Chapter 16 Margot
16
Margot
Margot’s carefully kept record of how many days she’s gone without being touched the way Yael touched her last night lies in the dust somewhere, along with her petticoats and her dirtied Rastanaya dress. Not that it matters. Last night was so very, very good. She would ruin a hundred dresses to feel that way again.
Margot’s body is curved around Yael’s as she wakes. She places a gentle kiss on their bare shoulder. They’re still sleeping, curled up in the folds of Margot’s skirt that they spread underneath the cherry tree last night. Thank the gods she left the Clauneck letter at home, wanting one night’s distance from it. Even that had seemed careless in the moment, but if she’d brought it along, who knows where it would’ve ended up?
Settling Yael’s jacket over their shoulders, Margot sits up. Yael murmurs softly, and Margot brushes a piece of their hair off their forehead. They’re so striking, even in their sleep. Perhaps that’s what Margot’s feeling most deeply this morning: just how much she likes waking up next to Yael Clauneck. Such a huge change from four months ago, when Yael first rode into town and Margot took them back to the cottage as a drunken, one-night fling.
Of course, if she’d known Yael was so good at…all the things they’d done together last night, she might have kissed them sooner. Well. There will certainly be time for that, but first, Margot needs tea.
She stands, stretches, pulls on a chemise, and pads on bare feet through the cherry orchard, moving along the winding path in the waterfall room with its hanging arrays of tropical plants to her private mood garden, where she grows whatever flowers catch her fancy. At the far end of the room is her locked workshop. She places a hand on the yellow door, whispering a word to unlock it.
She lets out a contented sigh as she steps inside, leaving the door open behind her for the first time since Yael started working in the greenhouse and letting the cinnamon-laced smell of the workshop wrap around her. It was here where she spent hours at Granny Fern’s side, learning how to feed plants and encourage them to grow. She also learned to draw plants—one of her sketches of a fern that she gave Granny Fern for a long-ago Solstice present still hangs on the wall—and to prepare potions with exacting requirements.
It’s where she keeps the tea as well. Using a spelled kettle like the one she has at home, she gets two cups steeping and settles down at the table. Soon, she’s lost in the notes she was taking a few days ago on the Natural Caster Potion. Her neat handwriting fills many pages, and she turns to where she left off:
Problems: Not really sure how to make this or even what I’m looking for. (Ha. Fabulous.) Have made most of the potions in the book, many of which might replicate a single effect but not the sum needed for a potion of this magnitude.
Maybe the Natural Caster Potion is a combination of all of them?
Margot bites her lip as she re-reads that last note. The thought had come to her a few days ago, as she’d been cleaning out the Greenwillow Manor’s fountain for Rastanaya’s show. Despite the neglect, there had been several varieties of flowers growing in the cracks in the fountain that had never been planted there. They had found their way to the fountain, creating something beautiful from many other previous plantings. Something about that had struck her, and now she lets her mind consider the possibility.
Hmmm. She hasn’t ever tried making all the potions in Granny Fern’s book and combining them. That seems foolish, because who knows what effect it might have? But then again, it could be the answer to all her problems. Yes, it would take months—perhaps more time than she has, given the Claunecks’ deadline at the end of summer—but it’s worth a try.
She looks over her shoulder through the empty doorway and back into the greenhouse. There’s no sign of Yael, so she might as well get started.
Flipping to the front of the book, she sets to work on making the first remedy Granny Fern ever became famous for—a simple potion meant to grant the drinker a bit of courage. It was wildly popular with adventurers and nervous students, though Margot’s version of it only lasts about three minutes rather than the three hours Granny Fern’s promised. (Which is why Margot had never offered it to Sage; her best friend was brave enough as it was, and imagine if she drank Margot’s courage potion, pushed beyond her usually outrageous limits, and got eaten. Margot refused to think of it.)
Humming to herself, Margot fills up a small glass bowl with rainwater from one of the bottles on her shelf. The bowl, she sets in a beam of sunlight. Then she chops up three tiny red cap mushrooms—only just deadly enough to encourage bravery—that she grows in the greenhouse. These go into a mortar, and on top of them she adds ten fresh lilac blossoms, which will ease some of the effects of the mushrooms but not make the drinker too complacent. Next, she adds a dried orange peel (for brightness), ten peppercorns (for gusto), and exactly fourteen drops of morning dew that she’s harvested (for clarity of mind).
Of course, her dew supplies are running low, as she was too preoccupied to set the bottle out last night, and she ends up with only eight drops, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.
A handful of other ingredients—bees’ wings, an acorn cap, ten bitterroot shavings, and several other things from Granny Fern’s notes—also go into the mortar. Then Margot picks up a pestle and begins to grind everything together. As she does so, she thinks of Yael, of the way they looked in their suit, of the way they kissed her, of—
A soft knock sounds on the door. Margot turns to see Yael standing in the doorway, wearing one of Margot’s oversized cardigans she leaves around the shop, which hangs to their knees, and their own garden boots, which they keep at the greenhouse. They look sleepy and adorable. Margot immediately longs to kiss them.
“Good morning,” she says, putting down the mortar and closing Granny Fern’s spellbook.
“Morning, lovely. I smelled tea. Need any help?” Yael stands in the doorway, waiting.
“I don’t.” Margot dumps the mostly crushed ingredients into the water. They’ll need to soak for ten days, but then the potion should work. If she’s ground them finely enough. And if the missing dewdrops don’t matter, as she’s guessed. And if she remembered to add everything in the correct order…(No wonder her potions never work as well as Granny Fern’s did. Well. A problem for another time.) She turns her full attention to Yael. “Come in. Please.”
Yael smiles at the invitation. This is the first time Margot’s invited anyone into her workshop since her parents barged in and drank the potion on that awful day, but somehow, it feels like exactly the right thing to do. She wants Yael to join her this morning. Maybe every morning.
Yael steps across the workshop threshold, their dark eyes on Margot. “I’m honored, Daisy.”
She lifts her teacup, blowing off the steam. “I feel like you’ve earned it after all the hard work you did last night.”
Yael chuckles, sending heat through Margot’s lower belly as they step closer, pinning her against the workbench when she spins around to face them. She has no choice but to put her teacup down and kiss them.
It’s a sweet, slow kiss, gentler than Margot has ever had and somehow perfect after the…energetic night they shared. Margot lingers in that kiss, threading her hands through Yael’s already mussed hair.
“What do you work on in here?” Yael asks against Margot’s lips before they pull away at last.
They take the tea Margot offers, and she draws herself up. Yael knows so many of her secrets now; what harm is there in telling them another? Even if she doesn’t tell them the full secret of how she’s trying to save Bloomfield.
“Remedies mostly,” she says, sipping her own tea. “This is Granny Fern’s book.” She touches one finger to the green leather journal, which is nearly the size of Harvey the cat, who has wandered into the workshop and now curls around Margot’s legs.
Cautiously, Yael touches the spine of the book. “So this is where it all began? The entire Greenwillow empire?”
Margot nods. “I’ve made every potion in that book—well, most of them—with varying degrees of success, along with a few of my own.”
“Do you like making them?”
“I…think so?” Margot has never asked herself this question. Why would she? Making remedies was what she was taught. It’s what she was expected to do. “I was trained by Granny Fern. Then, once she was gone and we moved in here, I dove into re-creating them…” Margot trails off, drinking more tea.
Yael picks up a slim bottle full of emerald-green liquid. “What’s this?”
“A potion for getting rid of imperfections—temporarily—but I’m fairly sure you don’t need it.”
Yael’s eyes meet Margot’s, the air between them crackling. “Thank you, Daisy. Rest assured, you don’t need it either.”
After Margot’s done kissing Yael again—though will she ever truly be done kissing Yael Clauneck?—she says, “Perhaps I’ll be able to restart Granny Fern’s business and sell remedies again someday. Or at least I hope to. There’s a long road from tinkering in this workshop to carrying on her legacy, but I want to try.” Admitting this sends a snicker of guilt through Margot. Her original plan to use Yael to convince their family that she’s living up to her potential feels ridiculous this morning, after so many weeks together, and their intimacy last night. But still. Things are complicated between them. Even more so now. Pushing these feelings down for the moment, Margot moves over to a shelf where row upon row of small bottles filled with bright-pink potion rest in a wooden holder. “These are for hangovers. The really vicious kind. They’re nearly ready.”
Yael picks up one of the bottles of pink liquid, holding it up to the morning light and considering the contents. “Hibiscus?”
“And strawberry. I just got the formula right last week. Clementine is eager to keep them in stock.”
“Fabulous. I may need it after the next community dinner.”
“No. Never.” The words leave Margot’s lips too quickly, out before she really even considers them. Because she can’t let Yael try her potion. Never mind that Margot tested it on herself after last week’s community dinner, when she and Yael and a handful of Bloomfield friends had ended up at Clementine’s, singing the night away and drinking too many ales. It had cured her hangover with the first few sips, giving her more energy than she’d had in days. But there was a tremendous difference between sampling her own potions and letting Yael drink one. What if something went wrong, as it had with her parents?
“I’m sure it works perfectly,” Yael says, putting down the tiny bottle. “Mind you, I was mostly sober last night, and I’m in ideal health today, but I wish it could cure my morning breath, which is horrific.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Margot says, delighted to have an excuse to kiss Yael again.
The morning is busy in Bloomfield as they walk hand in hand back to the cottage, having left Sweet Wind outside the greenhouse, as Yael absolutely insisted they enjoy the morning air. They walk past the northern field so Yael can see the mammoths for the first time, to their extreme delight, then head back into the village. They wave to Mike, Dara, Clementine, Estelle, Javril, Astrid, and Rosiee, all moving through their daily stretching routine in the town square. Affection surges through Margot as they stroll the village.
“What are you smiling about?” Yael asks as they round the bend past the tavern and start toward the cottage.
“I’m just…”
“Happy?”
“Yes,” Margot says softly. “I feel like we’re exactly where we need to be. This feels like home.”
And for the first time in a long time, with Yael at her side, she feels like it might be possible to save the village and all the people in it.
As the front gate of the gardener’s cottage comes into view, Yael pulls up short. “Oh no,” they whisper, going pale.
Margot follows their gaze to the envelope affixed with ribbon to the gatepost. Yael’s name is an elegant flourish in green malachite ink across the cream-colored paper.
“Who’s it from?” Releasing Yael’s hand, Margot steps forward to take the letter. “And why would they tie it to the gate?”
She turns the letter over to open it, but Yael takes it from her with trembling fingers. “You don’t recognize the seal?” they say wryly.
Of course she recognizes the little picture stamped in deep-green wax, now that she looks: the facade of a tall stone building with a C turned horizontal at its peak, almost like a pair of horns rising from the roof to spear the sky. She saw it on the letters her parents used to pore over again and again until the ink faded beneath their fingers, as though they were searching for some clue or key to free them from their own doom. She knows it from the letter tucked away in the loft.
The seal of the Clauneck Company.
Yael breaks the wax and removes the message. “It’s an invitation.” They sniff then clear their throat to read aloud in an uncharacteristically flat voice, with none of their usual flair: “?‘Mr. Baremon Clauneck and Mrs. Menorath Clauneck request the honor of your presence at their Midsummer Masquerade, to be held at Clauneck Manor.’ And ah, there’s a postscript. ‘Enough of this, Yael. It is time to come home. We’re sending a carriage to pick you up in three days’ time, which will arrive at the outpost gate at noon. Don’t miss it.’?” They scoff and toss the letter into the dirt with an attempt at bravado Margot doesn’t quite believe. “Chaotic of my parents to send out invitations a mere week in advance, but perhaps I was an afterthought. How flattering to have made the C list.”
Margot opens and closes her mouth, not quite sure what to say. After a long moment, she manages, “What will you do?”
Yael shoves both hands through their hair. “Nothing. This changes nothing.”
“They know where you are, Yael. Do you think Rastanaya told them?”
“I don’t know. If not, then someone must have. Once I was spotted in Olde Post, it was only a matter of time until word traveled back to them, and we weren’t exactly discreet yesterday evening.” Crossing their arms over their chest, Yael starts pacing back and forth on the garden path. “But you’ll notice they’ve sent a messenger rather than traveling themselves. Well, they did swear they’d never come back after the first visit.”
Margot can’t tell whether Yael is relieved by their absence or stung by it. Perhaps both, and she’s not sure how she feels about that. “May I?” she asks.
“Of course.”
When she stoops and picks up the parchment to re-read the invitation, she nearly drops it again in shock. The Claunecks’ brusque postscript isn’t the end of their message. There’s more, written in plain letters and shimmering silver ink unlike the bright-green calligraphy of the invitation and postscript. And it’s addressed to her.
We request your presence as well, Margot Greenwillow. Say nothing of this personal missive, but bring our heir back to Ashaway where they belong, quickly and discreetly. Baremon and I know you’re capable of this and a good deal more. My husband and I place our faith in you.
However, should that faith be misplaced, you may expect a summons to discuss the willful and unauthorized use of company property that no longer belongs to you, as well as the future of assets we have been gracious enough to allow you to continue to occupy. An outcome neither of us wishes, I’m sure. We look forward to your immediate presence in Ashaway, along with Yael, lest your absence be considered your response, and our previous agreement considered void.
Best Regards,
Menorath Clauneck
Margot makes herself keep hold of the invitation, though her nerves threaten to abandon her. The note must be written in invisible script, spelled so it’s only visible to her. She skims the letter again, hating herself as her heart leaps at Menorath’s words and at the threat within them.
My husband and I place our faith in you. However, should that faith be misplaced, you may expect a summons to discuss the willful and unauthorized use of company property that no longer belongs to you, as well as the future of such assets we have been gracious enough to allow you to continue to occupy.
It’s Margot’s worst fears laid bare on the page. The Claunecks are willing to take the cottage, the greenhouses, and Bloomfield, unless she gets Yael back to Ashaway and somehow convinces them that she’s on track with the Natural Caster Potion. That their faith in her is not misplaced. But can she still hold on to Yael’s friendship if she’s also working for their parents?
Does she have a choice?
Clearly not.
Margot blows out a breath, running her gaze over the wildflower garden, Granny Fern’s wind chimes, and the peak of the tower of Greenwillow Manor in the distance.
There’s really only one choice to make, even if her reasons for it are as tangled as the ivy that crawls up the front of her cottage.
She hands the letter back to Yael, who shoves it into their pocket. “When you go back—”
“ If I go back,” Yael interrupts bitterly.
“Or if you go, let me go with you?” Margot weaves her hand through Yael’s again.
“Really?” Yael says. “You’d do that? For me?”
“ With you.” Margot has to look away as she says it, her treacherous heart cracking at Yael’s hopeful expression.
“Even if it means seeing my terrible family?”
“Even if it means that. You…you owe yourself the chance to confront them, don’t you think?”
Yael pulls Margot to their chest, hugging her tightly. “You are a magical human, Margot Greenwillow. I—I’m just so very glad to have found you again.”
She is so very glad of that too, even if she isn’t sure what being in Ashaway with Yael—and their parents—will bring, or what it will do to the fragile thing growing between them. Alas, she has no choice but to find out.