“Just . . . cleaning up.” She turned to the sink to gesture at the dishes—and it was empty. She’d already washed the dishes and glasses she’d used during the day. She felt herself begin to blush. “Would you like to buy some jam?”
“Uh . . . I didn’t . . . That is, I didn’t think to bring anything with me to buy jam. I just came by to check on how your first day went.”
“Good! I think.” Actually, she had no idea how many customers were considered good, but she had sold a few jars of jam, which was a nice start? “I had some customers. Oh, that reminds me—one of my customers suggested that I make a counter for the window, so I can sell from there and not make the larger islanders feel uncomfortable trying to fit inside the shop.”
“I can make you a counter,” Larran said happily. He gestured to the tool belt around his waist. “I brought my tools just in case any of the shelves needed a fix.”
“I didn’t . . . I wasn’t asking a favor. I mean, I was about to, but . . .” She collected herself. “Caz and I have created a remedy for healing trees. It’s an old plant tradition kind of thing. Anyway, I would be happy to give you one in exchange for your assistance with building a counter for the front window.” There, she said that without tripping over too many of the words. What was it about Larran that made everything come out so tangled?
“Healing trees?” Larran said, eyes wide.
Caz lifted a few of his roots out of his soil and waved them in the air. “It strengthens their roots. Old family recipe.”
“You have a family?” Larran asked the plant.
Oops.Had they told Larran how Caz was made? She didn’t remember telling him that story. Maybe Caz had told him?
But Larran backpedaled. “Sorry, that was rude. Of course you could have a family.”
“We’re estranged,” Caz said loftily. “Kiela is the only family I need now.”
We need to make sure our stories are straight if we’re going to stay here.Neither of them had much experience with lying. It didn’t come up much when you avoided talking to people.Maybe it would be simpler if we talked less.
Larran didn’t seem interested in talking less, though. In fact, the herder seemed to be in a chatty mood. While he began work on her new counter, he told her about the antics of his merhorse herd. One of the mares, Amarin, had spotted a harbor seal today and decided to make it her pet. The seal, though, hadn’t been interested in playing with a massive horse-fish. It tried to beach itself on a buoy, and Amarin kept bringing it little gifts in an attempt to either play with it or woo it: a bit of driftwood, a clam, a strip of kelp, a feather from a seagull. At last, she found a ball that had drifted out to sea.
While he talked, Kiela thought about which books to look through for the solution to rejuvenating the magical spring. She’d narrowed it down to three to research after Larran left. Kiela held the wood steady while he nailed it into position on the windowsill.
“What Amarin didn’t know was that the boy Tobin—Bryn’s nephew, have you met him?—left the ball for her to find,” Larran said. “He’s a good kid.”
Caz agreed. “He doesn’t eat plants. Not even vegetables.”
“He wants a ride on a merhorse,” Kiela said.
“Does he?” Larran considered that.
With Kiela’s help, he sawed support pieces, angled slices to attach to both the cottage and the shelf.
“Are there many magical springs on Caltrey?” she asked.
He blinked at the change in subject. “Sorry?”
“A customer was talking about hers. It’s not running anymore. I was curious if that was common.” She knew her water was from an ordinary well, dug long before her parents had been born, but she hadn’t thought about how the rest of the island got fresh water. She thought of the waterfall that powered the mill. Had that been magically created, or was that just plain gravity?
“There are a few. The fountain in the center of town, for example—it was created with magic, but it’s dry now. I suppose the spell simply ran down after time. I tried to fix it once, but there’s nothing mechanically wrong with it. Its water source just isn’t there anymore.”
“Huh,” Kiela said.
She wondered if the sorcerer had drawn from an existing source or had squeezed water out of rock. It couldn’t be as hard to restart an existing spell as to begin one from scratch. Maybethatwas the angle she should come at this with . . .
Larran hammered the last nail into the counter and patted the shelf hard. “Nice and solid. Happy to help with anything else.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. Let me get you that remedy.” She ducked inside and plucked a wrapped pine cone out of the basket. Thinking about an entirely different set of books she could read for restarting old spells, she brought the remedy out to him. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Uh, okay. If you’d like . . .”
“You just need to bury it between the roots of the tree, that’s all.”
“Sunset should be pretty today, if you . . .”
