27. Isolde
ISOLDE
Iwipe my eyes with the back of my hand as the apiary comes into view, the wooden hive boxes standing like silent sentinels in the fading festival light. The tears keep coming despite my efforts to stop them—angry tears, frustrated tears, tears for everything that could have been and never will be.
My hands shake as I pull the canvas covers from my storage area, the familiar routine of packing offering some semblance of control.
Each jar gets wrapped in soft cloth, each tool cleaned and stored with the methodical precision that's carried me through twelve years of building this business from nothing.
"Starting without me?"
I don't turn at Liora's voice, focusing instead on sealing the wax on a batch of lavender honey. "Didn't expect company."
"Maddie sent me." Her footsteps crunch on the dried grass as she approaches. "Though honestly, I was coming anyway."
She settles beside me without invitation, her herb-scented presence both comforting and unwelcome. I don't want comfort right now. I want the clean simplicity of departure, of putting distance between myself and this mess.
"You don't have to say anything," she continues, pulling a jar from my work area to examine it. "Just let me help."
We work in silence for several minutes, the distant sounds of the festival carrying on the evening breeze. Music and laughter, as if the world hasn't just tilted off its axis. As if I haven't just watched the man I—
"Izzy." Liora's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, sharp with concern. "This one's wrong."
I look up from the cloth I've been wrapping around the same jar for the past minute. She holds a container of my prized wildflower blend, the one that took three seasons to perfect. The honey inside has crystallized in strange, uneven patterns, nothing like the smooth texture it should have.
"That's impossible." I take the jar from her, holding it up to catch the last rays of sunlight. The honey looks cloudy, almost gray in places. "I checked that batch two days ago."
Liora unscrews the lid and immediately recoils. "It smells bitter. Almost medicinal."
My stomach drops. I grab another jar from the same batch, then another. All wrong. All ruined. The sweet floral scent that should greet me instead carries an acrid undertone that makes my nose wrinkle.
"This doesn't happen naturally." My voice comes out steady despite the panic crawling up my throat. "Honey doesn't just spoil like this. Not when it's been properly stored."
Liora's dark eyes narrow as she examines the crystallization patterns. "This looks deliberate. Like something was introduced to the honey after processing."
I set the ruined jars aside with careful precision, my hands moving through the motions while my mind races. Three batches affected. All from the same hive. All stored in the same area of my setup.
"Who has access to your storage?" Liora's question cuts straight to the heart of what I'm thinking but don't want to voice.
"Anyone who wanted it." The admission tastes as bitter as the ruined honey. "I never locked anything. Never thought I needed to."
But I'm thinking of other things now. Small things that seemed insignificant at the time.
Tools moved slightly from where I left them.
The faint impression of footprints near my storage area that I'd attributed to curious children.
The way Mrs. Penwhistle's eyes lingered on my honey display at the festival, calculating and cold.
"How much is ruined?" Liora asks gently.
I do quick mental calculations, factoring in the time it will take to replace the lost product, the impact on my winter reserves. "Enough to matter. Enough to delay my departure if I want to fulfill my existing commitments."
The words hang between us like a trap I've walked into without seeing the snare.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I approach the hives, dreading what I might find. The bees should be settling for the night, but something feels wrong. The usual gentle hum that greets me sounds sluggish, disconnected.
I lift the outer cover of the affected hive with trembling fingers.
The bees inside move with the drowsy confusion of creatures fighting off sleep.
Not dead, thank the gods, but clearly compromised.
They cluster together in loose formations instead of their usual precise patterns, wings fluttering weakly.
"They're drugged," I whisper, more to myself than to Liora. "Someone used smoke to sedate them while—"
The acrid scent hits me then, lingering beneath the sweet honey smell.
Smoke, but not the clean burn of my usual calming blend.
This carries an edge of something harsher, more chemical.
I follow the scent to my work area where my smoke canister sits exactly where I left it, but the metal still holds warmth.
"They used my own equipment." The words come out flat, drained of the anger I should feel. "While I was at the festival, someone came here and deliberately contaminated my stock."
Liora's face hardens as she examines the canister. "This is beyond petty gossip. This is sabotage."
I begin methodically separating the compromised jars from the untouched stock, my movements precise despite the tremor in my hands. Each ruined batch represents weeks of work, months of building relationships with my bees, seasons of perfecting the delicate balance that creates exceptional honey.
"You need to report this," Liora says, watching me work. "At least try to figure out who—"
"No." I don't look up from my sorting. "It doesn't matter who did it."
"Izzy, someone deliberately tried to destroy your livelihood. That matters."
I set down a jar of ruined wildflower blend, finally meeting her concerned gaze. "What matters is that someone in this town felt comfortable enough to sneak onto my property and sabotage my work while I was defending a man who couldn't be bothered to choose me when it counted."
I won't sell compromised product, won't risk my reputation on honey that might harm someone. But I also won't stay in a place where I'm seen as enough of a threat to warrant this level of malice.
"I'm leaving anyway." I return to my sorting, each movement final. "I won't rebuild here under suspicion or instability. Some things can't be fixed."
Footsteps crunch on the dried grass behind us, heavy and familiar. Liora glances over my shoulder, then back at me with knowing eyes.
"Well," she says, standing and dusting off her skirts, "I think my work here is done. Those tinctures won't bottle themselves."
She squeezes my shoulder once before heading toward town, leaving me alone with the sound of approaching footsteps and the weight of everything I'm about to lose.