The Spellshop

Chapter Twenty-Six

Without the spellbooks safe in their crates around her, Kiela couldn’t sleep. She tried valiantly, curled up in soft quilts made by her mother and her mother’s mother, but she woke at every hoot of an owl, every blast of wind through the chimney, and every creak of the shutters.

She hated that she was alone. In the library, she never was. Even if she didn’t speak to the other librarians, she’d hear them murmur, hear the whir of the lifts, hear the echo of distant footsteps from another floor. And always there was Caz, somewhere nearby, swinging himself between the shelves.

Lying awake in the darkness, she wished she could check on him and Meep, but she didn’t dare. Radane could be lurking in the forest beyond the garden, waiting for Kiela to make a rash move like that. She had no way of knowing how suspicious the imperial investigator was, and she didn’t fool herself into thinking she was safe just because Radane had walked away. Any second, she could return and have her arrested. The local police would obey her—they’d have no choice. Punishment would fall on them and all of Caltrey if they didn’t comply.

The revolutionaries must have failed.

If they’d won, they would have stripped the imperial investigators of their unchecked power, and they would have eliminated the laws against non-approved spellwork. Kiela wondered how bad it must be in the capital now. She’d read enough history to know that the retaliation for a failed revolution would be swift and brutal.

She wondered which noble or general had claimed the throne after the emperor’s death and then decided she didn’t care. All she cared about was how far she’d have to go for her and the plants and the books to be safe. Was any place safe anymore? Even an obscure outer island like Caltrey wasn’t far enough to escape the imperial reach.

Where could she go?

She didn’t know the other islands or anyone on them. She didn’t want to start again—where would she live? How would she eat? Where could she go where she could ensure that Caz, Meep, and the books were safe?

At some point, she must have slept, because she woke in a knot of quilts with all the same worries swirling through her mind.

The birds were barely awake, and the sun hadn’t peeked through the branches, but Kiela rose anyway. The early morning had a chill bite to it, with wisps of mist and dew thick around the cottage, and she put on a woven blouse and thick skirt that was as soft as a blanket. Once the sun was out, it would warm, but for now . . . She couldn’t stay in bed with her thoughts a second longer anyway. She had to go through the motions of an ordinary day, at least until she could be certain she could slip away to the painted cave.

Watching the woods for any hint of Radane, Kiela picked a basket of raspberries and wished she could stay. Oh, the things she’d do! First off, she’d begin by identifying other berries for new flavors of jam: strawberries, blackberries, boysenberries (and making sure none were poisonous). She’d buy apples from an orchard owner and try to make apple jam. Secretly or not secretly, she’d heal all the orchards on the island and restart all the magical springs. Eventually, hopefully, she’d find a way to help the merhorses bear their young again. Maybe even discover how to protect Caltrey from the worsening storms. And how to feed the winged cats. She’d spend more time with Bryn, Eadie, and Ulina. And Larran. There was so much she hadn’t said to Larran. He’d helped her without even knowing what was in the crates or what he risked or why. Who did that? Who was so kind, so trusting, so selfless? Only Larran.

She was crying as she stirred sugar into the raspberries. Tears fell into the bowl, and she quickly leaned back and wiped her cheeks. She didn’t want to add extra salt to the jam.

I can’t stay. No matter how much I want to.

Kiela was sweeping the floor when she heard voices drift through the open window—familiar voices, talking as they approached, their words blending like bird calls. Familiar, worried voices.

Wiping her cheeks to make sure there was no evidence of her earlier tears, she hurried outside as Bryn, Eadie, and Ulina emerged from the greenery—Bryn in her baker’s apron, Eadie in another splendid hat, Ulina in her many-sleeve blouse, and all of them with anxious, concerned looks on their faces, as if they didn’t know what they’d find at the old cottage.

Kiela tried to gather herself to welcome them with as much cheerfulness as she could manage, but Bryn rushed forward and hugged her. “You’re all right! We wanted to come yesterday, as soon as the inspector left the bakery, but—”

“I didn’t think it would be wise,” Eadie interrupted. “I’ve dealt with these types before. They see everything as suspicious. If we’d rushed here—”

Bryn cut back in. “We didn’t want to make anything worse for you. But we’re so sorry you had to go through it alone.” She hugged Kiela again. She smelled like fresh bread and cinnamon. Kiela squeezed her back awkwardly and hoped she didn’t have any raspberry on her. She’d been embraced more in these past couple days than in the prior several years. It was . . . nice. Very nice.

They were worried about me. Me, who they barely know. Me, who endangered all of them. “Is the bakery . . . Did Radane . . .” She didn’t know how to ask what she wanted to ask. Did Radane find the pine cone remedies? Was Bryn in trouble? Were any of them? Where was the investigator now?

Ulina patted Kiela’s back with three of her arms. “It’s over now.”

No, it isn’t. She didn’t know how to tell them that there could be worse to come. She thought of the librarian who’d created Caz, who’d most likely burned with the manuscripts and tapestries in the once-beautiful North Reading Room. She wondered if Caz had realized her fate.

Eadie snorted and rolled her eyes at Ulina. “It isn’t over. And if you think it is, then you’re so adorably na?ve that I’m going to pinch your cheeks and offer you a candy. You know that investigator won’t give up. She can’t. She sailed into a storm and sank her ship. It doesn’t matter that the empire caused the storms—they don’t forgive mistakes. After a disaster like that, she has to produce a result. Arresting a rogue sorcerer will buy her forgiveness. She can’t afford to fail.”

Ulina asked, “How do you know that? You’re just guessing. When she doesn’t find anything, she’ll leave. She’s not going to manufacture—”

“She took my cookbook,” Kiela said. “As evidence.”

“She was very interested in mine as well,” Bryn said. “Only when I pointed out that baking was my livelihood did she leave them alone.”

Eadie asked, “Your remedies . . . Were they . . .”

“It was my parents’ cookbook,” Kiela said. “None of Caz’s family remedies were in it.”

“Your parents’ . . .” Bryn repeated. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Kiela told herself not to cry again. She didn’t need the cookbook. She had her memories, and they’d been sharper recently than before she came to Caltrey. Losing the cookbook shouldn’t feel so much like losing a piece of her past, but it did.

“And Caz?” Eadie asked. “What did she think of Caz? Investigators aren’t much for nuance or for explanations. My husband and me . . . this was back a few years before he died . . . We’d latched on to this plan to market our work beyond Caltrey, to other islands . . .”

“Eadie’s husband was a woodcarver, and Eadie a painter,” Ulina put in. “You should see the work they created together—beautiful. I have a seagull they gifted me.”

“The third island we visited, an imperial investigator was looking to make a name for himself,” Eadie said. “He claimed we were smugglers. Accused us of stashing illegal mind-altering herbs within our sculptures. He confiscated them and smashed them open, and of course found nothing, but we were in no way compensated. In fact, he charged us for tax evasion because we did not complete the paperwork for the sale of goods—because he’d taken them before we could sell them. My husband wouldn’t carve after that. Seeing his creations destroyed . . .” Eadie sighed heavily. “Oh, we tried to report that odious investigator, but that went nowhere.”

Kiela wasn’t surprised by that. Imperial investigators were nearly untouchable. “I’m sorry for what happened. And for your husband.”

Eadie smiled. “Thank you, my dear. It was a while ago, but I still miss him. Sometimes I sit on my porch and have a chat with him, as if he were still there. Extra bonus: my neighbor can’t stand it when I do that, but I always tell him I’m not talking to him and it’s rude to butt into other people’s conversations. But my point is that I don’t think Radane is done yet.”

“You may be right,” Ulina admitted.

Kiela took a deep breath. “That’s why I need to leave.”

The other women drew closer to her, until Kiela realized they’d encircled her, consciously or unconsciously protecting her from anything beyond them. It felt like an embrace without being touched.

“You’ve only just come home,” Eadie said. “You can’t leave.”

“Absolutely!” Bryn said, nearly a shout. A bird startled on a nearby tree, and Kiela caught a glimpse of its apple-blossom tail as it flew deeper into the forest. “You have a shop, and you’ve already made your mark, which means you belong here.”

“You need to stay with the Pine Cone Coven,” Ulina said.

“Society,” Eadie corrected.

Kiela’s eyes filled, and she blinked hard. “I’m not . . .”

Bryn poked her shoulder. “And what about Larran? You can’t just leave him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’ll be crushed.”

She felt herself blush. “He doesn’t look at me in any particular way. He’s just a nice person who sometimes feels sorry for me.” Maybe they’d almost had a moment, or almost had a few moments, but that didn’t mean they had any kind of relationship. With her responsibilities, she didn’t have the luxury of that kind of sentimentality. Never mind all the mushy thoughts she’d been having lately. “He’ll forget me as soon as I sail away.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Eadie said.

Ulina kept opening and closing her mouth, fishlike, as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know which words to say. “You don’t know him like we do. You should know . . .”

Eadie interrupted her. “We should have this conversation over tea. And toast with jam? Can we buy some of your raspberry jam?”

Kiela ushered them inside the cottage. “You don’t need to buy it.”

“As your business partner, I say you shouldn’t argue when people want to give you money,” Bryn told her. She softened her words with a smile as she stepped inside. Kiela backed up so that Eadie could squeeze through the door after Bryn. The shelves rattled as Eadie clip-clopped into the kitchen.

While Kiela lit the stove, Eadie filled a kettle with water. Ulina retrieved teacups from the cabinet and set them on the table. The four chairs were placed around, and in a few short minutes, the water was hot, a loaf that Bryn produced from her vast pockets was sliced and warmed, and the air smelled like pine tea, raspberries, and bread.

It was all so homey and lovely that Kiela wanted to cry again. What’s wrong with me? She rarely ever cried. She wasn’t an ups-and-downs emotions kind of person. Usually she was quiet and calm and even-keeled.

For a little bit, while the tea steeped, they chatted about inconsequential things. Bryn talked about Tobin forgetting the fountain was functional again and falling straight into it, and how all the winged cats would cluster around the fountain every morning to drink from the cold, clear water. Ulina told a story that her great-aunt had told her, about how the fountain had come to be—the man who’d commissioned it had been saved by a mermaid once, when his ship was capsized by one of the giant squids that lived out in the deep. He’d been responsible for the law that prohibited gill nets to be used on Caltrey. Before then, fisherfolk would leave nets in the water unsupervised, suspended off of jetties, and occasionally merfolk, particularly curious merbabies, would become tangled in them, leading to tragedies. The fountain was installed to celebrate the law, and his wife had cast the spell to make the water flow. Back in those days, that wasn’t forbidden. “Used to be, islanders looked out for one another,” Ulina said, “and the empire let us be. Better that way.”

“You can’t let Radane hear you say that,” Kiela said. “You heard her talk about the uprising—the revolution. The fact that imperial inspectors still exist means it failed. And post-revolt, she’ll come down extra hard on anyone who says anything that sounds anti-empire.”

Ulina snorted. “Never been a law against being opinionated.”

“Yet,” Kiela said. She had no idea what laws were being passed in the wake of a failed revolution. “We can’t take chances. That’s why I have to go. If I stay—”

“Are you happy here?” Bryn asked. “Do you want to stay?”

“Yes,” Kiela said. Her voice was a whisper.

She thought of her parents and wondered if they’d have understood why she felt that way—they’d been so excited to leave, so happy in Alyssium, so certain they were in the right place to pursue their family’s dreams. Initially, she’d only come back to Caltrey because she had no other choice. She’d started the shop because she hadn’t wanted to starve. But now . . . It’s more than that. She thought of the garden and the orchard and the willow in the woods and all she’d done in such a short period of time. It’s not just that either. It was Bryn and Eadie and Ulina and, of course, Larran. And it was the way she felt closer to her parents now in a place they’d wanted to leave than she had in a place they’d chosen for themselves.

She answered again louder, “Yes.”

“Larran wants you to stay,” Eadie declared.

“That boy . . .” Ulina shook her head. “He hasn’t had an easy time of it. His parents . . .” She trailed off and shook her head again.

“I know they weren’t kind to him,” Kiela said. “He’s told me as much.”

Eadie snorted. “Not kind. Ha! You’re sugarcoating it, Ulina. Hasn’t had ‘an easy time’? She should know the truth, as tragic and ugly and terrible as it is.”

Ulina stirred her tea with one hand and spread jam on toast with another. “Larran’s parents were dung in the form of people. Exactly the kind that should never have kids. If we’d realized sooner . . . Well, we didn’t. They hid it, and poor little Larran didn’t know he could trust other adults for help. How could he have known? The ones who were supposed to care for him, protect him, love him . . . If they were still here now . . .”

“Here’s the long and the short of it,” Eadie said. “His father was a yeller. We all knew that. We’d hear him from the street, but there wasn’t a thing anyone could do about it. I remember asking him about it once—I was always the nosy type—and he said he had a right to his emotions and it was healthy to get them out. Besides, it let his family know where he stood. It was a form of love, he said. If you don’t yell, how do they know you care? Healthier for all of them to let it out, rather than bottle it up.”

Bryn snorted. “Self-indulgent bullcrap.”

“We all considered it a different parenting style,” Eadie said. “But yes, I believe you should show more control with the people you love, not less.”

Kiela couldn’t think of a single time she’d ever heard either of her parents yell. Maybe once, when she’d almost fallen off a bridge into a canal . . . But never in anger, at least not in any of her memories. They’d be disappointed sometimes, yes, but no worse than that.

“Some people are yellers,” Eadie said. “It’s not pleasant. Heck, I’ve lost my temper a few times. Also, I can be a bit too blunt, and excuse it by saying I’m just an honest person, but if I’m truly being honest, sometimes blunt is just mean. Honesty can be an excuse for bullying.”

Ulina patted her mane. “You try. Larran’s father didn’t try.”

“Nobody knew it wasn’t just yelling,” Bryn said, “or so I’ve been told. Everyone swears that no one knew what was happening or had a clue as to what was coming—they kept it behind closed doors, and no one ever was allowed to see how much darkness that family was hiding.”

Kiela wondered if her parents had suspected. They’d allowed young Larran to use their cove, which implied they must have known things weren’t right in his family. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t pretty,” Eadie warned. “One night, after a day of fishing when the fish weren’t schooling—none of the fisherfolk came back with anything in their nets. It was dinnertime . . .” She trailed off, as if searching for the words that would make the story nicer.

Bryn cut in. “There’s no gentle way to say it: he killed her.”

“Larran’s father knocked his mother down the stairs,” Eadie said. “She hit her head. Later, he told everyone that he didn’t mean it. Shouted in the street that he couldn’t have helped himself, that he felt what he felt, and he didn’t intend to hurt her . . .”

“A few days later, he took his boat out, and it drifted back to shore empty,” Ulina said. “His body later washed up on the rocks. We don’t know if it was an accident or intentional, but at age thirteen, Larran became an orphan. A merhorse herder took him in, but only a handful of years later . . . there was a sudden storm, and he drowned. Larran was the one who found him, tried to save him, but he was past saving.” She sighed heavily.

“Boy has seen a lot of bad things,” Eadie said. “He’s worked hard to be the very opposite of his parents in every way, but he’s careful with his heart. Never lets himself become close to anyone.”

“Until you,” Bryn said with a smile.

Kiela shook her head. He’d been through so much . . . Poor Larran. But surely, she wasn’t the first person he’d cared about. She didn’t even know if he did care about her. All they’d had were a few moments. He’d been kind to her because of Sian. He felt gratitude and maybe friendship. It could have become more, if I could have stayed. But I can’t. “He doesn’t . . . We’re not . . .”

“You can hear it when he talks about you,” Bryn said.

Kiela blinked at her. “He talks about me?”

“He comes for a cinnamon roll nearly every morning,” Bryn said. “He’s mentioned you every single time. Often it’s a stray thought, like wondering whether you saw the sunrise, whether you like tomato sandwiches, or how you feel about merhorses, but I can tell you that he’s never acted like this before.”

Eadie rapped her knuckles on the table. “We’re not saying you should stay because our boy is sad and needs fixing. Gah, that would be a terrible reason. Never think you need to fix a lover. You should stay because there’s a chance you two could make each other happy, and that’s a special thing.”

“It’s worth taking a risk,” Ulina said.

“I can’t endanger everyone,” Kiela said. “Not for a relationship that may or may not exist, that may never be anything. You all could be reading into what isn’t there.”

“Then talk to him,” Bryn said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Unless you were planning to leave immediately?” Ulina asked.

“I don’t recommend that, if you want to avoid raising Radane’s suspicions,” Eadie said. “You don’t want her chasing you. So, go talk to Larran. Bring him something from your garden—that way, no one will question your visit.” She smiled. “Talk to him, and see if you’ve a reason to stay.”

“Besides us, of course,” Bryn said, refilling everyone’s teacups. “Obviously, we’re an excellent reason to stay, but if you need additional motivation . . .”

Ulina grinned at her. “He does have nice eyes.”

The other two women nodded.