Chapter 14
Enid
“Will you stop looking at me like that?” I said to Vine from my place on the couch. It lay next to me, head turned in my direction. “I’m trying to read.” I lifted the book higher to cover my face.
Vine pushed the book down.
“I’m not going,” I said. “So just drop it.” I raised the book back up.
Vine grabbed it and flipped it upside down. I tilted my head. Or right side up, because apparently I’d been reading upside down and hadn’t even noticed.
Probably because I hadn’t actually been reading. I’d been debating whether I should meet Nevan for our date and decided the answer was no.
Vine formed a question mark with its body.
“It’s over, Vine.” Or at least it would be when Nevan inevitably broke it off and told me I was being exiled for good this time.
Vine shook its head.
“Yes it is.” All because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I’d happened to be on my front porch this morning when the legulia rasmus shot its spindles at Mr. Porter. It was funny, so I laughed. And possibly told the blacksmith it wasn’t my problem. But in the aftermath, I’d realized my mistake.
Mr. Porter would go to the healer to be seen for his wounds, then he’d tell him the whole sordid tale. Nevan would realize what a mistake this whole thing had been and see me the same way everyone else did.
“I’m making it easy on him.” I finally put the book down. “I’ll miss our date and do him a favor. He won’t have to break up with me if I’m not there. We can just forget this ever happened.”
And hopefully I could figure out another way to avoid exile.
Vine poked me in the ribs.
“Ow! Quit that.” It faced me with the weight of a thousand words in its stiff posture.
“Yes, we had a nice time on our walk yesterday. Yes, I had the most delicious apple cider. And yes, it was the first time I’ve ever walked through town and not been glared at by every single person.
But it doesn’t matter, Vine. I ruined all that this morning. ”
Mother always said I couldn’t help myself. There had been stretches of time I’d refused to use my magic, to grow anything that would be deemed dangerous or monstrous. But it always ended in failure.
My magic would buzz inside me, thrumming until it was itching to get out.
I’d be in bed, thrashing, scratching, crying, and screaming for someone to cut it out of me until I couldn’t help it, and it would burst forth, some new monster born.
My mother would just curl their lip and remind me that I’d never change, that no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t be anything other than what I was.
They were right.
I’d had a nice time with Nevan. I’d taken him up that dirt road, pointing out plants and their abilities, something I’d never done with anyone.
He didn’t cringe or run away. He’d listened with intent, studied what I was showing him, asked questions.
Someone was fascinated by my magic, even if he didn’t know it was mine.
Then I’d gone and ruined it by laughing at Mr. Porter’s stupid injury.
I slumped back in the couch, and Vine wrapped around my shoulders, giving me a tight squeeze. “It’s okay.” I patted it. “It was a farfetched plan anyway.”
Out my front window, Mr. Porter stomped down the road and toward his smithery, hand now bandaged. That meant Nevan knew, and this was officially over.
An emotion I couldn’t name settled like a stone in my gut, but I pushed it away, standing and heading toward the front porch.
I needed to make sure Mr. Porter didn’t try and exact revenge on my legulia for its earlier behavior.
I probably also needed to make sure it didn’t shoot spindles at him again.
I was lucky they’d only lodged into his hand and not any other extremities.
When I emerged, Mr. Porter’s back was to me, and he was hunched over the legulia’s tall, flat leaves lined in black spindles.
I took a step forward, ready to stop him from whatever he was doing when I heard him say, “I’m sorry I called you ugly, okay?
” His words came out in a whisper, and he glanced at the road, then looked back at the legulia.
“Can we just make a truce? You don’t shoot me with your spindles, and I don’t insult you. ”
I blinked, unable to believe what I was hearing.
Mr. Porter was actually apologizing to my legulia?
I couldn’t imagine what brought this about.
Maybe the spindles had poisoned him and he wasn’t in his right mind.
I bit the inside of my cheek. If I attempted to check him for a fever, that would likely make things worse.
Before I could decide, Mr. Porter was shuffling toward his shop.
I wasn’t sure what to make of this, and I was about to go back inside my cottage when Fiona bounded up to me, braids bouncing.
“Not now.” I held up my hand. “I don’t have time for another one of your schemes.”
She didn’t even have the decency to look chastised. Last time I’d let Fiona into my cottage, I’d ended up in a fake relationship. A pinprick of regret hit me. A fake relationship that was now over.
“This isn’t a scheme.” She shot me a big, toothy grin. “I’m here to help.”
I arched a brow. “Help with what, Fiona?”
“Your date night!” She squealed and clapped her hands. “And I brought friends!”