Funny.
Will tips his head to the northern path and matches my pace. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I settle on picking at flyaway hairs of wood on the handle of my basket. A rogue word, a badly phrased sentence, and I could spoil what’s starting here. However, from the small glances I dare, Will’s expression is more relaxed than ever. There’s something about the forest and heading north that’s putting him at ease, as if the farther away from the citadel he gets, the less he has to preserve his posture, preserve the mask.
“How often do you go to Mithian?” I ask as we crest the top of a hill.
“Maybe a few times a month. My mum heads up more often to check on patients in the area and support the apothecary.”
“Isn’t the apothecary in the citadel closer?”
His eyes twinkle in the sunlight that peeks through the canopy.
“Yep,” he replies succinctly.
“So…?”
“Mum won’t go into the citadel. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I seem to stir up a bit of trouble if I go myself.” He says it playfully, with none of the aggression that Bastion has for the topic.
“Oh, Inoticed,” I say, in an attempt to match his humor while still keeping to the binds of my curse. “But is Ruth okay walking all this way alone?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s fine. The forest is a familiar friend and there’s more than one way to find a path home.”
I scan the thick line of trees on either side of us, the misshapen branches and uneven, mossy floor. Perhaps the groaning of the trees is advice, each crooked twig and forked trunk a nudge in the right direction. But even though there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger, you never know, not in this forest. I wonder if there will be more guards out patrolling—I think Prince Merit should be arriving any day now, and they’ll want to get him home safely.
“The apothecary in Mithian must be wonderful,” I guess out loud, and swing my basket.
Will laughs, and it’s a delightful carefree sound. “Yes. And Isuppose we’ll be needing to go. I’m sure you’ll gain at least one injury on the way.”
“Hey!” I jab his side, and he exaggerates a wince of pain.
“Ouch! Are all florists so violent?”
Before I can think of an impressively scathing reply that fits within the confines of my curse, we round a bend in the path and come across the unusual clearing I first saw during my search for the Feiyan—the hollow ashen-white oak tree in the center of a shriveled brown circle of earth, all life leached away. The air stills—just as frail as before and just as unsettling. It constricts my lungs and sits heavy on my shoulders. I want nothing more than to walk away quickly, like I did the first time. From the silently held breath in the area, any local wildlife had the same idea.
Today though, two figures are tying a fresh braided rope around the trunk. I’m about to look at Will to gauge his reaction to the tree he supposedly cursed when I realize one of the people is surprisingly familiar.
“Pigeon!” I gasp.
She turns sharply, hand flying to her belt. Her shoulders drop when she recognizes us, and a wild grin stretches across her face. Beside her is a shorter teen with blond hair that flicks outward below her sharp jaw. She’s in similar attire, aside from a few curious metal shells at her hip, which are no bigger than the head of a rose. As the blond girl finishes tying the last knot of rope, I tread over the mud toward them.
“Well, look who it is,” Pigeon says, and sticks her hands on her hips. Her eyes jump to Will as he strolls to catch up. “Wow, you got him to socialize? What a rarity.”
“We’re heading to Mithian,” I tell her eagerly. “There’s supposed to be some rare exotic flowers in stock.”
“Pigeon. Tansy,” Will greets the girls cordially. “Nice to see you’re still in one piece.”
“I could say the same for Fliss. How’s your ankle doing?”
“Great!” I say, far too fast. Calm down. Speak slowly. “Yeah. Um, thank you again. Will did a great job of healing me.”
“I knew it,” Pigeon says with a pinch of smugness. “And now you’re on your way to Mithian together. Huh.”
“A thrilling update,” Will says flatly. “You’ve just come from there?”
“Yeah, we had to stock up for…” She trails off and I get an uncomfortable feeling. Pigeon doesn’t know about my curse, but I know all too well when people are concerned about speaking freely.
“Well,” she says, “gotta be prepared for the day is all.”
“Sounds like acompletelynormalday,” Will drawls. “What is it this time? Arrows or explosives?”
