Chapter Twenty-Two
The morning after she’d saved the merhorse, Kiela resolved to have a quiet, unexciting day. She flipped the shop sign to “Open” and hoped that no customers came, which she knew wasn’t exactly the entrepreneurial attitude.
“Let’s make more pine cone remedies,” Caz said.
They’d stored all the ingredients delivered by the forest spirits, but Kiela and Caz hadn’t had time to assemble them. She thought of Eadie and how pleased she’d been with her cherry tree. And then she thought of Radane and how close she’d been standing when Kiela had cast the spell on Sian. “Maybe we should take a break from remedies. Just for a little while.”
“But we’ve barely begun.”
“I don’t want to draw more suspicion.”
“I really don’t think that woman heard anything. The waves were loud, and your back was to her. And Larran was too far away. Besides, all he cares about is that Sian recovered. You could have stripped naked, cast the spell with blood, and he wouldn’t have cared.”
He could be right. Still . . . “You think he wouldn’t have cared if I was naked?”
“Okay, that’s not—Hey, customers!”
Ugh.
Not ugh, “yay,” she corrected herself. The plan was to sell jam, not hide hermitlike with her books, so she should be happy to have customers. I should have come up with a better plan.
Maybe she should have established a delivery-only shop and hired Bryn’s nephew to deliver the jam so she wouldn’t ever have to deal with visitors. Except that she couldn’t afford to hire anyone yet. First, she had to sell more jam.
Kiela opened the window with the counter as three figures emerged from the greenery. She recognized them instantly: Bryn, Eadie, and the harpist with multiple arms.
On the plus side, it wasn’t Fenerer. Or Radane. Or a stranger. Or the emperor’s guards come to arrest her for unauthorized magic use. She tried to be happy that it was Bryn and Eadie, but she couldn’t help thinking, So much for my no-people day.
Quickly, Kiela scanned the shop and cottage: the bedroom door was closed, the books were under quilts, the cactus was in the back garden with the chicken, and the jam jars were neatly displayed on the shelves. She had peonies and larkspur in a pitcher on the kitchen counter and daisies in little glasses between the jam jars. Dried herbs, tied with ribbons, hung from the rafters in between copper pots. After the storm, she’d washed the gauzy curtains on the windows, and Caz and Meep had mopped the wood floor just this morning.
Caz climbed onto the shelves and plopped himself on an empty spot so he’d be eye level with the new arrivals, while Kiela checked her clothes for any jam stains or dirt. Since she’d planned to spend the day in the garden, she hadn’t worn anything particularly nice. This was one of her handle-dusty-manuscripts outfits. It had a tea stain on the neckline, as well as a rip in the left elbow. Her three visitors were all neat and lovely: Bryn in a red plaid pinafore dress that was fancier than her usual bakery garb, Eadie in bright green with a matching hat, and the harpist in white pants with a yellow blouse with four sleeves for her four arms. Oh well, it was too late to change now.
Plastering a smile on her face, Kiela swung the door open wide.
“Thanks for coming to Kiela and Caz’s Jam Shop. Lovely to see you all.”
“Kiela! Caz!” Bryn waved cheerfully to both of them. “I think you’ve met Eadie. Let me introduce you to our friend Ulina.”
Ulina waved with both of her right hands, as if they were connected by a string. Imagining how useful an extra pair of hands would be for shelving books, Kiela tried not to be jealous. She didn’t have bookshelves right now anyway. Just jam shelves. “We almost met outside the bakery. Nice to officially meet you, Ulina.”
Closer, Ulina elbowed Eadie with one of her arms. “You’re right. I see it now. Just like Binna. It’s the eyes. Plus the freckles.”
Since she’d come to Caltrey and spent so much time outside in the garden, instead of within the library stacks, a scattering of magenta freckles had appeared on the bridge of her nose, and her hair had tinted different shades of blue, some strands lighter and some still a dark sapphire, a rainbow of blues.
“Also, the smile,” Eadie said. To Kiela, she said, “You have your mother’s smile.”
Kiela wasn’t sure how hearing that made her feel. Jumbled inside, really. She liked that her smile sparked memories—it made it feel a little like her mother was still here to be able to smile, but then her mother wouldn’t have been happy to be back on Caltrey. Her mother had loved Alyssium—loved all the shops and the bustle, loved the flowers that draped from every window box. She’d been so excited to get her own window box full of flowers. She’d nursed those seeds into sprouts, and every spring, she would proudly report on every blossom that appeared. Given how much she loved flowers, Kiela wondered if she’d ever missed her island garden. “She liked to smile.”
“We went to school together,” Ulina said. “She always had her nose in a book, while I was always showing off how well I could walk on rooftops. I was a bit of a daredevil back in the day.”
Eadie snorted. “Binna used to dare you to not do dangerous things, just to make sure you made it out of your childhood alive.”
Kiela felt herself smile. That did sound like something her mother would do. And her mother had always loved to read. She’d taught Kiela at a very young age, and on their very first day in Alyssium, her mother had brought her to the Great Library. Without an imperial pass, they’d only been allowed in the public foyer, but Kiela had glimpsed the stacks up the spiral staircase and the reading rooms through the occasionally opened doors. She’d fallen in love with the place that day, and her mother had encouraged her. She’d been so proud when Kiela was accepted into the librarian program at the university. She’d told everyone in her book club and her gardening club and everyone at her favorite tea shop about her daughter the librarian-to-be. Kiela hadn’t thought about that in years. She was surprised at how nice it was to remember. She would’ve expected it to hurt more. Somehow, being here in her family’s old house, with people who’d known her parents . . . It was nice.
It took her an extra second to realize they were waiting for her to respond.
“Sorry, yes. She taught me to love books. Not rooftops. I mean, I’m sure rooftops are nice. To walk on.” Ugh, what was she saying? “Would you like some jam?”
“Smooth,” Caz murmured.
“Actually . . .” Ulina began.
Eadie jumped in. “She saw my cherry tree. It’s spectacular. Completely covered in ripening fruit. I’ve revitalized the trees behind my house as well. They’re flourishing.”
Bryn nodded in agreement. “We’re here to buy more of your tree remedies.”
Behind her, Caz said, “Told you.”
“We don’t have any at the moment,” Kiela said. “With the storm and all, we haven’t had time . . .” She trailed off as their faces fell.
They came all this way, she thought. Dressed up nice for a visit. Climbed the cliff stairs. Bryn had probably closed her bakery to do this, or at least found a replacement to run it. She didn’t know what Ulina or Eadie had given up to come here today, but they both looked deflated. She felt as if she’d told eager partygoers there was no more cake.
“But I could make some,” Kiela said. “Caz could keep you company while you wait?” She glanced over her shoulder at the spider plant to see if he’d mind. Assembling the pine cones would be quicker with his help, but someone had to distract their visitors. “You could have some bread and jam, on the house, as an apology for the delay. We have both raspberry and blueberry.” She still had one of Bryn’s loaves. It was a reasonable offer, especially if they paid for the remedies.
All three of them perked up at that, and she felt a rush of relief. I said the right thing. Yay. Maybe she could handle being a shopkeeper after all.
“We’d be happy to help you, my dear,” Eadie said.
“Many hands make the work go faster,” Ulina said, wiggling her many fingers.
Uh-oh. If they helped, they’d witness her spellcasting. She had to say no. But how did she say no without sounding more suspicious?
On the other hand, should she say no?
If more islanders knew how to heal the trees, wouldn’t that be a good thing? She thought of the forest spirits and of the orchard. She’d never intended to keep knowledge from people, the way the emperor did. She’d just wanted to protect it, but if these three women would value the knowledge . . . Who am I to keep it from them?
Someone who doesn’t want to be transformed into anything unpleasant.
“Unless it’s a family recipe?” Bryn said, noticing her hesitation. “Caz, are you comfortable sharing it? I have plenty of secret family recipes that don’t leave my bakery.”
That was the perfect out.
But did Kiela want to take it? She glanced at Caz for his opinion, and he shook his tendrils—he didn’t know, and he was happy to leave it up to her.
In the beginning, she’d thought this would be safe enough: homespun remedies to help the people of Caltrey. She didn’t think anyone beyond the island would notice or care. But now there was a woman from the capital, probably a noblewoman, who’d seen plenty of magic close up . . . It was an entirely different kettle of fish.
Wasn’t it?
Maybe it wasn’t.
Could she trust these three women? She hadn’t known either Bryn or Eadie for long, though she liked them quite a bit, and Ulina she’d just met. They didn’t owe her anything. If they knew the full “remedy,” how would they react?
They’d given her no reason to distrust them—this was their home, and they just wanted to heal their trees. Both Eadie and Ulina were old enough to remember a time when homespun magic wasn’t illegal. The laws were a recent development, invented by those who wanted to consolidate power. And see where it got them. In truth, spellcasting had simply faded out of fashion and was forgotten—it wasn’t that most people believed it was wrong. Besides, it wasn’t as though she was trying to work major spellcraft. Just a little remedy.
Beyond them, in the green, Kiela saw a wisp of haze.
A cloud bear?
That decided her.
She wasn’t going to let a little fear keep her from doing what was right. A lot of fear . . . well, then, yes, maybe she’d reconsider. But all she had right now was a vague kind of unease. She had no way of knowing where Radane’s political leanings lay—she might not care what a few islanders and a plant did to a handful of trees, or she might be so grateful for her life that she didn’t want to stir up trouble. Besides which, they were a long way from the capital.
“If I teach you, you need to understand that it’s just a simple plant-family remedy,” Kiela said. She glanced at Caz, but he wasn’t contradicting her. She hoped this was the right decision. “Nothing more.”
All three women beamed at her. “Of course,” Bryn said. “We understand.”
Eadie added, “And we’ll take you up on that bread and jam.” “Actually,” Bryn said, “I also brought cheese and salami—in case we wanted to have a proper picnic.” From the pockets of her pinafore dress, she produced wrapped packets, and Ulina clapped her four hands happily.
A short while later, Kiela and Caz and the three women were seated on a blanket spread out on the grass in front of the cottage. After asking Kiela if she could use her stove and kettle, Bryn had made fresh tea, while Kiela had sliced the bread and Eadie cut up the sausage and cheese. Caz had enlisted Ulina into helping carry out the baskets of ingredients. Due to her second set of arms, she could carry quite a bit at one time.
As they nibbled on the sandwiches, Kiela picked up a pine cone. “It’s fairly simple. You use the sap to stick the ingredients onto the pine cone—there’s an acorn cap, elderberry leaves, huckleberry leaves, shell of a chicken egg . . . Any eggshell would work, but I’ve only tried it with chicken shell.”
“Specifically huckleberry and elderberry leaves?” Bryn asked.
“I don’t recommend experimenting with the ingredients. It can have unexpected side effects.” She wondered if the apple tree in the orchard had ever stopped singing. “Your neighbors might not like it.”
Eadie snorted. “My neighbor doesn’t like anything. He’ll seize any opportunity to complain.” She launched into an anecdote about her neighbor fussing over the fact that his flowers bent toward her house—which meant she could see the blossoms and not him, as if she had anything to do with the position of the sun. “He once yelled at a bird for daring to chirp by his window. Apparently it should respect the fence around his property?”
Halfway through her third story, Kiela realized which neighbor she meant: Fenerer. She swallowed her bite of sandwich—the sausage was peppery and the cheese was sharp, absolute perfection—and said, “He came by my shop the first day it opened. Told me he doesn’t like jam.”
Bryn shook her head. “But you have a jam shop—why come to a jam shop if you don’t like jam? It’s like visiting a fish market if you hate seafood or a baker if you don’t like bread and then complaining that they don’t offer steak and corn, which is a fine meal but—”
“He likes to complain,” Ulina said. “Some people are like that. They derive joy from sapping other people’s joy. The trick is not to let them. Just keep playing your own song.”
“I recommend being aggressively happy in their face,” Eadie said. “Makes Fenerer’s scales turn bright red.” She imitated him: “ ‘Terrible weather we’re having.’” And then as herself: “Yes, the rain will be great for the flowers.”
“Brilliant,” Bryn said, laughing.
Finishing her first sticky pine cone, Kiela showed the others what it was supposed to look like. The others compared theirs. “Caz, what’s the wind today?” Kiela asked.
Caz held one of his tendrils up in the air. “It’s easterly,” he reported.
“Excellent.” Kiela held up her completed pine cone. “It requires a breath of easterly wind. Only wind will work. Definitely don’t try just blowing on it.”
“You’re making me very curious,” Eadie said, lifting her pine cone into the air. “What happens if you deviate from the spell?”
“Remedy!” both Kiela and Caz said. Calming herself, Kiela said, “Think of it like a recipe. Like for jam. If you mix in salt instead of sugar, it won’t taste the same, right?”
Bryn grinned at her. “You tried it, didn’t you. Go on, tell us. What happened?”
“It didn’t work,” Kiela said.
“One of the trees turned into a bird,” Caz said.
Kiela shot him a look.
“What? They should know if they don’t want extra birds.”
“Easterly wind,” Kiela said firmly. “And then . . .” She hesitated. Here was the part that felt the most like a sorcerer’s spell, because it was a sorcerer’s spell. “You say a few nonsense syllables.”
Bryn raised her eyebrows.
Ulina and Eadie exchanged glances.
Kiela tried not to wince. Why had she thought this was a good idea? It was not. Definitely not. But . . . Knowledge is meant to be shared. That was the entire point of a library. Otherwise it would be a sealed vault. “You know, the syllables are just for fun. Someone in Caz’s family must have thought it would make it all look more impressive, if it sounded like they were really doing magic.”
“It was my grandpa,” Caz lied. “He was trying to woo my grandma. But tradition says you have to say the words or . . .” He shrugged with his tendrils.
“Or you’ll dishonor his grandpa,” Kiela said.
Caz nodded all of his leaves.
“So you’ll teach us these nonsense words?” Eadie asked.
“Yes, but I recommend not saying them around anyone who might misunderstand,” Kiela said. “Like Fenerer. He’d probably see it in the worst possible light.”
“Instead of a harmless tradition to honor a grandfather,” Bryn said.
“Exactly.”
All the women nodded, and Kiela taught them the words syllable by syllable. She corrected their pronunciation until they had it completely perfect. Only then did they speak the words with the sticky pine cones in front of them.
Completed, they wrapped the enchanted pine cones in scraps of fabric. And then each of them reached for another pine cone to begin again. It was Bryn’s turn then to regale them with a flood of anecdotes. She described various baking accidents she’d had and experiments with recipes, plus the time she’d been distracted and had in fact mixed up salt and sugar. “I didn’t create a bird, but I did create the most inedible pudding that you can possibly imagine.”
“Let me guess,” Eadie said. “Tobin ate it anyway.”
Bryn grinned. “Every last bit of it.”
Hours flew, and by the time the sun was overhead, they’d created several dozen remedies and depleted the entirety of the ingredients from the forest spirits. Caz offered to gather more for their next working picnic, if they were interested in making this a regular event. Everyone loved that idea, and Bryn offered to supply the bread next time, Ulina offered to bring the cheese, and Eadie volunteered honey.
As they poured themselves a final round of tea, Eadie said, “If this is going to be a regular meeting, we should have a name. I vote we call ourselves the Pine Cone Coven.”
“Yes!” Bryn said.
“I love it,” Ulina said.
Kiela held up a finger. “That might cause problems.”
“The Pine Cone Society?” Bryn suggested.
All of them agreed to that, and Kiela felt an unfamiliar knot of warmth. She’d never really been part of a group before. Even in school . . . Well, this was nice.
Bryn lifted her teacup. “To the Pine Cone Society.”
“The Pine Cone Society,” they all said, lifting their cups. Caz lifted a cup using his leaves. They clinked and then drank. Caz dumped his cup, with water not tea, onto his root ball.
Kiela smiled as she set down her cup—
And saw a bush shiver at the edge of the forest. A tree guardian? She smiled, thinking the cloud bears would be happy about the Pine Cone Society saving more trees. As she watched the bushes for a hint of cloud, she thought she saw a flash of red.
“Did you see that?” she asked.
“What?” Caz asked.
All of them turned to stare at the woods, but Kiela didn’t see any other hint of motion. For an instant, she’d thought she’d seen the red of Radane’s hair.
Just my imagination.