Chapter 3 #2
“But it hasn’t broken his fever,” Genevieve said with a glum expression.
“Can I see him?”
They led me into a small room with stone walls on the same level where Henri slept on a bed, appearing just as pale and still as he had back home. I touched his forehead. Still so hot.
After we left the room and returned to the hall, I glanced into the courtyard garden, my pulse skipping up a beat. “But the herbs. Surely you have something that could help.”
“Lilia is very talented with plants,” my mom said.
“Can I look?” I pleaded.
Genevieve and Victor exchanged a look, tension in the unspoken words.
“Of course,” she said, turning back to me with a kind expression.
“Come, I’ll show you,” Victor said.
“I’ll make us all some lunch,” Genevieve said, moving toward another doorway. “You must be hungry.”
I looked between them. They were hiding something, that much was obvious. But they appeared kind and had helped my family.
“Thank you,” I said.
The courtyard garden was spectacular. I stepped into it and inhaled the fragrant scents of roses and herbs.
Raised beds of vegetables, herbs, and perennials were laid out in rows.
The midday sun poured down, making everything glow with life and color.
Meadowsweet and chamomile. Saint John’s wort blooming beside valerian.
“We care for the castle,” Victor explained, “but with just the two of us and getting older, it’s not as easy to keep up with what needs to be done.”
“It’s absolutely wonderful,” I praised as I scanned the courtyard. “What is this tree?” I pointed to the one with silver petals.
Victor shook his head. “I don’t know what it’s called. I just try to keep it healthy.”
I dragged my gaze from it to peruse more. Near a far wall where the light was softer, I saw it. “Moonstar,” I whispered.
Silver-white flowers with five delicate petals, leaves edged in the faintest blue. I’d only seen it drawn in my oldest books.
“Yes,” Victor agreed with a proud nod.
“I heard it’s hard to find.” It only grew in places where magic ran deep. It was also one of the most powerful healing herbs I knew.
I kneeled beside it with trembling hands, touching the petals to make sure they were real. Yes, the texture was right, the faint sweet scent unmistakable. “This could help Henri,” I said, my voice sounding wondrous.
“Take what you need,” Victor guided.
The sensation of being watched crawled across my shoulders again.
I looked up at the towers rising against the bright sky, but saw nothing. Just stone and windows and the sun beating down.
Still, the feeling didn’t fade.
I gathered the moonstar quickly, adding other herbs I needed. As I worked, I kept glancing around, but saw nothing. No movement. No sign of anyone watching.
Just the castle walls and the growing pile of herbs in my arms.
Finally, I stood and hurried back inside, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t name.
Genevieve prepared sandwiches with cheese, fresh tomatoes, and basil from the garden, while I crushed the moonstar, feverfew, and elderflower with a mortar in a vast stone kitchen.
Mom sat with Henri and gave him liquids.
Once I had measured out the ingredients and created a tincture, I set the glass in the courtyard under the sunlight so it could brew.
“When will your tincture be ready?” Genevieve asked.
I assessed the conditions. “By sundown, I think. Is it okay if we stay until then?”
“Of course,” she said quickly.
“Thank you. We greatly appreciate your hospitality.”
The four of us sat at a long wooden table in the courtyard for lunch, and we shared the basics about our lives.
They’d lived here in the castle since they’d gotten married over forty years ago.
They seemed friendly and welcoming, but worried.
Every so often I’d catch them looking at the windows, tracking the sun’s progress across the sky.
“Everything okay?” I said to Genevieve.
“Not worried, dear. Just… mindful of the time.” She glanced at Victor.
I checked on the tincture late that afternoon. It still needed a few more hours. I killed time exploring the garden and the grounds while I waited. When it finally reached its full potential, I poured it into a vial for Henri.
In his room, I nudged him awake.
It took a minute to rouse him from his groggy state. “Lilia?” he asked, fighting to open his eyes.
“Yes, it’s me.” I smiled. “Let’s get your head up a bit so you can drink this tincture. It will help you feel better.” After carefully guiding him up, I helped him drink it.
His face contorted. “It tastes awful.”
“It’s not supposed to taste good,” I said with a grin.
He slowly swallowed the contents without complaining, yet his face continued to express his displeasure.
“Perfect. Now get some more rest and let the magic do its work.”
Next came the hardest part: waiting.
I sat with Mom in the garden, the one part of the castle I’d thoroughly explored, aside from the kitchen.
“I’m glad you came, Lilia,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Things had gotten bad.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump. “I couldn’t just wait at home.”
“No surprise there.” She smiled. “You’re much too stubborn to sit still and wait.”
The tree with silvery flowers rustled softly above us, its leaves chiming like distant bells. Above us, the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon.
And somewhere above us in those dark, watching towers—I could have sworn I heard stone scraping against stone.