Chapter 12 Evera
EVERA
The wagon rattled as we crossed over a bridge leading into town. It was late afternoon, and a chill hung in the air. I drew my hands into my cloak. The arm warmers at my wrists did little to trap heat, and my fingers tingled with numbness.
“We should talk about what happened at the festival,” Aureus said, breaking the quiet.
I let out a breath, and it fogged, dampening my nose. When I’d returned to the wagon after leaving the courtyard, I’d been visibly on edge, fidgety, and had avoided Aureus’s questioning of where I’d been.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I told my brother, dismissing the conversation. I toyed absentmindedly with the peridot stone of my necklace. It was something I’d done since I was a child. The smooth stone comforted me.
Aureus sighed, and I watched him from my periphery. With one hand on the reins, he raised the other to rub at his temples. It was something he did when I worried him, which I did often.
I sighed. “I was with a man.”
Aureus clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the reins until his fist went white.
Irritation trickled in. Though Aureus knew I was not a virgin, his silent judgment was more irritating than a lecture.
Of course, I could not tell him what transpired after the intimacy Neirin and I shared.
That was something I could never tell a soul.
Soon, word would come of the King’s death.
It was miraculous, really, how quiet the festival was kept.
“A castle guard,” I added, putting kindling to the flame for no reason other than my own sharpness. “I don’t regret it.”
“I didn’t ask if you regretted it,” Aureus pointed out, keeping his voice level. “You brought that up on your own, Evera.”
Clenching my fists, I set my gaze forward and locked my jaw. He had brought the subject up to push me, and now he chose to pretend he didn’t care. To what avail? To disparage me? Tension hummed between us.
Once in town, the ride became smoother.The roads were better maintained.
I turned my head away, watching but not really taking in the town as it settled in for the evening.
In windows, candlelight flickered, and cast shadows on curtains.
A few children chased after each other, laughing, utterly oblivious to the weights of adulthood.
The road ended, and Aureus steered Sorrel to the right and past the stables. When we reached the market square, he navigated the wagon to the front of our shop and pulled back on the reins. The supplies in the back shifted, and the old wagon wheels groaned.
Across the way, the door to the cobbler’s shop opened, and Ruairc emerged into the fading light of dusk. He skirted the central well and headed pointedly toward us, his smile beaming and his cheeks faintly ruddy. I groaned.
Aureus leaned in to me. “You will be kind to him.”
My pounding heart told me this was all too much. I desperately wanted a moment to myself. Instead, each and every possible thorn came forward to catch at my skirts and scratch at my skin.
When Ruairc approached, Sorrel lowered her head to him. He ran a hand down the bridge of her nose and patted her neck. The mare nickered her affections.
“I’m glad to see you back,” Ruairc said, raising his eyes and holding my gaze. The depth of soulful longing in them was not lost on me.
“It’s been a long ride,” I said flatly. Aureus nudged me discreetly, and I set my jaw. Forcing a smile, I offered my hand for Ruairc to take. “While I would love to converse”—a lie with a pointed inflection—“I need to make some tea.”
Aureus coughed his surprise beside me, and a seed of satisfaction took root.
Ruairc, oblivious to the implication, took my hand to help me down from the wagon. “Of course, you must find ways to keep warm. Spring is reluctant this year.”
It was bitter and petty, but his response amused me.
“Oh, yes,” I agreed with feigned innocence, stepping down from the wagon. His hand was warm and slightly calloused. “I’ve been finding ways to keep warm.”
Behind me, Aureus spluttered, and Ruairc shot him a confused glance before turning back to me.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Ruairc’s smile was genuine and caring, and I almost felt a pang of guilt. Almost. He was kind, passively attractive, even, with his finger length golden blond hair and rugged beard. His eyes were a warm honey-brown, and his arms were muscled. I could do worse.
Still, I would not so easily be swooned. If I were to be married off, I would make it difficult for anyone involved. I would not conform without resentment toward those who thought my body, my soul, was something to be bartered.
A familiar sound drew my attention, and I peered around Ruairc to the door of our shop, where my friend Farren stood. The copper bell quieted as it stilled, and when Farren called a greeting, I waved, grateful for the excuse to leave Ruairc’s side.
I went to her, and she pulled me into an embrace.
She smelled of fresh bread, as she always did.
The familiarity and warmth of her softened me and eased the turbulence of my shifting moods.
I just needed time away from Aureus, away from Ruairc, away from men in general.
Perhaps time with my dearest friend would, in truth, be better for me than hiding away in my room.
Farren smiled, and I returned the gesture.
“You are one of the first back,” Farren said, her voice melodious. If I was broken and cynical, she was the epitome of bashful innocence and lighthearted warmth. She balanced me, and I loved her for it.
“Aureus did not want to travel through the pass in the dark, so we left a little ahead of the others.” And my nervous energy put him on edge.
I squeezed her hand. “Let’s converse over tea.”
Farren’s smile was eager, no doubt hoping I had gossip from the capital.
The concept was laughable, in truth. For what I knew—what I had witnessed—would soon be all anyone could talk about.
But it would be a risk to dispense such information.
Farren would have to wait to discover the death of the King as the rest of the town did.
She stepped from the door she held propped open, looking over her shoulder before leading me inside.
The glance was subtle, but I caught the way her eyes sought my brother, the flush of her cheeks when he met her gaze.
They were a good fit. Even if my brother acted a bit like a prick, I still loved him and I wanted them both to be happy.
He was oblivious though, and she was too shy to be forward.
The shop was warm and cozy, a comforting space. After so much time spent in the wagon, I was grateful to be home. Familiarity blanketed me, and when I rolled my shoulders, the tension in my body eased.
“Leighis’s gone to bed already,” Farren said as I followed her into the back room.
Without Aureus to sit with him in the evenings, I wasn’t terribly surprised.
When our mentor’s memory had begun to fade, he’d clung tighter to routine as if it grounded him somehow.
It was easy enough most days. I enjoyed his company in the mornings as I prepared orders for deliveries or took note of the supplies that we were running low on.
And in the evenings, when Aureus sat at the front counter going over paperwork for the shop, I knew Leighis’s company was a comfort to him as well.
The scent of spices greeted me, familiar and welcoming. I crossed the room, trailing my hand over the rough wooden table that took up its center. My workspace. It was a relief to be back.
“I just built up the fire,” Farren informed me as she leaned against the table. “You’re running low on wood, though.”
I took note of the pile; she was right. There was enough for a few more days at most. I sighed.
Drying firewood was one of my least favorite chores.
It was still wet outside, so the logs would need to be laid out inside to dry thoroughly before being stacked and stored.
“I’ll let Aureus know,” I replied absentmindedly.
I turned my back to Farren and scanned the upper shelves to the left of the stove.
I’d been to an apothecary in the capital once.
The jars there were clear and each was the same, meticulously kept.
But we couldn’t afford expensive containers; our shop ran on chaos and labels.
We used what we had collected over time.
With two jars in hand, I returned to the table and placed them on its well-worn surface. Then, as a secondary thought, I clipped off a few rue branches I’d hung to dry a fortnight ago. The little yellow flowers would add sweetness to the tea and aid in the brew’s strength.
“Did Leighis give you any trouble?” I asked Farren as I drew water from the barrel beside the stove, noting a puddle on the floor. The damn thing was constantly leaking.
“Leighis’s never a trouble,” Farren hummed.
It was a lie, of course. He’d been increasingly burdensome the past few seasons, waking often in a disoriented state and wandering the shop.
Occasionally, he fell and hurt himself or would set out to make tea for his aching muscles and forget the correct herbs to seep.
We had to keep a close eye on him so he wouldn’t build the fire too high or prepare something dangerous by accident and drink it. 1
“Thank you for looking after him,” I said, letting the depth of my words show in my eyes.
Farren smiled, genuine warmth giving her an air of lightness that, for a moment, I envied her. Hooking a teakettle above the fire, I reminded myself that Farren’s childhood was nothing like my own. I couldn’t compare us.
“Would you like some tea too?” I asked, turning to the cupboard.
“Oh yes, please,” Farren chirped.