“What a breath of fresh air,” he says. “A friend of mine came by last week, and lucky for you, he had one left. Most had already been sold in Lucan to Queen Clover.”
“It’s traveled so far!” And it’s fit for Lucan’s queen. Card will be pleased to hear that.
“Clearly it was meant for you,” Reed says. “Here, let me find some paper. I can write down what I know.”
He scuffs his slippers toward a cabinet and searches within it with shaking hands. I look up at Will and tug on his arm.
“You are amazing for suggesting we come here. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I say.
Will’s eyes dart to my hands on his jacket, then back up to meet my own, and I’mcertainhe’s blushing. I wonder if my enthusiasm is the cause or if he’s just not used to being thanked. Or perhaps it’s just warm in here compared to outside…. A second later and the softness in his gaze retreats.
“I am amazing. Thank you for confirming that truth to the world,” he says, and smirks.
I roll my eyes and bound over to help Reed instead, desperate to pick his brain and perhaps get the contact information for this trader he knows.
I barely notice the time passing as we discuss growing conditions, pruning techniques, and how I use my magic to enchant even the most common flora, with a demonstration to match. Reed tells me that most of his stock is used for healing aroma oils that Ruth often buys, like lavender and sage to treat mild headaches, as well as paints, inks, and perfumes that he can sell to the small number of traders that make it up this far. It turns out he has heard of my shop, although he’s not able to make the walk down to the citadel himself. I can’t wait to tell my mum that I’ve found someone else who loves flowersas much as we do. I wonder if I could ask Bastion to let me borrow a horse and carriage so Reed can visit.
But then I’d have to explain—never mind.
A thought occurs to me partway through our chat.
“Reed, would you happen to know anything about a flower called the Feiyan? Or the Odyssa?”
He furrows his wispy eyebrows. “Hmm…I can’t recall anything about the Feiyan. I think I’ve heard tales of a twin plant called the Odyssa or something similar growing in the mountains, but as far as I know, the stories are more folklore than truth. I’ve never seen one myself.”
“I had a customer request both recently. Is there anything else you remember?”
“I’m afraid that’s all, my dear. Perhaps Creon down in the citadel knows more?”
“I already asked him…”
His answers don’t scratch the ever-growing concern I have about these flowers. No further requests have come, yet there’s been no show of power, no flourish of magic that has utilized them. They wouldn’t have withered by now either, not with their raw power and my added enchantments. Whoever wanted them is either long gone or sitting on them for another purpose. The fact that Creon and Reed, similar in age and wisdom, know very little about them tells me that only someone like Will, who studied at the Library of Heris, could have any information about these flowers. I wonder if the requester asked the Library’s professors for information or sought out anyone else who might know before coming to me. Maybe the Feiyan and Odyssa were taken back there for further study. They seem to be rarer than rare. Rarer than this crown imperial from a distant kingdom.
Much later, my flower basket contains the carefully wrapped crown imperial, cushioned with a selection of colored tulips that always come in handy, and some large white daisies that Reed insisted I take for brightening his day. I tuck his written recommendationssafely inside the basket and pay him generously. I wish I had more to give.
We say goodbye to the old man, stepping once more into the cold. The sun has moved since we arrived, but with the thrill of my time at Reed’s buzzing in my chest, I’m reluctant to head home right away.
“Do you…” I start, then glance to the tree line, trying to word my question as subtly as I can manage. “Do you think the forest is safe enough to go back yet?”
Will hums. “Perhaps we should stay a little longer, just in case.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.”
“We don’t want to get caught up in Pigeon’s mischief.”
“Right. We could…?”
Will points across the street to the widest building in the village.
“Hungry?”
The sign above the inn readsThe Valerian. The flowered herb is known for sleep, accommodation, and healing—a perfect name for a respite among this austerity. Inside, the basic wooden tables and chairs are almost all empty, with a tarnished bar over to the right and an open door that, from the smell and steam, leads to the kitchens. I follow Will to a small table by one of the windows. He pulls out a chair for me—chivalrously, which doesn’t have any impact on me in the slightest—places my basket on the floor, and takes the seat opposite. The few other patrons are mostly elderly people sitting slouched in corners, taking slow spoons of broth as though each mouthful should be savored, no matter the contents.
“Are we taking food away from the village if we eat here?” I ask in a hushed tone.
“Not at all,” Will says. “I’ve found that the people with less to give are usually the most willing to share.”
He says nothing about the opposite side of the coin. About how he probably thinks someone like Bastion, with so much wealth andsecurity, could be more generous, especially toward places like Mithian. I wonder if that’s why they fell out, considering all I’ve learned about the royals recently.
