a selection of dried yarrow—a common cure for bleeding and fevers. After seeing her eyes, those wax dots on the jars start to make more sense.
“Make yourself comfortable, dear,” she says, and checks on a steaming kettle on the kitchen countertop. I place my basket on a chair and open the lid.
“I brought some flowers,” I tell her, bringing out the bouquet of delicate sweet peas and begonias I’d prepared last night. It’s a classic gift to say thank you for hospitality and to repay a favor—and besides that, it’s one of my favorite blends of pink. “And cake. A lot of cake.”
“How kind. It smells wonderful! I’ll fetch some plates. If you like, you can choose a vase from over there,” Ruth says, and waves a hand toward a shelf in the workshop area. I pick a thin glass one to support the fragile stems while Ruth pours out two cups of tea. Over the strong scent of sweet peas, I catch hints of berry from the teapot. An excellent pairing for all the different flavors of cake I brought.
“Have a seat,” Ruth says. “You know, Willoh didn’t tell me your name. He only said that he’d let someone new in.”
“Oh. I’m Felicity. You can call me Fliss. Either is fine.”
Ruth’s mouth tightens for the briefest of moments.
“Are those cinquefoils in your hair?”
“Yes,” I say, and Ruth smiles. Almost in relief.
“I thought so. I’m glad you’re here, Fliss.”
She means it. After a lifetime of noticing people’s tells, Ruth’s facial expressions are as open and honest as a daisy in summer. She feels like a midday sun, a warm breeze, a steady hand to hold. Much, much less prickly than my winter thistle of a mother.
I sit down opposite her, facing the front door, and hug the cup of fruit tea in my hands. Gill, not wanting to be left out, leaps up ontothe table and sniffs at the liquid. I talk Ruth through the different flavors of cake on offer, that the chocolate in this slice was traded from Lucan, the citrus fruits in this one from Dreah, and even though I assumed her clouded irises to mean she’s fully blind, her eyes focus on each of them with delight—perhaps she’s partially sighted then. I choose a slice of strawberry cream cake, made from homegrown ingredients in the castle greenhouses.
“I brought these as a thank-you to Will,” I say. “He’s helped me out twice recently.”
Ruth runs her clouded eyes over the flowers in my hair, my dyed-pink ends, and my floaty blouse. She smiles like she knows her son far too well. He did say his mother would kill him for abandoning a princess in need. Apparently I’m just the type.
“I asked him to make a delivery this morning. There’s an elderly woman who lives not too far away that I make preserved sugar cloves for,” she says.
I sit up straighter and find my words flow out. I tell her how I use cloves in bouquets sometimes, and how I think it’s interesting that its red flower looks like a tiny claw but people like to order them for dignified, classy celebrations. Ruth raises her eyebrows like she’s impressed and counters with her own medicinal knowledge. I’d heard that the guards sometimes add it to tea before training, but she teaches me that it can help with digestion and muscle ache too. There’s something about Ruth that makes me lower my guard. She knows plants. I can talk to her about flowers and have her actuallyengagewith me on the topic.
“One plant can have so many uses and interpretations,” she says. “We can always look to nature for inspiration, whether it be for a bouquet, a healing herb, or something as simple as a cup of tea.”
“Exactly!” I say, and surprise myself with how fast I react. “My mum says the same thing. She was the one who taught me how to focus my magic and enchant the bouquets for our shop.”
She pauses and sets down her cup.
“You wouldn’t happen to be Lilibeth’s daughter, would you?” Ruth asks, a lightness to her tone. Her milky eyes rest on mine.
“Yes. You know my mum?”
“I do.”
“She’s never mentioned you.” Well, of course not. She never tells me anything.
“We grew up together,” Ruth says.
“What?”
“Yes, we had a very tight-knit group, the four of us. Unfortunately, it was not meant to last, and I’m sorry to say I haven’t spoken to Lilibeth in a long time. How is she?”
“She’s— Wait, thefourof you?”
