smiled a little. “Yes, Oscar, I do remember.”
Oscar looked at her face for a half a moment “All right, good,” he said, for there was nothing to do but keep talking. “So, I have to go to the gardens today. And we have all kinds of plants there. You wouldn’t believe how many! And so I could show them to you. And I could tell you what they do and how you can use them. You can use them for so much.” He glanced up. Callie was watching him, still with that wisp of a smile on her face.
It would be so much easier if she were a cat.
“And I could show you the glass house plants,” he continued, because he could not stop. “They’re from all over the world! There are really good ones for healing. There’s this tree with flowers like stars. It’s really good for rashes—the oil, I mean. There are these plants that look like spiders”—he made his hands into claws to demonstrate—“the leaves help with . . . well, um, bowels. They work and they’re important. And the glass house is . . . it’s like a palace. With . . . plants. A plant palace. You have to know it’s there, though; you have to expect it. It’s a spell Caleb did, so no one can see the gardens. Except the people who already can see them. I mean—”
The words kept coming and he could not stop them, not while Callie was standing there so indecipherably, and so he was going to keep talking until he used up all the words there were and then no one would be able to talk to anyone else anymore and then all anyone would have left were one another’s unintelligible faces, and maybe some weird gesturing, too, and it would be all Oscar’s fault.
“Yes,” Callie said, saving the world with one word. “You can show me your glass palace.”
Soon they were walking together through the marketplace, into the forest, each with a basket in hand. Callie’s hair was wrapped up in a knot at the back of her head, and with every few steps one or two strands would break loose.
“What do you think Master Caleb does on the continent?” Callie asked, after a time.
“I don’t know,” Oscar said.
“It seems odd that he would leave right now. With what happened to Wolf.”
Oscar glanced at her. “Well, it was an accident.”
“Still,” Callie said.
“If there were something to be done, Caleb would do it,” Oscar said firmly.
“All right,” Callie said.
“He’s a magician.”
“I know. It’s not that. I just mean—it would be more . . . respectful to stay, I think.”
Oscar squinted at her. “The magic will keep us safe,” he said. “Everyone says so.”
“I suppose I don’t have as much faith in magic as everyone else,” Callie said with a shrug. “I’m not from the Barrow. I grew up in the Eastern Villages.”
Oscar stopped. “Really?”
“Really.”
Most apprentices were from the Barrow village. They’d grown up on Barrow soil, the very air they breathed infused with magic, and one day they showed they had a gift and the magic smiths took them under their wings, nurturing that talent so there would be someone to take their place. So the Barrow always thrived. But occasionally an apprentice came from beyond the river. Oscar had heard the masters of these new apprentices in the shop, announcing, quite loudly, that the children had shown “exceptional promise.”
“You must have shown exceptional promise!” Oscar said. Of course she could work magic. Why else would Mariel have taken her? Why would the duke have given her her pin?
“Madame Mariel always has her reasons,” Callie said quietly. Oscar opened his mouth, but Callie went on. “Anyway, I didn’t grow up with magic. And we got by just fine.”
Oscar’s brow furrowed. “Well, I suppose, but—”
“Our healers used herbs, too. They didn’t have anything like we have here, but they used the basic ones. Only they weren’t magic there. Just . . . medicine.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just how you look at it.”
“No, it’s
Oscar looked at her face for a half a moment “All right, good,” he said, for there was nothing to do but keep talking. “So, I have to go to the gardens today. And we have all kinds of plants there. You wouldn’t believe how many! And so I could show them to you. And I could tell you what they do and how you can use them. You can use them for so much.” He glanced up. Callie was watching him, still with that wisp of a smile on her face.
It would be so much easier if she were a cat.
“And I could show you the glass house plants,” he continued, because he could not stop. “They’re from all over the world! There are really good ones for healing. There’s this tree with flowers like stars. It’s really good for rashes—the oil, I mean. There are these plants that look like spiders”—he made his hands into claws to demonstrate—“the leaves help with . . . well, um, bowels. They work and they’re important. And the glass house is . . . it’s like a palace. With . . . plants. A plant palace. You have to know it’s there, though; you have to expect it. It’s a spell Caleb did, so no one can see the gardens. Except the people who already can see them. I mean—”
The words kept coming and he could not stop them, not while Callie was standing there so indecipherably, and so he was going to keep talking until he used up all the words there were and then no one would be able to talk to anyone else anymore and then all anyone would have left were one another’s unintelligible faces, and maybe some weird gesturing, too, and it would be all Oscar’s fault.
“Yes,” Callie said, saving the world with one word. “You can show me your glass palace.”
Soon they were walking together through the marketplace, into the forest, each with a basket in hand. Callie’s hair was wrapped up in a knot at the back of her head, and with every few steps one or two strands would break loose.
“What do you think Master Caleb does on the continent?” Callie asked, after a time.
“I don’t know,” Oscar said.
“It seems odd that he would leave right now. With what happened to Wolf.”
Oscar glanced at her. “Well, it was an accident.”
“Still,” Callie said.
“If there were something to be done, Caleb would do it,” Oscar said firmly.
“All right,” Callie said.
“He’s a magician.”
“I know. It’s not that. I just mean—it would be more . . . respectful to stay, I think.”
Oscar squinted at her. “The magic will keep us safe,” he said. “Everyone says so.”
“I suppose I don’t have as much faith in magic as everyone else,” Callie said with a shrug. “I’m not from the Barrow. I grew up in the Eastern Villages.”
Oscar stopped. “Really?”
“Really.”
Most apprentices were from the Barrow village. They’d grown up on Barrow soil, the very air they breathed infused with magic, and one day they showed they had a gift and the magic smiths took them under their wings, nurturing that talent so there would be someone to take their place. So the Barrow always thrived. But occasionally an apprentice came from beyond the river. Oscar had heard the masters of these new apprentices in the shop, announcing, quite loudly, that the children had shown “exceptional promise.”
“You must have shown exceptional promise!” Oscar said. Of course she could work magic. Why else would Mariel have taken her? Why would the duke have given her her pin?
“Madame Mariel always has her reasons,” Callie said quietly. Oscar opened his mouth, but Callie went on. “Anyway, I didn’t grow up with magic. And we got by just fine.”
Oscar’s brow furrowed. “Well, I suppose, but—”
“Our healers used herbs, too. They didn’t have anything like we have here, but they used the basic ones. Only they weren’t magic there. Just . . . medicine.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just how you look at it.”
“No, it’s
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