Chapter Twenty-Three
Pine Cone Coven, Kiela thought as she waved goodbye to the three women. She decided she’d call it that to herself, though it was wise to say “society” out loud. All total, they’d made forty-six more remedies. She’d wanted to gift them at least half, in thanks for their work and company, but Caz had jumped into negotiations—and somehow, in payment for her teaching them the spell, they’d agreed to supply her with a quarter of the harvest on any fruit or nut trees, or a fish a week for a month if they used the remedy on another kind of tree. She had no idea where the spider plant had learned how to handle business negotiations, but she was grateful. Also, she was going to have to learn how to cook fish.
Larran would know.
She wondered if that was a decent enough excuse to visit him . . .
She could also ask how Sian was feeling . . .
But what if Radane was there?
She wondered if that really had been her, lurking in the greenery, or if it had only been Kiela’s imagination. Maybe I’m just overly jumpy. She’d glimpsed a bit of red—it could have been a bird. Perhaps even the apple-blossom bird with its red feathers. She headed back inside the cottage.
“The cactus wants to help next time,” Caz said.
“Of course!” She was ninety-nine percent certain the Pine Cone Coven wouldn’t bat an eye at the addition of a sentient succulent. Or at least ninety percent certain. Eighty-five? “It’s welcome to help whenever it wants.”
“Meep,” the cactus said from the garden door, before darting back out to play with the chicken—the two of them seemed to be playing some variant of tag.
“The cactus wants you to know they prefer ‘they’ to ‘it,’ ‘she,’ or ‘he,’ ” Caz told Kiela.
“Ah, okay. Thanks for telling me,” Kiela said. “Wait, you can understand them?” She hadn’t realized the cactus could communicate, especially at such a grammatically nuanced level.
“Sure. It’s a plant thing.”
“How intelligent are they?” She kept her voice low, in case the cactus was insulted by the question. She didn’t mean to be insulting—she just had very limited experience with this. She didn’t recall any of her books mentioning the developmental speed of accidentally enhanced plant life.
“They have a working understanding of theoretical astrophysics.”
Staring out at the cactus and chicken, Kiela said, “Really?”
“No. But they do like poetry.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“They prefer free verse.”
“Huh.” She rather loved the idea of the spider plant and the cactus reciting free verse poetry to each other. She wanted to ask whether they wrote their own or drew from the masters, but her mind shifted back to that hint of red in the greenery. How much did she have to worry about the rescued woman? What would Radane think of a sentient succulent who was advanced enough to appreciate poetry? Maybe if Kiela visited Larran, she’d be able to determine whether Radane had overheard her spellcasting with Sian, whether she had been spying on her, whether she was a threat at all, or whether it was all Kiela’s own paranoia. “I’m thinking of visiting Larran . . .”
Caz made a rustling sound that was suspiciously like a giggle.
“. . . to check on Sian and to try to determine if Radane is a threat.”
“Mmm, of course.”
“And to ask him how to cook fish.” She winced at herself. Okay, now it just sounded like she was making up excuses. “But first, I want to finish the spell for Halio.”
“Which spell for who?”
“Remember the older woman with the dry spring? She bought some jam on our first day? I almost have the spell for her. I just need to confirm the pronunciation of line three.”
“Ooh, research!” He sprinted into the bedroom.
“Cactus?” Kiela called. “Can you mind the shop? ‘Meep’ if anyone comes.”
The cactus waddled into the cottage, followed by the chicken.
“Don’t let the chicken escape,” Kiela told them.
“Meep,” the cactus said.
Kiela wasn’t certain what that meant, but it sounded like agreement? She’d have to ask Caz if he could teach her to speak plant. She was fluent in several languages, as was any librarian in the Great Library, but flora wasn’t included. She wasn’t certain it was a recognized language— Perhaps it should be. “Thanks.” She followed Caz into the bedroom, where he’d already hauled out a dissertation on the linguistics of ancient languages, including the First Language of spellwork. Joining him, she immersed herself in research until Kiela felt confident that they had the solution. Reasonably confident, at least.
“How do we test it?” Caz asked.
She only knew of one waterless spring so far, and she really didn’t want to be experimenting in front of Halio when she was going to claim it was an old family remedy. If it failed, that would be hard to explain. Wait, I do know a second one. “The fountain in town. It’s dry too. If I pick a time when everyone is out at sea . . .”
“Like right now?” He waved his leaves at the window. “It’s a beautiful afternoon.”
She jumped to her feet. “Like right now. Can you and the cactus—”
“Go,” he said. “By the time you’re done, it’ll be dinnertime. You can just happen to be passing by Larran’s house. Perhaps he’ll invite you to share a romantic meal.”
Kiela blushed. “I’m not looking for a romantic meal.”
“I have read that sharing meals can be very bonding,” Caz said. “The act of nourishing one another creates a tie. Like when I share my soil ball . . .” He trailed off.
Lowering her notebook, Kiela looked at her spider plant friend. She could’ve sworn his leaves were tinted greener, the plant equivalent of a blush. “Caz?”
“You should visit Larran.”
Kiela grinned at him. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
From the other room, she heard, “Meep!”
Still grinning, she tucked the spell into a pocket and headed out, but she resolved to continue that very interesting conversation later—after the fountain and after Larran.
Kiela lucked out: there was no one by the fountain.
She checked in every direction, studying the windows of the houses for any hint of movement. She could hear voices from the direction of the bakery, as well as shouts, seagull caws, the clang of metal, and the thunk of wood from the direction of the dock, but the only one watching her was a ginger cat with dirty white wings who had squeezed himself into a window box, displacing whatever flowers used to grow there. A lone daisy bloomed limply by his hindquarters, occasionally hit when he swished his tail.
“Don’t tell,” she said to the cat.
With another glance down the empty street, she stepped into the basin of the fountain. Kneeling by the spout, she inserted the ball of ingredients (both Caz and the cactus had helped her harvest them from the garden and the pond—this particular remedy required aquatic freshwater plants) beside the statue of the mermaid. Carefully, she said the words, pronouncing each syllable as she and Caz had determined.
She climbed out of the basin and wondered if—
Voices came closer.
Kiela scooted down a side street. She’d check back later. Perhaps even tomorrow. It would be better not to have any suspicion thrown on her at all. If she was nowhere near town when the spell took effect, that would be best. She began walking toward the beach and Larran’s house. She didn’t look back. Either the spell worked and she had a new remedy for her customers, or it hadn’t and no harm done. It was worth it to try, especially since she had such a perfect opportunity. Luck is with me today.
She hoped that luck lasted. As she walked, she considered what she was going to say to Larran. Obvious start to the conversation was to ask about Sian. It was a reasonable excuse for a visit, regardless of whether Radane was there or not. If Radane was present . . . well, it would be a short visit.
She wondered where the rescued woman was sleeping. Larran had only one bed. There was no guest room or even a daybed like she had in her cottage. Exactly how kind was he?
Kiela had read tales of people who fell in love with either their hero or their healer. Larran was both. If Radane was grateful . . . If she realized how much he’d risked . . . If she saw how kind he was, how sweetly awkward, how . . . Gah, what does it say about me that I’m clearly jealous of a woman who nearly died? Kiela wouldn’t blame Radane if she fell for Larran. All he did was fix my chimney, and I can’t stop thinking about him.
No, it wasn’t the chimney that had drawn her. It was the apology afterward. Yes, that was the moment that she began to have feelings for him. His clumsy apology.
If Radane was sharing his bed . . . I’ll be fine. She hadn’t needed romance in her life before, and she didn’t need it now. It was a new idea, spurred by being in a new place and trying new things, but that didn’t make it a necessity. Kiela thought of her happily married parents and how irritating it used to be when they’d pressure her about her love life. She didn’t have what they had—a union, a partnership. Not everyone did. Some people were solitary, and she’d done just fine on her own. She’d been content.
And I can be content here, with Larran as a very nice neighbor.
On his porch, she raised her hand to knock on the door, and it swung open. His smile lit up his face, and for an instant, she forgot it was smart to breathe.
With a laugh, Larran stepped out onto the porch, wrapped his arms around her, and swung her in a circle, lifting her off the ground. In that instant, she was surrounded entirely by him, and she was only aware of the breath in his chest, the strength in his arms, the warmth in his skin, and the smell of the sea.
“You saved my Sian,” he said.
Gently lowering her, he released her, and she had to catch herself to keep from staggering. He didn’t seem to notice. He took her hand and pulled her across the beach and down the jetty. Kiela had to concentrate to keep from slipping on the way, and both of them were laughing by the time they reached the end, where the merhorses were playing.
Larran put his fingers to his lips and whistled, three short and one long.
Sian broke from the herd and leapt through the waves. She looked magnificent with the sunlight on her golden scales. She tossed her mane as she reached the rocks. Rising up onto her front hooves, Sian snuffled at Kiela’s hands and then her pockets.
“No tomatoes today,” Kiela said. “I’m sorry.”
“She’s herself because of you,” Larran said. “I don’t know how to repay you. Again. Sian was the foal, the one you sang to. You’ve saved her twice.”
Kiela shook her head and didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “You don’t need to repay me. That’s not why . . .” She took a breath. “You would’ve done the same. Both times. If you could have.”
He took her hands in his. She liked the way his hands enveloped hers, swallowing them completely. “Yes, but you—”
“Larran! Kiela!” From the shore, Tobin waved both his arms over his head. He was puffing as if he’d run from the bakery to the beach. “You have to come see!”
Stepping back, Larran released her. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”
Tobin was dancing between the driftwood and seaweed. “The fountain! It’s running again! You have to come see! It’s a miracle!”
Larran shook his head. “Not possible.” He smiled at her. “Looks like it’s a day of miracles. We have to see this.” He took Kiela’s hand again and led her back down the stone jetty. She glanced at Sian, who bobbed in the waves, watching them.
He’s not going to finish that sentence.
She knew she was going to spend the next day, week, lifetime wondering what was going to come after Yes, but you . . . But what? What did he think of her? Did he think of her? Or was he merely grateful? She’d saved his beloved merhorse twice.
Her father would have said it was a sign. He’d liked to see signs and portents in the random occurrences in the world. When they’d chosen their new home in Alyssium, the flowers above the window were pink roses. He’d said that was a sign. She hadn’t realized at the time that those roses were the same pink as the ones on the wild rosebushes that edged the cliff. She also remembered the time she’d lost a scarf in the canals—her father had said it was a sign that she should live at the Great Library, shielded from any wind or sea breeze. At that point, she’d already taken the library assignment and was full of doubt about leaving her parents’ home. He’d been trying to say, in his own way, that it was okay for her to go.
They reached the beach and followed a very excited Tobin as he leapt like a goat over the beach and into town. Kiela heard the crowd long before she saw it, squawking like a flock of gulls, with words piling onto one another so fast that they became meaningless. If Larran wasn’t still holding her hand, she’d have pivoted and fled up the cliff stairs . . . But he was still holding her hand, even though she wasn’t sure he realized he was. All his attention was on Tobin.
As they approached the fountain, he slowed.
The crowd was thick, clustered in a ring around the fountain. She couldn’t even see the mermaid statue, but then Larran pushed forward, and a gap opened up.
Sparkling in the sun, water arched around the stone mermaid. Kids were dancing in the fountain, splashing and laughing. Islanders—more than she’d seen at one time—were marveling at it, repeating the same amazed phrases over and over, asking how this could happen, wondering what it meant . . .
A woman’s voice rang out, harsh as a gull. “What it means is that someone on Caltrey has access to illegal magic.”
Kiela felt her heart sink.
Radane stepped onto the edge of the fountain. She’d pitched her voice loud so that it carried over all the wondering and murmuring and explaining and reminiscing over the last time the fountain had run, as well as the weddings that were held by it, the proposals that had happened near it, and the festivals that occurred around it. As soon as she spoke, the murmurs shifted. “Illegal magic? But who . . .”
Kiela wanted to melt away, but Larran was still holding her hand. It was harder to breathe, as if a storm were sitting in a ring around her head. She tried to look as shocked as the people around her. She felt the bodies around her, penning her in.
“You have a rogue sorcerer on Caltrey,” Radane shouted, “and it is imperative that he or she comes forward! If you do so voluntarily, I promise that the imperial guard will be lenient. If you do not . . . then you will be considered a traitor to the empire.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Larran scowl.
Don’t say anything, she thought at him. Don’t draw her attention.
But it was Bryn, not Larran, who shouted, “Who are you to come here and make threats? You were saved from the sea by one of us—quite a display of gratitude to now turn your suspicion on us.”
“I am an imperial inspector,” Radane said, “authorized to enforce the laws. And it will go more smoothly for your island if you do not hide this criminal from me.”
She doesn’t know it’s me.
Kiela hadn’t been here when the fountain began to gush. She’d been with Larran, outside of the town. Larran could vouch for her. Tobin had seen her. I can’t be a suspect. Can I?
“I am authorized to search each of your premises, if I must, and confiscate anything contraband and levy fines as appropriate for any infractions,” Radane said. “But I do not wish to disrupt the lives of innocent people. Bring me the rogue sorcerer, and no searches will occur, no fines will be levied, and I will leave your island with no reports against the people here. You will avoid the imperial eye—for it does continue to see all, even without the emperor himself. The Crescent Islands Empire will not be denied. Who is your sorcerer?”
Don’t run, Kiela told herself.
She wormed her hand out of Larran’s and began to inch backward through the crowd. He shot her a look, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from Radane.
“I want to speak to all older villagers with knowledge of ‘herbal remedies,’ ” Radane said, “as well as any healers known to mumble to their patients or anyone who’s witnessed any unusual or unexpected activities.”
Fenerer called out, “Never had any trouble until the new citygirl came.”
As eyes turned on her, Kiela froze in place.
“Nonsense,” Ulina said. “She’s one of ours.”
“You just want her cove and her woods,” Bryn snapped at Fenerer. “You’ve wanted that land since her parents left. You should be ashamed, stooping this low out of greed.”
Everyone murmured. Most of the voices agreed with Bryn. As nice as that was, Kiela wished she had the power to disappear. Or to turn herself into an apple-blossom bird and fly away. She would have given up several books to not be here right now, obviously depending on which book—perhaps the virtually incomprehensible Thoughts On the Ineffable Behavior of Half-Moon Caterpillars by scholars Mimay and Liy or the insufferable Arguments for Moss by that puffed-up half-scholar Wilgafort or . . .
Radane scowled at her through the crowd, and Kiela thought, This is it.
Stepping up onto the edge of the fountain with the inspector, Bryn said to Radane, “I have a proposal. Instead of intruding on people’s homes and making everyone uncomfortable, why not come into the bakery? You can interview anyone you wish there, with tea and pastries for all who volunteer to speak with you. I’m quite certain that you’ll realize there’s no illegal activity here. Just good people trying to live their lives as best they can.”
“That’s not how this works,” Radane said. “But yes, I will begin my search with your bakery. You’d best hope that I find nothing that isn’t regulation.”
“All are welcome in my bakery,” Bryn said loudly. She shot a glance through the crowd—her eyes met Kiela’s, and then she looked away. Marching through the crowd, she led the inspector toward her bakery, while Kiela retreated down the street at a fast-but-hopefully-innocent walk.
When she made it to the beach, she ran.