Chapter III.19
Chapter Nineteen
Two Days Before the Wedding
Things Miria remembered: convincing Adaline they could not keep Pearl with them safely and to send her back on the path through the woods toward town; calling on the trees and the mist to hide the cottage, building the protections thicker than she’d ever built them before; Adaline’s arms holding her up as exhaustion made her knees wobble.
Things Miria did not remember: how she’d gotten into bed.
Miria rolled onto her back, blinking slowly into consciousness. Her head ached and her disorientation was stronger than it normally was when she emerged from sleep. She’d drained her magic far more than was wise, but she’d had no choice.
She lay still for a moment, fighting through the fog in her brain to understand why her present state felt strange, and her fingers rubbed the familiar patchwork of her blanket.
After Yali had died, it had taken Miria several months to move from her smaller bed in the third room into her nana’s bed.
At first, Miria couldn’t bear to remember that her nana’s bed was empty.
Then, she’d taken to curling up in it occasionally, seeking out the scents of cedar and mint—Yali’s scents—that permeated even the wooden frame, its soft mattress, and blankets like a hug that reminded her of its former occupant.
Finally, practicality told her that it was silly to leave the bed empty or to sleep in it only on random nights when she felt morose.
So, a couple of months ago, Miria had moved her bedding to the larger bed and had turned her old room into storage where she kept a chest of Yali’s belongings that she could not bear to part with.
It was in Yali’s—now Miria’s bed—that she found herself, unsure of how she’d gotten there, and not alone. That, possibly, was what was strange. Adaline lay curled up next to her, her back toward Miria.
Miria wiggled her bare toes beneath the quilt. Who had pulled off her boots and stockings and tucked her in? Adaline or Tuli? More importantly—how much time had passed since?
That question raised fear in Miria’s heart, but as all appeared quiet inside the cottage and no one was pounding on the door outside, threatening its occupants with violence, Miria decided they must be safe for the moment.
Feeling slightly better, she sat up and draped a hand over Adaline’s shoulder.
Beneath her, Adaline stiffened, giving Miria the impression that she hadn’t actually been asleep. When she turned around, her eyes were red like she’d been crying, and Miria no longer felt better about anything. Her heart jumped to her throat.
Adaline was upset. She regretted what they’d done. Miria had to fix this immediately.
“I can take you home if you want,” she said, pushing the words through her sadness and disappointment.
To her surprise, Adaline shot upright, her tear-stained face turning panicky. “What? No. Why?”
“You’ve been crying. I assumed you decided this was a mistake.”
Adaline shook her head, and more brown waves dislodged themselves from her pins, joining the mess spilling about her shoulders. Miria fought the urge to remove the pins entirely and comb Adaline’s hair with her fingers.
“I …” Adaline gripped the quilt as though she was afraid Miria would tear it from around her body.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m just so useless. I don’t know what to do.
Before you went to sleep you were saying something about tea, but I don’t know where you keep anything, and I don’t even know how to boil water or how long to steep the leaves.
When you fell asleep, I laid down next to you because I didn’t know what else to do, and I’m sorry.
I’m afraid you’ll think this was a mistake. ”
Relief swept over Miria, and she wiped sleep from her face before wrapping her arms around Adaline.
If that was all … Adaline melted into her, and she felt so good.
So right. Miria wanted nothing more than to lie back on the bed with her and simply breathe for a few moments, basking in their success at getting as far as they had.
But despite the quiet, despite the temptation and her relief, there was no time for that.
“You are not useless,” she said into Adaline’s hair. “You merely have different skills. Put me in a room with the Lord of Gawfrid and you would see how hopeless I am.”
Adaline sniffed and her attempt at a smile wavered. “I don’t believe my dancing skills will come in handy while I’m here.”
“You don’t need to be handy here. You only need to be here.” She kissed Adaline, and for a moment, let nothing more concern her mind. Then Miria climbed out of bed before the temptation to remain became too strong to ignore. “There are things I should tell you, though. Or best yet, show you.”
As she spoke, Miria realized she’d probably collapsed before she could give Adaline a spell to let her properly see the cottage.
She had no idea how it must appear to Adaline, but it would not be as it truly was.
That had to be her first task. Before the confessions and assessing the state of their plan, she had to make sure Adaline was settled.
Tiredness slowed Miria’s movements as she shuffled into the main room. Tiredness and thirst and hunger. Working so much magic had taken its toll, regardless of her sleep.
“How long did I sleep for?” Miria asked, searching among the bottles on her shelves. Luckily, she had a spell already prepared that would help Adaline. She couldn’t possibly cast one otherwise until she’d eaten.
“I don’t know for sure,” Adaline said. She followed Miria warily into the room. “You fell asleep fairly quickly once we were inside, and the sun was setting. It’s now morning. The sun rose maybe an hour or two ago.”
So it hadn’t been as long as Miria had feared. She hadn’t lost a whole day.
“You must be starving, too. Here.” Miria poured two drops of a clear liquid into a clean teacup. “It will show you everything here as it truly looks.”
“As it truly looks?” Adaline asked, yawning.
“I don’t know if the spells on the cottage affect the inside, but without magic in you, the outside would definitely appear false.”
“Oh.” Adaline drank the potion without further questions, which Miria considered both reckless of her and trusting, and quintessentially Adaline. It made her heart happy as she grabbed the teapot, checked that it was filled with water, and placed it on the hearth.
Miria didn’t bother with magic to heat the coals, preferring to save her strength. When she turned, Adaline was spinning in place, scrutinizing the room. “Any different?” she asked.
Adaline rubbed her eyes. “Actually, no, but I wonder …” She dashed to the door, ran outside, and whooped with delight. “The outside matches more closely what I’d expect from the inside. I was so confused yesterday. Although, it still does seem bigger inside than it should. Magic, I assume?”
“Of course.” While the water heated, Miria grabbed a basket. “I’m going to get eggs. You must be starving.”
“Oh, well, actually.” Adaline’s stomach rumbled. “A bit.”
“I’m sorry I was a terrible host and fell asleep on you yesterday without making sure you had any dinner or something to drink.”
“You were exhausted from saving me!”
Now it was Miria’s turn to equivocate. Adaline still didn’t know that Miria’s plan to “save” her overlapped with her plan to get revenge on her family.
While she would have helped Adaline anyway, the convenience of two merging goals was offset by the feeling of guilt they created.
As though Miria’s motives for helping Adaline were less pure because they aligned with other, less noble, ones.
Miria told herself she was being ridiculous, but was she really?
It sounded like a question for the philosophers Miria had read during Yali’s tutoring sessions.
“Why must I read these dull men?” she’d once asked her nana. “Can’t I practice reading with the spell books?”
“Knowing how to cast a spell is not enough,” her nana had replied. “A witch should know when and why to cast a spell—or not.”
“But no one talks about spells in these books, they use twenty words when ten would suffice, and they always sound so confident of themselves when I’m not sure they should be.”
Yali made a triumphant noise in her throat. “Then they are teaching you the ways of men, as well. Another good lesson to learn.”
Despite her situation, the memory made Miria smile.
“There are things I need to tell you,” Miria said, redirecting her thoughts to the present. That conversation was something else she couldn’t bear to do without tea and food in her stomach. “Let me prepare us breakfast first. Sit, and I’ll be back.”
But Adaline would not sit. She wanted to help Miria collect the eggs, and she wanted to learn how Miria made the food and the tea so, in her words, she could be less useless in the future.
“You’re recovering,” Adaline insisted. “I want to be able to take care of you. Besides, I’ve been nothing but coddled and fussed over for the past year.
I’ve been forbidden from practicing my swordsmanship or archery, and I spend most of my days confined to one chair or another.
If I’m allowed out, it’s only with a companion to take slow walks on foot or horseback. Nothing fun.”
“I’m not sure I’d call making eggs or kneading bread fun,” Miria said, pouring the tea.
Adaline shrugged. “It’s a novelty to me, so it is in a way. And anyway, it allows me to be active. I have energy that I’ve not been permitted to express, and you are clearly in need of more rest, so let me be your servant and caretaker.”