Chapter seven
ignis tofana
D arragh wandered into the conservatory, where he made rounds watering plants.
“Magic can’t do that?” I asked.
“It can. When I’m away, the cottage cares for them, like an extension of me.” Darragh tipped his copper watering can over the lip of a pot. “When I’m here, I prefer to do it myself.” He set the can down. “I have some things I need to do outside.”
“Can I help?”
“Uh…” Darragh blinked back surprise. “Of course.”
We worked quietly in Darragh’s gardens. All the plants were unrecognizable, and I did my best to follow his lead. I yanked anything that looked similar to those he’d already discarded. Occasionally, I’d pull a plant and Darragh would hiss like he’d been stabbed. He never complained though, he simply offered a pained smile before he tossed the dead plant with the discarded weeds. I made some efforts at small talk, none of which got me anywhere. Darragh just didn’t say much…until I pointed to a tall stalked blue flower with red thorns and asked, “What’s this?”
“Queensfoil.” Darragh crouched next to me and the plant. “You make it into a paste. It helps with poisons and wound healing.” He touched a thorn. “You can also brew a tea, calms the nerves.”
“Neat.” I pointed to a large, succulent-looking plant. “What about that one?”
“Veria.” Darragh broke off a leaf and clear gel oozed out. “Good for the skin. May I?” Darragh reached for my hand, and I let him have it. His hands, callused and strong, were hot. Darragh squeezed out more gel. I couldn’t ignore the tremble of his fingers as they moved in wide circles, massaging me. Such an innocent act that made my cheeks burn. Darragh pulled away, looking at the ground.
“How’s that?”
I felt my hand with the other. It was baby soft. “Can you even it out?” I offered my unmassaged hand. Darragh repeated the gesture. This time, instead of pulling away, he lingered. Our eyes met and I felt each heartbeat as Darragh held my gaze.
He let go and climbed to his feet. “I should get back to work—”
“Wait,” I blurted and pointed at another plant. “What about that one?” Darragh focused on the flower, his shoulders drooped as he relaxed. I didn’t hear what it was called, but I was happy to hear him talk about it. Slowly, Darragh’s tense, jerky movements gave way to fluid, comfortable actions. We abandoned the work and walked from garden to garden. I pointed, and Darragh told me everything he knew.
I was particularly taken by a massive patch of flowers Darragh called false water . “It treats burns. When you cook it down,” he said. Sapphire blooms danced in the wind; I dragged my hand along them—they were ice on my fingertips. In a neighbouring garden, a fragrant flower with a deep, u-shaped bloom caught my eye. When I asked about it, Darragh turned a lovely shade of pink. “Awakens the passion,” he muttered, stooping to pull a weed.
Heading to the last garden, I noticed the fence was taller than the rest. Spiked, deadly plants of all shapes and sizes filled the beds. One plant, with deep-purple flowers, dripped a thick, oozing sap. A sickly-sweet smell wafted out, and I pinched my nose.
“Tell me about these ones.”
It seemed Darragh had deliberately avoided this garden. He grimaced and said, “Those… Those ones aren’t very nice.”
I put one foot on the bottom rail of the fence.
“Nell, what are you—” Darragh started. I made to swing my other leg up and over the fence. “Nell, stop!” Darragh rushed after me.
“Why?”
“Because it’s dangerous!” Darragh eased me back to the ground. “And I said so!”
All the neat, dangerous plants called to me. I looked back enviously. Darragh shook his head. “I’m going to work on dinner. Stay where I can see you.” He left for the cottage, muttering as he went.
***
I waited until I was hungry to head back inside. It didn’t take long. We’d skipped lunch during our plant tour, and my stomach grumbled. When I returned, I found Darragh had rearranged the living room. A long wooden table replaced the sofa by the fireplace. The table overflowed with more food than two people could eat in a week, let alone one meal. Piles of pillowy breads and thick slices of cheese, plates filled with stuffed mushrooms and roasted vegetables. Darragh carried more food from the kitchen, and I took my seat. He sat at the opposite end.
Eying a wooden bowl heaped with what I hoped was similar to mashed potatoes, I said, “How very Beauty and the Beast .”
“I don’t know what that means, but I have a feeling I know which one I am.”
“A beast captures a man and keeps him locked away in his castle. The man’s daughter trades her life for her fathers and goes to live with the beast as his captive.” I scooped maybe-potatoes onto my plate. “I think that’s the gist of it.” I left out the bit where the heroine falls in love with the beast.
Darragh shook his head while he ate. “You’re not my captive.”
“Okay, well, as nice as this is,”—I gestured to the spread—“I am going to have to go home. I have a life. People will miss me.”
“Who? Your coworker?”
Okay, wow. Rude.
“And my cat,” I grumbled, taking a bite of maybe-potatoes. Not potatoes. Parsnipy in flavour. With a scowl, I heaped some vegetables on my plate and tore a piece of bread.
“It’s not safe for you on Earth anymore,” Darragh said.
“No offense, but I haven’t really felt safe here either.”
Darragh frowned.
“Maybe if I knew how to control my magic, I’d feel a little better.”
Darragh didn’t say anything; instead, he shoveled more food into his mouth.
“Could you at least try to teach me?”
“It’s risky.” Darragh pushed a mushroom around his plate. “I’m not the one to do it.”
“I just think I’d feel safer if I knew how to protect myself.”
“I can protect you.”
“You can’t always be around to watch over me, I’m not a toddler. I’d like to learn it myself. Or else I may as well go back and take my chances on Earth.”
Darragh covered his mouth while he mulled it over. He met my eyes, the lines on his forehead deepened, obviously conflicted.
“Please,” I urged and smiled.
Darragh took a long drag from a wooden goblet. His fingers drummed the table while he thought. Finally, he pointed to a small bowl of nuts. “Focus on that bowl.”
“Then what?”
“Move it.”
Yeah right .
I focused all my effort on the bowl. Everything disappeared as I concentrated on it, on the little crack that snaked from the rim. On the small, yellowed nuts that sat inside. “Picture the movement in your mind,” Darragh said.
A slight tremor shook the bowl.
“Hhh!” I gasped. “I did it!”
“That’s enough for now.” Darragh waved and the plates picked themselves up from the table. Dishes floated after him as he walked to the kitchen. He brought back two bowls filled with bright pink berries. A third bowl appeared, heaped with fluffy white topping. Darragh piled so much into the bowls that the berries disappeared.
“Thank you.”
“Mhm,” Darragh mumbled.
When we finished, Darragh put the living room back together. He’d barely sat back down when a timid knock came at the door. Darragh rose and cracked it. A hushed exchange of whispers was followed by silence. The door creaked as Darragh opened it wide. “Bring him in.” Three people, each dressed in dark travelling cloaks, shuffled in. Two of the individuals withdrew their hoods, a woman and a man. The third individual hung limply between them, his arms strung around their necks for support. The woman saw me and hesitated. “We can trust her,” Darragh reassured. The woman didn’t move. “On my life, we can trust her.” He pointed to the sofa. “Please. Your son doesn’t have much time.” The man gave the woman an icy glare and dragged his son to the sofa. They laid him down, and the man knelt. He rocked back on the balls of his feet and sobbed. The woman remained stoic, but she rubbed the man’s back.
Darragh knelt and withdrew the hood, revealing a young man of maybe twenty. Though unconscious, he wore an uncomfortable scowl. “This is my friend, Nell.” Darragh nodded to me. “Why don’t you wait in the kitchen while I see what’s wrong with Fyn.” The woman eased the man to his feet. They both reluctantly followed me into the kitchen.
I struggled with the silence. “Would you like something to drink?”
The woman gave a curt shake of her head.
The man smiled and said, “Thank you, my dear, but no.” I nodded, and he continued. “My name is Calyn. You can call me Cal. This is my melaethien, Breda.”
Breda hissed in Cal’s direction. “He said we can trust her!” Cal whispered.
“Yes, but can we trust him?” Breda snapped.
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Cal smiled apologetically, his eyes puffy and red. He turned back to his son. I seized the opportunity to focus on the ceiling. People crying made me cry. I blinked a few times to banish the tears. In the den, Darragh crouched over Fyn. “She’s gone too far this time,” Cal whispered. He looked at Breda for a reply. None came.
“Can you wake up for me?” Darragh asked. Fyn didn’t respond. Darragh placed his hands on either side of Fyn’s face. Silence filled the cottage; interrupted by the hitching of Cal’s breathing while he wept. Darragh repositioned himself closer to Fyn. His brows furrowed. “Fyn, please wake up. Your parents are here.” This time, Fyn’s eyes fluttered open. A sob shuddered through Cal.
“Agh!” Fyn struck out, clawing Darragh. Cal and Breda rushed forward and grabbed Fyn’s arms.
“Aghhh!” Fyn struggled—Darragh fought him, cupping his cheeks. As Darragh held on, the screaming and thrashing weakened. Gradually, as if falling asleep, Fyn stopped resisting. His eyes closed, and his head fell back with a thunk . Cal knelt beside his son, brushing sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. The scowl gone, Fyn’s face was peaceful in rest. Darragh, who’s throat bore three nasty scratches, locked eyes with Breda and nodded to the kitchen. Breda gave Cal and Fyn one last look before she followed. Darragh opened a drawer, two glass vials filled with a milky red liquid clinked together. He plucked one out and handed it to Breda.
“When he wakes up. For the pain.” Breda placed the vial in her pocket. Darragh pulled open another drawer. It was empty. He waved and a pile of bottles and vials appeared. Darragh pushed several bottles out of the way and extracted a tiny vial containing a clear liquid. He held it between his thumb and forefinger. Lowering his voice, Darragh said, “Do not mix these two up.” Breda’s eyes darted between the vial and Darragh. Darragh offered the vial, but pulled his hand away before Breda could take it. “Do not get caught with this. Do you understand?”
Breda nodded once.
Darragh handed over the vial, which Breda slipped in her other pocket. She returned to her son and husband. “Come.”
Cal stood, then rounded the sofa and embraced Darragh. “Thank you!” Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. Darragh, rigid in the embrace, only offered a brief smile when Cal pulled away. Breda stooped and pulled Fyn’s arm around her neck. Cal grabbed the other arm and, together, they shuffled to the door. Darragh opened it for them, and they disappeared into the night.
Darragh collapsed on the sofa. Closing his eyes, he sighed. He rolled his neck from side to side and opened his eyes wide—desperately trying to stay awake. I hoped for an explanation, but Darragh sat quietly, content not to discuss anything that just happened.
“You can heal people?”
“I can.”
I needn’t ask if Darragh could heal himself. Of the three scratches down his throat, only one remained—and even that was shrinking.
“Do these people give you anything for helping them?” I asked.
Darragh shook his head no.
“Why help them?”
Darragh’s brows furrowed while he thought. “I don’t know.”
“Cal introduced Breda as his…melatonin?”
“Melaethien,” Darragh corrected.
“Yeah, that. Does it mean like—”
“Their beloved, their partner.”
“Like, marriage?”
“Sort of…but it’s deeper than that. Our magic, or the energy—it knots us together. I don’t know. But after you’ve chosen someone, that’s it.”
“What if one of you dies?”
A muscle twitched in Darragh’s jaw. “Then the bond will help you find them in the next life.” Darragh glanced longingly at the arm of the sofa, like it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever seen.
“What happens on Hiraeth when people decide to get married, or whatever it is they do?”
“Someone proposes, same as Earth.” Darragh yawned and rubbed his eyes. “It used to involve an act of bravery, the retrieval of some trinket or jewel from a haunted barrow, or some other ridiculous venture. Over the years, it’s become more of a symbolic gesture; we’ve kept the jewels and ridded the dragons.”
“Tell me about one.”
“I don’t really know any—”
“Yes, you do.”
“It’s late,” Darragh protested.
“I’m not tired yet.” I smiled at Darragh. His eyes, though clouded with exhaustion, softened. He took a deep breath and propped his head up with an elbow.
“Our queen’s proposal to the king is the most noteworthy I know.”
“Oh good, let’s start there.” I cozied myself by the fire.
“Leadership on Hiraeth isn’t chosen by birth; it’s chosen by power. The queen chooses a successor, and the people must come together and approve the decision. As it happens, powerful queens tend to have powerful heirs, so a single family could lead a kingdom for generations.”
“What happens if the people don’t approve of the choice?”
“An alternate must be provided, and they must prove themselves stronger than the queen’s chosen successor.” Darragh waited to see that I was done asking questions. “Our current queen was born the daughter of a butcher. Beautiful and tenacious, the townspeople nicknamed her Briar the butcher. Briar caught the fancy of a young man named Erabus, an affection she happily returned. Unfortunately, Erabus was the son of then Queen Aithen. Worse still, Erabus was basic, practically powerless by Hiraethian standards. If Aithen wanted her family to stay in power, she needed Erabus to wed a woman strong enough that the people would accept her as their next queen, and Erabus as king.”
Darragh glanced at me, perhaps to see if I was still awake. I blinked back, still very awake. Darragh continued. “Briar was powerful, but not powerful enough to run a kingdom. Certainly not strong enough to gain Aithen, or the people’s favour. The day finally came when Erabus told Briar that he would wed a woman from across the sea. Briar was distraught, but she had an idea.” Darragh yawned. “West of here, there’s a burrow. Trapped inside that burrow is a terrible, powerful creature named Jorgen. Legends said that he wore a ring which possessed the power of a thousand women. For years, people entered the cave hoping to kill Jorgen and take his ring. None left the cave alive. Briar knew this was her only chance to be with Erabus. If she could get Jorgen’s ring, she would possess such power that no one could stop her from taking the kingdom.” Darragh yawned. “Three nights before Erabus was to wed, Briar entered the burrow.”
“And?”
Darragh shrugged. “Briar herself objected during the wedding ceremony. A shiny new ring on her finger.”
“Oh, snap!”
“Aithen and the people chose her. Briar and Erabus were wed that evening. Briar became the Queen .” Darragh uttered the title with equal parts reverie and disdain, as if this queen was wholly different than those before her.
“How did Queen Briar—”
“Not Queen Briar,” Darragh corrected. “Just the Queen .”
“Oh…okay. How did she do it?”
“Only the Queen knows.” Darragh’s brows knitted. “And Jorgen I suppose.”
“Hm.” I gazed into the fire. “What happened to Jorgen?”
“He’s still there, waiting for the right person to wander in and free him from his cage.” Darragh glanced outside; he straightened, drowsy eyes suddenly alert. “It’s late.” My eyelids began drooping near the end of Darragh’s story, so I didn’t argue when he suggested we go to sleep.
I cleaned up and headed to the loft, but paused as a question I meant to ask earlier came back to me. “What was that second vial for? The one you gave Breda for Fyn?”
Darragh didn’t look at me when he said, “It wasn’t for Fyn.”
Lying in bed, that thought kept me awake. I’d nearly nodded off when the door to the cottage opened and closed. I propped myself up and peeked through the window. Darragh walked down the path that led to the wood.
Where was he going?