some sort of cake with a sugared icing. I sat back with a handful of blackberries, not quite relaxed but lulled anyway into the afternoon, breathing in the scent of those pretty flowers, feeling the shifting sun glint here and there across my face while Nayla unwound neat folds of linen strips into a brass bowl that she’d warmed in the fireplace. She poured in two tinctures, and I watched their clear colors turn deep violet as they mixed. A rich scent wafted up from the shallow depth. Pungent herb and dark flower—I thought, almost, that I knew it, but then the memory was gone.
“Minion, stonecrop, and thyme,” Nayla said, catching my faint frown. “Heat releases their power.”
“Heat releases the healing properties of these herbs,” I mused sleepily. “And water releases the scents of colraigh and elspen. What else?”
The maidservant laughed, pointed at the pretty flowers climbing in the cloister pillars. “The scent of the bell roses. They soothe and heal as well.”
Piece by piece, Nayla wrung out the linen and wrapped my ankle. There was a pleasant heat, and then I felt a tingle swirling my ankle, reaching deep. I nearly jumped.
Nayla nodded. “The healing begins.” Then she nodded again with approval at my yawn. “And that is the tea having its effect. Come take your rest.”
Cloud-soft, I told Nayla, sinking into the bed. Sunlight streamed through the green leaves in the cloister, making dappled patterns of shadow over the white comforter; a lightbreeze stirred the shadows and ushered in the sweet smells of the garden—
“Wait!” I said, rousing as I heard her collecting her things. “Water, fire, and air you have told me. But what growing things are enhanced by the earth?”
“My lady, it does not work the same for Earth,” Nayla responded, though she was now by the door. “With Earth, it is what
we
do that enhances its bounty.”
“I don’t understand.”
“But you, my lady? Do you not? ’Tis a cycle: plants harvested from the earth heal us. And it is we who, in turn, affect the earth. What we give to Earth encourages her ability to provide for us.”
“What—provide what?” I murmured. I was nearly out. “What do we give?”
It was so sweetly said, my lashes flicked down. “Love.”
I dreamed of home. I dreamed of things I loved: the smell of cut grass, lilacs blooming, the nudge of Rileg’s cold nose. I dreamed of the comfort of Grandmama’s plump and sturdy embrace, Quin’s laugh, and Evie’s fair gaze. I dreamed of Gharain’s smile.
But then another, terrifying smile consumed all, yawning huge and black and greedy, whispering,
“There you are.…”
I woke with a gasping jolt.
Shadows had deepened across the room, but the rich scent of the bell roses lingered still, a reminder of how distinctly my life had changed in a single day. The sweet dream was gone.Home was gone. I sat up slowly, hugged my arms around my knees to clasp what was familiar.
As if she’d waited to hear me stir, Nayla bustled in, arms laden with a splendid-looking gown. “A pleasant sleep I trust, Mistress Lark?”
Maybe enchantment could be broken if confronted. I fixed her with a severe glare. “Tell me: Am I magicked? Is this a spell?”
Nayla laughed at me. “Now that would be a most difficult task: to weave all of this into a spell.” She nodded at the room, the garden beyond, and, I assumed, the entire realm. “Too exhausting” was her pronouncement. She draped the gown on the chair and proceeded to light the candles. I scrutinized each motion with suspicion, but the tasks were too ordinary to be working enchantments. Finished, Nayla turned, hands on hips, wondering that I waited. “Time to rise, my lady; the king waits to meet you.”
King
. My mouth fell open. “But there was to be a Council! Of the Riders.”
“And so there is. A Council and a king. Here, now, I’ll take the wrapping from your ankle.” Since I’d not moved, Nayla came and drew my foot from beneath the
“Minion, stonecrop, and thyme,” Nayla said, catching my faint frown. “Heat releases their power.”
“Heat releases the healing properties of these herbs,” I mused sleepily. “And water releases the scents of colraigh and elspen. What else?”
The maidservant laughed, pointed at the pretty flowers climbing in the cloister pillars. “The scent of the bell roses. They soothe and heal as well.”
Piece by piece, Nayla wrung out the linen and wrapped my ankle. There was a pleasant heat, and then I felt a tingle swirling my ankle, reaching deep. I nearly jumped.
Nayla nodded. “The healing begins.” Then she nodded again with approval at my yawn. “And that is the tea having its effect. Come take your rest.”
Cloud-soft, I told Nayla, sinking into the bed. Sunlight streamed through the green leaves in the cloister, making dappled patterns of shadow over the white comforter; a lightbreeze stirred the shadows and ushered in the sweet smells of the garden—
“Wait!” I said, rousing as I heard her collecting her things. “Water, fire, and air you have told me. But what growing things are enhanced by the earth?”
“My lady, it does not work the same for Earth,” Nayla responded, though she was now by the door. “With Earth, it is what
we
do that enhances its bounty.”
“I don’t understand.”
“But you, my lady? Do you not? ’Tis a cycle: plants harvested from the earth heal us. And it is we who, in turn, affect the earth. What we give to Earth encourages her ability to provide for us.”
“What—provide what?” I murmured. I was nearly out. “What do we give?”
It was so sweetly said, my lashes flicked down. “Love.”
I dreamed of home. I dreamed of things I loved: the smell of cut grass, lilacs blooming, the nudge of Rileg’s cold nose. I dreamed of the comfort of Grandmama’s plump and sturdy embrace, Quin’s laugh, and Evie’s fair gaze. I dreamed of Gharain’s smile.
But then another, terrifying smile consumed all, yawning huge and black and greedy, whispering,
“There you are.…”
I woke with a gasping jolt.
Shadows had deepened across the room, but the rich scent of the bell roses lingered still, a reminder of how distinctly my life had changed in a single day. The sweet dream was gone.Home was gone. I sat up slowly, hugged my arms around my knees to clasp what was familiar.
As if she’d waited to hear me stir, Nayla bustled in, arms laden with a splendid-looking gown. “A pleasant sleep I trust, Mistress Lark?”
Maybe enchantment could be broken if confronted. I fixed her with a severe glare. “Tell me: Am I magicked? Is this a spell?”
Nayla laughed at me. “Now that would be a most difficult task: to weave all of this into a spell.” She nodded at the room, the garden beyond, and, I assumed, the entire realm. “Too exhausting” was her pronouncement. She draped the gown on the chair and proceeded to light the candles. I scrutinized each motion with suspicion, but the tasks were too ordinary to be working enchantments. Finished, Nayla turned, hands on hips, wondering that I waited. “Time to rise, my lady; the king waits to meet you.”
King
. My mouth fell open. “But there was to be a Council! Of the Riders.”
“And so there is. A Council and a king. Here, now, I’ll take the wrapping from your ankle.” Since I’d not moved, Nayla came and drew my foot from beneath the
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