CHAPTER FIVE
Images of the Bunyip’s sharp, sharp teeth floated menacingly through my dreams.
Tossing and turning, I woke up late, feeling less than rested.
Reluctant to leave the warmth of my sheets, I stayed in bed awhile longer, processing the previous day’s events.
An accidental detour into the Spring Court—complete with swamp monsters, pixies, and the Green Man.
A brush with death. And a raven, who was not really a raven at all, but a man.
We’d spent the entire day together without me even realizing.
At every turn, he’d chosen to help me. Still, how much did I really know about him?
Had I been naive to take his story about a debt at face value?
To invite him to return? Would he even come back?
It was out of my control for now. Either he would visit again, or he would not.
I wished I could ask Kaylin for her advice.
It was a desire that stopped me short. Wringing my bedsheets into a twisted knot in my hands, I exhaled a shuddering breath.
Because I would never be able to ask Kaylin for her advice ever again—would I?
And even though, on some level, I understood that, in this moment, when I desperately wanted to ask her what to do but couldn’t, the reality of her death washed over me anew, forcing me to confront the magnitude of my loss.
I would never be able to ask her advice again.
It took me another long moment to rise for the day.
Swinging out of bed, I got dressed and grabbed my gardening tools from the shed outside.
There was one development from my adventure that I could immediately act upon—the Green Man’s seeds.
I had no idea what kind of seeds they were, but I was grateful to have been given them nonetheless, if only because they had been a gift, something I so rarely received.
My other acquisition, the bog oil, would be best saved for evening.
Everything in my garden was carefully tended, almost every inch of available space dedicated to the growth of some food crop or medicinal herb.
I also tended a wide variety of flowers—planted mostly for their aesthetic value.
The island was pleasant to walk around, and I wanted to keep it that way.
The garden, the cemetery, and the mysterious gated area were the most notable sights on the island, and I ensured each area stayed well maintained.
Seeds from the Green Man, however, deserved a special place of honor.
Thinking they might prefer partial shade, I buried them near the entryway of the cottage, figuring they would at least be covered by its shadow for part of the day if they were sensitive to sunlight.
Another consideration was their growth, since I had no idea what plant they would become.
Would they shoot up and grow as tall as some of the trees on the island?
Or would they develop into a vine, low and sprawling?
I sprinkled the seeds on both sides of the house for symmetry’s sake, hoping it was the right place for them to thrive.
As I watered the seeds, I half expected them to sprout instantaneously, but nothing happened. Unlike the Green Man, I didn’t possess a magical watering can. I suppose they will require proper care and nourishment to grow. Just like all the other plants on the island.
Once I finished with my outdoor chores, I retreated back inside, intent on tidying the study in case Corvin visited me again. I glanced around the room, trying to identify any clutter that might stand out to someone who didn’t live here.
There was some rhyme or reason to its organization at least, despite definite room for improvement.
Most of the weapons were racked in the stand by the door; all the artifacts that resembled jewelry were on the same velvet display case; the books were all neatly shelved in the library section at the back of the room.
The disorganization mostly stemmed from the number of artifacts, like the mirror, haphazardly scattered around, and the mess of parchment currently covering the desk.
I started by dusting the five golden tomes.
They were displayed on their own wooden altar, separate from the rest of the books.
Each tome was massive, containing a thorough historical record of its respective kingdom.
You could always find what you needed by checking the index.
Reading one of the tomes without any idea of what you sought, on the other hand, was a lesson in frustration—they were much too dense.
And yet, despite the detailed record they contained, the history books were also hopelessly outdated, lacking any recent information about the realm.
I dusted them all the same. Satisfied with my efforts, I turned my attention elsewhere, stacking and sorting all the loose sheets of parchment Kaylin had left behind on the study desk.
Afternoon came and went without any sign of Corvin’s return. The sharp sting of disappointment was all too familiar, like when Kaylin would leave the island without a clear timeline for when she would return. I squelched the feeling down, preoccupying myself with my remaining chores.
As soon as dusk descended, I took the bog oil back outside.
My moment of truth. Would the lampposts finally consent to light for me?
It made more sense to wait until it was completely dark to test it out, but I was far too giddy for that, and patience abandoned me.
I wanted to know whether it would work. And I wanted to know now.
I found my ladder leaning against the corner of the garden shed.
It was heavy, but I managed to haul it from the shed to the cottage path.
Cautiously, I climbed up to reach the lamppost’s glass panels.
I placed a small portion of bog oil into each one, such that it was evenly sectioned across all of the lampposts.
My muscles ached from carrying the ladder all by myself—that was the downside of an entirely self-sufficient life. No one to help share the load. Even though the Green Man had healed my leg, I was still recovering from the other aches and bruises inflicted during my fall.
Using flint and iron, I endeavored to spark a flame at the first lamppost. “Please work…”
The bog oil caught fire, flaring in a brilliant display of blue flame.
For one glorious moment, I could envision the lamppost’s full potential as beautiful blue light filled the confines of its glass fixture, casting a powerful, luminescent glow all around, illuminating the walkway.
In a cruel twist of fate, as quickly as it flared to life, the flame died out.
“No, no, no…come back!” I shrieked.
I struck flint to iron again, but no matter what I did, the oil refused to burn a second time.
Tears welled in my eyes, born of frustration and the powerless feeling that I had come so close, only to have my success snatched away.
I tried to tell myself that I had still accomplished something worthwhile.
The lampposts had never flared like that before.
That was progress. Then why did it feel so much like failure?
I dragged the ladder back to the garden shed, questioning whether I would ever be able to accomplish my goal.
Still no sign of Corvin. Perhaps he wasn’t coming back after all.
Darkness fell, and I made to prepare for bed, changing into comfortable clothing.
I wore an ankle-length olive-green nightgown, its shade a near match for my eye color, with long sleeves and a modest neckline.
It was shapeless and hung loosely around my body.
If the night prior was any indication, I could no longer assume I’d be alone in the cottage every night.
Having finally decided to go to sleep, the sound of the entryway chimes ringing out, indicating company, caught me totally off guard, as did the following sound, somebody knocking on my front door.
I rushed to compose myself. So now he shows up!
Feeling more than a little wary, I opened the front door.
Corvin stood on my doorstep, smiling broadly, dressed more casually than the night before, his cloak gone.
“You’re late,” I greeted, the words coming out more curtly than I’d intended.
His smile fell. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long. That wasn’t very considerate. I was hoping to be here much sooner, but something came up…”
“That’s alright then,” I replied, my voice softening, surprised by the regret that filled me at seeing the smile leave his face. We may have just met, but I got the feeling there wasn’t much that stopped that bright smile from lighting up his face. It rested too naturally upon his features.
My eyes lingered over the rest of his body.
Without his cloak, I could see how broad his shoulders were, how their width complemented the toned lines of his arms and chest. He had the physique of a warrior, but not the temperament.
Corvin adjusted his pose, relaxing against the side of the door, tall enough his head almost touched the top of its frame, and I realized I was staring at him without ever having invited him inside.
“May I come in?” he asked, his tone amused, evidently thinking the same thing.
I hastily stepped aside. “Yes, of course. Please come inside. You can follow me into the study.” Silently, I led the way down the cottage hallway. Once in the study, I gestured to the desk armchair. “You can sit there if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” Corvin sank into the armchair. “How was your day?”
I took a seat in my preferred reading spot, a chaise lounge across from the desk, covered in cozy pillows.
“My day was fine,” I answered, looking at him.
Then, feeling like I should be at least a little more truthful, “Actually, it wasn’t that great.
The bog oil didn’t work to light the lampposts.
Though I guess that means I could still use your help if you want to do some research with me tonight. I’m all out of ideas.”