Chapter 13
Nevan
Aknock on the door woke me the next morning, and I lifted my head, a page sticking to my cheek from the book I’d fallen asleep reading.
I peeled the paper from my skin, frowning down at the table in front of me. I needed to stop drifting off in my lab. I’d been up most of the night reading a book on the theory of plants and alchemy.
Walking through the bog with Enid yesterday as she pointed out plants and their properties had made me curious about how I could use some of these species in potions.
Surprisingly, I’d had a good time with her yesterday.
I hadn’t expected to actually like fake dating Enid, and now I found myself looking forward to our next date, to seeing her again and hearing her talk more about her plants.
She was so passionate about them, and I’d liked seeing that side of her.
Almost like an excited little schoolgirl getting to chatter nonstop about her obsessions.
The knocking intensified.
Bleary-eyed and groggy, I rubbed my eyes as I padded to the door and opened it to see the blacksmith standing there, scowling at me.
“Mr. Porter, what are you doing—”
He held up his hand, sharp spindles sticking from his palm. “One of her damn plants got me, and do you know what she did when I complained? She laughed at me.” Red, inflamed skin surrounded the spindles.
He didn’t have to say Enid’s name for me to know who he was referring to. “What?” I gestured for him to come in and sit on the patient chair against the wall. “Tell me exactly what happened.” I sat on my healer stool next to his chair.
Mr. Porter ran a hand over his bald head, then winced when he remembered the spindles.
His round face scrunched in displeasure.
“Not much to tell. I was minding my own business, forging a sword when I noticed some new plant sticking out of the ground right between my shop and her cottage. The damn thing was covered in all these sharp, pointy things. I said it was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen, and it went and shot these at me.
If I hadn’t shielded my face, these would be sticking out of my nose right now. ”
I pressed my lips together to keep myself from laughing. It wasn’t funny, exactly, but it seemed like maybe Mr. Porter had gotten what he deserved.
I slid on gloves, then grabbed tweezers from a little stand of tools that sat next to my stool.
Mr. Porter eyed me. “What are you doing with those?”
“I’m going to pluck out the spindles, put on a salve, and bandage you up.”
“What about her?” he asked. “Is she going to be punished for this?”
Anger flared in my chest, bright, hot . . . and surprising. “Why would she be punished?” I asked evenly, yanking out the first spindle, maybe a little harder than necessary.
Mr. Porter sucked in a sharp breath, round face turning red. “Because she’s a menace. Her plants are a menace. Witch. That’s what we call her, you know.”
I winced at the insinuation that Enid was taking the godwitches magic and twisting it like the brotherhood did. Using it for dark purposes. She was nothing like the brotherhood.
Mr. Porter waved his hands in the air. “And how can she make this whole sentient bog answer to her?”
“Well, maybe she doesn’t owe you an answer,” I said, annoyed by this entire interaction. “And she’s not responsible for the plants’ actions. Just like you’re not responsible for Castle’s actions.”
He harrumphed but didn’t argue.
Why had I never noticed how unfairly people treated Enid before?
The double standards between her and the castle.
Sir Arthur had threatened almost every resident in Fairwitch at this point, and no one demanded anything of him.
Everyone laughed the sentient piece of armor off as one of the castle’s quirks.
“And why is her skin green?” my patient continued. “She’s never given a clear answer about that.”
I’d wondered the same thing, but I’d heard Enid give a variety of answers to that question over the years, which meant she didn’t want anyone to know whatever had happened to her. If she wanted to tell me the truth, she would, but I wouldn’t push the issue in the meantime.
“It’s none of our business.” I pulled another spindle out.
“Oh.” Mr. Porter made a face. “That’s right. I heard something about you two being an item. I didn’t believe it, but now that you’re defending her, it’s all becoming clear whose side you’re on.”
I plucked out another spindle. “You called the plant ugly. Have you ever said anything nice to the bog?”
“They’re plants.” His eyes bugged out. “Why in the world would I compliment one?”
“I’m just saying . . . maybe when you called it ugly, you offended it.”
“Madness,” Mr. Porter muttered. “Complete madness.”
“Okay, let me put it this way. Would you insult the castle? Would you call the gargoyles ugly?”
He looked horrified. “No, of course not. This place can make people disappear.”
“So you respect the castle but not the bog? This bog is as sentient as our home is. What makes it different?”
He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Then opened it again. “Well, I guess I never thought of it that way. This place just seems so . . . monstrous and terrifying.”
I grabbed a jar of green salve and smeared some over his wounds, looking at the bloody spindles now lying on a tray, studying their thin, sharp points. I’d have to clean them and put them somewhere for safekeeping. An idea was forming. One I wanted to work on when I had some time.
“Well, maybe you need a new perspective.” I finished bandaging his hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re all set. When you get back to your shop, you could consider apologizing.”
His jaw ticked. “To a plant?”
I shrugged. “Just an idea. Maybe it won’t shoot you anymore if you’re nicer to it.”
He harrumphed and mumbled under his breath as he left the room, but he didn’t outright reject the idea.
Courting Enid wouldn’t be enough to improve her reputation.
I had to actually campaign for her, work to change people’s perception.
I didn’t know if being nice to these plants would make them stop terrorizing the people of the town, but it couldn’t hurt, and everyone was so convinced Enid was controlling this bog, making it misbehave. Even if she wasn’t.
“Oh good, you’re here.” I turned to see Cillian standing in the doorway, arms crossed. His gaze went to the spindles I’d just pulled from Mr. Porter. “Your girlfriend terrorizing the citizens again?”
“No, more like the citizens terrorizing this bog.”
“Oh, godwitches.” Cillian dragged a hand down his face as he stepped into the room.
“You know, you’re putting me in a terrible position.
I was ready to exile her the other day when you made your little announcement, and now what am I supposed to do?
I can’t kick out the woman my brother is courting. ”
That was the entire idea.
He set his ice blue eyes on me. “But I will if this doesn’t stop. I gave her eight weeks, and I’ll keep my word. But I need to see some improvements.”
I stood and leaned against the counter. “Is that why you’re here? To lecture me about Enid’s behavior?”
Cillian rubbed his eyes, which looked puffy and tired, something my brother would never allow. He was far too vain. “No, actually. I was thinking it might be time for you to start making house calls.”
“House calls?” I asked.
“Yes, I think we need to expand your services. Instead of townspeople coming to you, you go to them.”
“I already make house calls,” I said.
Cillian waved his hand. “For townspeople who are seriously injured. I’m talking about making house calls for everyone.” He paused. “Like Mr. Morgane.”
“Ceri’s father?”
“Yes,” Cillian said.
“And this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Ceri is your best friend?”
Ceri and Cillian had been best friends since we were children, and it was well-known that Ceri’s father didn’t like to leave their home for anything.
Ceri ran all the errands for them and took care of him.
He was physically fit, mentally sharp, and had no illnesses, but for the most part remained housebound, and no one knew why.
Ceri didn’t like to talk about it, and I’d never thought it was my place to pry.
Cillian frowned. “No it doesn’t have to do with Ceri. The idea is inspired by her father, but I’m bringing it forward because I think it would improve things. Make the castle happy. Make the people happy.”
Cillian was desperate to make the castle happy since it hadn’t yet chosen a queen, something that was unprecedented.
Fairwitch had always had a queen—until the castle chose Cillian as high prince.
I wanted to tell him no, but his puffy eyes were concerning me, and I didn’t want to add to his stress.
I rubbed my temples. Making house calls to every patient in Fairwitch would be a nightmare.
Cillian clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We need you, Nevan. Everyone is already so stressed by this bog. We need to do something to make their lives easier, and I think this could be it. Surely you can understand that.”
My molars clenched hard, but he looked so, so tired, and I was struck by a memory of him looking exactly like this when the crown had first appeared over his head.
He’d looked exhausted in the beginning. He’d slowly found his way and gotten back to his normal self, but now it was like he was regressing, and I didn’t want to add to his stress.
“I guess . . . yeah, of course I understand.”
“Good man.” Cillian nodded and started backing out of the room, pointing a finger at me. “Let me know what you think about the house calls. We’ll talk about it when we meet for dinner at Mother’s cottage next month.”
I nodded, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. I was already stretched too thin, had too many responsibilities. I looked longingly at my alchemy journals, all stacked neatly in the corner, untouched, exactly how they’d remain for the foreseeable future.