3. The Position Will Hold #2
Unlike the chaotic explosion of Elian’s matchstick display, the herbalist’s workspace hummed with a quiet, organic precision.
Bunches of glowing, luminescent moss and ferns hung from the rafters, weeping tiny droplets into silver catch-basins below as refreshing bursts of mist puffed over them at steady intervals.
Rows of blown-glass jars containing oddly shaped, vibrant roots stood alongside bundles of fresh herbs, flowers, and dried leaves.
Thick, bubbling nectars filled whimsical, stoppered vials, while a massive clay dish served as the centrepiece.
It sat piled high with exotic fruits and vegetables in forms and shades unknown to my eye and palate.
Every so often, a passing whiff of rain and rich soil drifted from the booth that resembled equal parts vendor stall and experimental laboratory.
Fern displayed neither puzzle nor surprise at my presence, nor did he demand to know what an armed commander intended to do at a market. He cast a glance towards Elian’s sleeping corner. “He’s asleep then? Good. He needs rest.”
Curiosity got the better of me. “Is there anything else you wish to ask me?”
“Why would I?” Fern stepped towards the newly straightened match counter and leant against the post, offering a casual shrug. “I know exactly who you are.”
“You do?” My brow furrowed.
“Sure. I’ve seen enough of your drawings to recognise that austere chin anywhere.”
Austere? I never paid my chin much heed unless when shaving, but I focused on the more pressing matter. “My drawings?”
Fern let out a soft, knowing sigh. “I don’t know how Elian’s managed it, but it must have been some feat, since now you’re here.”
He bent down to reach beneath the display table, an appreciative hum escaping him at noticing the supply crates I’d reorganised into neat stacks.
Bypassing those, he went for an undermount desk drawer and unearthed a leather-bound journal with frayed edges.
He flipped it open and turned the pages towards me.
My breath hitched. Dozens of coal and pencil sketches covered the parchment—all of them capturing my own likeness in various states of focus and, indeed, undress.
Some remained raw, unfinished charcoal silhouettes highlighting the breadth of my shoulders or the severe angle of my collarbones.
Others stood complete, refined—capturing a mellow, tender gaze I had never suspected myself capable of exposing.
A look that, it seemed, my subconscious had reserved solely for the man who’d drawn it.
He had drawn me. For weeks, perhaps months, while I had been pining for him in the barracks, he had been mapping my features onto paper.
“Those are private. But I’m showing them to you for one reason,” Fern said, his playful demeanour dropping into something steadfast and sober.
“So that you understand you already belong here. You aren’t a hostile invader to Elian, commander.
And he isn’t your captor. I believe you are a matched set. ”
The statement chimed with some raw, unprocessed instinct buried deep in my chest. It struck a chord so precise, so invasive, that my immediate defence mechanisms flared into position to guard the breach.
“You appear to have a strong romantic disposition, Herbalist Fern,” I drawled.
Fern closed the journal with a soft snap, his hazel eyes boring into mine with unexpected iron.
“Elian is… rare. Special. He’s like one of those delicate turquoise mountain orchids that require exacting, fastidious care to thrive.
If you harbour any ill intentions towards him—although I admit I, honest to goddess, don’t believe you do—let me make one thing perfectly transparent.
I’m not a violent man, but if you ever hurt him, I will slip a tincture of creeping nightshade and witch-root into your morning tea.
It won’t kill you, but it will cause your skin to sprout venomous stinging nettles and turn your joints to stone for a fortnight.
And it will hurt like a motherfucker. Do we understand one another?
” The corners of his lips lifted in a pleasant smile.
Few had the nerve to risk getting up in my face like that. The attempt earned my respect. I appreciated the pre-emptive strike on his friend’s behalf—appealing to my honour while establishing a clear boundary. As for the notion of the fated match, well, that proved a bit harder to swallow.
Either way, the herbalist had brains and a backbone, and he spoke his mind. I took an instant liking to him.
“Completely.” I inclined my head. “I promise I mean Elian no harm.”
He must’ve sensed the sincerity in my words, because he nodded back as if we’d sealed a deal of sorts, settling the matter. An easy grin returned to his face.
A gust of wind brought a heavy scent of syrupy sweetness.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d encountered such a rich, flowery fragrance.
It stood in stark contrast to the reality of the siege camp, where the air held nothing but damp canvas, rusted iron and woodsmoke.
The richness of it hit me with a sharp pang, triggering a sudden, long-forgotten craving for the simple pleasures I’d starved myself of during the campaign.
“What is that scent?” I asked, my nose twitching.
Fern sniffed the air. “Candyfloss. And lavender sherbet.”
Right on cue, my stomach gave a loud rumble that rivalled the roar of a mortar.
In that precise moment, a hollow, sucking sensation opened in my gut, as if my insides were collapsing in on themselves.
Given that I’d been surviving on dried meat strips and willpower for the last twenty-four hours, my body had run out of fuel.
“Any chance there’s something edible that won’t result in nettles and petrification over there?
” I asked, tilting my chin in the direction of his produce.
“Something I might purchase from your establishment? I reached into the pocket of my uniform to locate my money pouch, only to realise, a curse running through my mind, I’d left it sitting on the folding table by my bunk in the command tent.
“Don’t fret, there’s no need.” Fern approached his counter, pressing a finger to his freckled nose as his gaze scanned his stock.
He bypassed a few menacing-looking jars and chose a tall, wide glass cylinder brimming with a thick, sage-coloured emulsion.
He poured a generous measure into a tall cup and handed it to me.