16. Only Smell Flowers
Lyra sat on the edge of the forest trail beside Maelys, who shot her wary glances.
“So you like books?” Maelys asked, breaking up the uncomfortable quiet.
“Mhm.”
It felt heavy.
They had seemed on equal footing before they stopped in the clearing, but now it felt off. Lyra thought back to their agreement to try.
“Do you speak to the animals or do you command them?”
Maelys’ brows hit her hairline. “I don’t ‘command’ them. Animals do whatever they want.”
Lyra nodded, thinking through that answer.
A flock of birds settled in the tree nearby, and she studied them. Shiny black feathers, with a streak of reddish-orange on their wings.
“That’s a red-winged blackbird,” Lyra murmured to herself or Maelys if she was actually listening.
“They like you,” Maelys replied.
“They do?”
Maelys picked at a leaf and shrugged before looking up at the birds. “Animals have a way of knowing what lies within the soul, and you smell like the wind off the sea. They like the wind.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed. That was similar to what Wilder had said she smelled like.
She leaned closer to Maelys and sniffed.
“Did you just smell me?” Maelys scrunched her nose with disgust and leaned away.
Lyra huffed with a shrug. “I tried to. I couldn’t smell anything.”
“Well, that’s a relief! Don’t do that—it’s weird.”
A frown marred Lyra’s face. “Everyone else has told me what I smelled like. Why shouldn’t I smell you?”
Maelys shook her head and chuckled.
“We’re elves. We don’t smell you on purpose. Our senses are stronger. But you trying to smell us—it’s not the way.”
“The way?” Lyra asked slowly.
“Yeah. You know? The way things are done. Decorum and all that.”
“Oh,” Lyra muttered.
A divot formed between Maelys’ brows. “Surely there’s a way of doing things where you’re from.”
Lyra snorted. “Yeah, whatever the mermen tell you to do, which usually means you are to be seen and not heard.”
Maelys reeled back at her words. “What?”
Lyra looked around at the darkening forest and shivered.
“I mean, where I come from, the males rule everything. And the females do as they are commanded.”
Maelys’ mouth dropped open in shock or horror, or both, from the looks of it.
“I had heard stories, but I thought it was just propaganda.”
Lyra pressed her lips into a grim line and shook her head.
“I was to be raised in my father’s court and then married off to a prince in a territory he deemed a threat. All my sisters were married off to other territories for positions of power. We are bartered wombs and nothing else.”
An angry gleam entered Maelys’ golden eyes, turning the hue molten.
“Females can do anything in the Wilds and the Mannereds. Hell, the Mannereds are ruled by a female.”
“You are lucky.”
It was a surprise to Lyra as the words fell out of her mouth. Never would she have thought she would converse with a female elf. Not only that, she envied one. Maelys had to be high-ranking to serve so close to Wilder.
It grew quiet and pensive as they each worked through the information they had shared. Lyra wanted to know more about what a female elf’s life was like here.
“Are you high-born?”
Maelys laughed. “No. Does that offend you?”
“Why would that offend me?” Lyra twirled the flower between her fingers.
“Because you are a princess.“
Lyra covered her mouth to staunch a laugh that bubbled up. She squeezed her eyes shut, keeping well away from that glimmering thread in her chest. Once the feeling had passed, she took a steadying breath and looked back at Maelys, who was analyzing her.
“I don’t think being a princess means much.”
“It does in the Wilds. Being high-born holds weight. Are you sure you’re using your position correctly?”
Her words rang like a struck bell. Use her position? How on earth was she expected to do that?
Had Maelys not been listening to what she just said? And Lyra was a prisoner—at their hands!
The pain in Lyra’s feet increased with her rising anger. She could feel the blood pumping in her toes. Luckily, there was an intentional stomping through the forest. Wilder stepped through the trees, marigold in hand.
“We found little. It’s not the right season. Will this do?” Wilder held up three golden flowers.
“I’ll take anything at this point,” Lyra replied, but then froze. Not anything.
Wilder thrust the flowers out to her, and she took them, managing not to accidentally touch him.
“Do you need anything else?”
“I need a way to grind the petals down to make a salve.”
Wilder looked at Ridge, who nodded and turned away, heading back into the forest.
“How do you know all this?” Maelys asked her.
“I like to read.”
Wilder crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s an understatement.”
Lyra glared at him from her seated position on the forest floor. But before she could make a scathing remark, Ridge appeared with two large, rounded stones.
“Will this work?”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Wilder’s brows rose high on his forehead. She realized she had not thanked him for finding her the flowers. And he would not get one now, the prick.
She set to work on the flowers, grinding the delicate golden petals into a poultice. She could feel their eyes on her as she worked, but she didn’t look, didn’t want to see their expressions.
When she had ground all the flowers down into a mushy mess, she began spreading them all over her heels and toes. It was cold and refreshing. Relief had her eyes slipping closed.
“Here,” Otto said, and her eyes fluttered open. “For your feet.”
He held out several scraps of fabric, and she took them with a smile.
“Thank you,” she whispered again.
That was twice now she had said the words and meant them. Maybe she would be better at this kindness thing than she thought.