Chapter One
Isla
Ipush the old mare on, through the woods.
The sun is setting and I’m already late.
Oh, how I despise being late, but this time it’s out of my control.
With papa being sick, more of the chores fall on me.
We live on a farm, tending to a small medicinal plant patch and chickens that produce just enough eggs to keep us going. Just the two of us.
Every week I trudge down to the market to sell those eggs, tea mixtures, and tinctures for the healer in town. It’s given us the income we’ve needed since Papa has fallen ill. The healing tinctures and tonics have grown my reputation around the village. They say they’re powerful, potent, magical.
I try to skirt around the words the villagers use. Magic is frowned upon in the kingdom of Azmerin. It was wiped out decades ago, and the kingdom seeks out any whispering of it. It’s now a threat to our peace.
The trees grow thicker in this part of the forest as I weave through them. I follow a deer trail deeper in the grove around the Duke’s estate. The earthy scent of soil mixes with the floral perfume of the jasmine tickling my nose.
Duke Alastair’s estate borders the Coarann Grove— a forest filled with centuries old oaks and rowan trees. The rich, fertile soil allowed The Duke to be one of the most successful and richest men in the kingdom. He’s the leader of our village, owning most of the buildings and farms around.
I take a deep breath, letting the earthy scents calm me; excitement squeezing my heart as I urge Willow to trot a little faster.
The grove is one of the few places that gives me a reprieve from the boring life I live. They say The Fates smiled warmly on the grove because the souls of elves lived in the trees.
Whispers of old magic remain in The Coarann Grove, keeping people away out of fear. For me, it’s always been different. If I think too deeply, or even feel too panicked, I swear I can feel them tickle my skin as I move through the trees.
“Finally,” I whisper as the trees clear to a small opening. I can see a figure laying on the ground, lounging around, completely carefree with no stress or daunting responsibilities.
For a split second, he’s the carefree boy I first fell in love with. The one who used to write me secret notes when we were little, leaving them in a tree stump like a fairy sprite leaving a gift.
His horse stands tied up to a tree, one foot relaxes as the horse dozes. It’s a picture I want to remember forever; the carefree boy who stole my heart many moons ago.
“Oliver!” I shout softly. Butterflies flip in my stomach at the sight of him– road worn, from a long trip, but still smiling. As the second-born, Oliver, pledged a life to The Royal Guard.
He couldn’t inherit the Cahir Estate, so he worked dutifully to climb the ranks within the guard. His captaincy is something he’s proud of and boasts of it often. Every adventure he tells with an exuberance that makes me swell with jealousy. Each tale is grander than the last.
Oliver jumps up, moving briskly towards my horse. He grabs my waist, pulls me out of the saddle, and into him as soon as I’m within reach.
“Isla!” He exclaims. His hands on my hips, he kisses me roughly. “By the Fates, I’ve missed you.”
His forehead rests against mine. “Two weeks is too long,” I whisper.
Home, at last. Relief sweeps through me as I close my eyes. I try not to focus on the bitterness that floods my chest. The question that lingers in my heart keeps the resentment alive and well – home, but for how long?
The state of things in this kingdom are tricky, but he’s trying to fix things. This kingdom needs him more than I do right now. Unfortunately.
“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t be like this much longer, I promise.” He tilts my chin up with the knuckle of his finger.
“But I’m here now, that’s what matters.” Oliver kisses me deeply again. “How have things been? How’s my sister been treating you in the village?”
I resist the urge to groan. Why bring her up now?
Memories of her snarl flash in my mind– Philipa’s permanent snarl on her face as she glares at everyone who crosses her path; her turning up her nose at little children playing in the street; her destroying a week’s worth of tonics at my stand in the market.
I bury my head in his chest, wishing the memories would disappear.
“That bad?” Oliver asks, chuckling.
“Worse. She hates me, you know that.” I tell him. And she does.
“Oh, Islabelle. It’s not that, I promise. She’s always enjoyed the… the finer things in life. The village is a harsh reality for her,” he tries to reason.
Oliver’s eyes light up and he taps his chin with his pointer finger. “I know what it is! She’s jealous, my Isla.”
I take a step back to look up at him. His brown eyes are filled with mirth. “You cannot be serious. Tell me you’re joking,” I deadpan.
There’s no way he can be serious. His sister has hated me for years, seeing me beneath her. Her brother being interested in me instead of one of her friends always sends her into a fit.
“No, and you know it,” he attempts to reason through his laughter.
“She’s always been a bit more— ” Oliver pauses, searching for a word. “Aggressive when it comes to you.”
“Aggressive.”
“Come on, Islabelle. Just think about it.” I try to ignore the butterflies still swarming in my stomach at his nickname.
“You’re a stunning creature,” he whispers, tucking a loose hair behind my ear.
“Your eyes never cease to sparkle. They’re enrapturing, they are.
Otherworldly, as if you don’t belong on this plane.
You’re of the olden days when the Elves and the Fae ran free.
” Oliver tugs me closer to him, closing the space I created between us.
“You’re a scoundrel, Oliver Cahir. You shouldn’t talk of such creatures.”
My cheeks heat at his praise. Of his comparison to a time when magic and fairy tales were real. The dark, lustful look in his eyes makes my heart stutter.
Oliver opens his mouth to respond, but a twig cracks in the distance. A dark look crosses over his face.
“Go. Back to the farm. Someone is coming. Go. Now.” He pushes me towards my horse. Lifting me by the hips, he hoists me up in the saddle.
Everything happens so fast, I don’t have time to ask him what’s happening. He’d only tell me not to worry, that he was doing everything in my best interest. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll come to you, Islabelle. I promise. Now go.”
I kick Willow into a canter, riding her hard to get back to the farm.
Bitterness and resentment drip from my chest, overriding the curiosity over the look on his face.
When will the sneaking around be over once and for all?
When will Oliver finally tell his father about us?
The questions plague me on the way back to the farm.
By the time I arrive, I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts, I move without thinking.
I slip the old mare into her paddock and make my way towards the house.
It’s a small two-bedroom house, but it’s home.
While the floors are dirt and the kitchen is the main part of the house, my papa built it with love.
I pad silently into the house, hoping to hear the soft snores of him sleeping.
One, two, three come from his bed. Relief courses through me. Thank the Fates.
∞∞∞
I curse the rooster who calls in the early hours of dawn for the morning came far sooner than I wished. Pulling myself out of bed, I walk into the kitchen to greet my grandfather at the table.
“Good morning, papa.” It’s a strange, but welcome sight seeing him finally out of bed. There’s a little color back in his sunken cheeks. These past few weeks have been hard on him. My heart squeezes at his gentle smile. “How are you feeling? It’s good to see you out of bed.”
“Isla dear,” he greets me. His frail voice makes my heart ache. “Let me help today, I feel strong.”
My jaw tightens, refusing to allow the tears to well in my eyes. He was once so strong and vibrant, full of life and laughter. “No papa. You must mend, rest, get better. The fields can wait for you.”
I turn towards the door just as a coughing fit seizes his chest. The sounds of agony coming from the table wrecks me further. I turn back, moving towards the cupboards to fetch a cup and the tea
“Let me make you some tea and help you back to bed. Please,” I beg. Papa’s frail body is now hunched over the table. The stress on his lungs causes him more pain.
He nods solemnly. I get to work immediately prepping the kettle to boil over the small flame in the hearth. The dried chamomile and marshmallow root stores are getting low, but there’s enough for at least two more kettles. Thank the Fates.
It’s fine, I keep reminding myself. I have other dried herbs we can try. I’ll ask Healer Sibley for advice, maybe ask him to visit again. These herbs will work. Something will work. He will be fine. He has to be.
Please, please give him his strength back. Bring me my papa back, I whisper to the Fates.
“Come now,” I grab my papa’s arm gently. “Let’s get you back in bed. The kettle will be whistling soon, and the herbs will need to steep.” He nods, weakly.
I go through the motions of making the tea and walk into the little room of his. Handing him the tea, I press my other hand to his cheek. “I’ll be back soon. I’m heading to the garden.”
He takes a sip and nods, closing his eyes to rest. I swallow down the emotions that continue to clog my throat and head out the door; the weight of his health on my shoulders threatening to pull me under.
The garden is overflowing with chamomile, thyme, and calendula that beg to be picked. I lose myself in thoughts while I harvest the herbs that are needed for the teas and tincture.
Sounds of birds chirping, subtle whispers in the wind bring comfort and peace to my soul. This is what it means to be home. These are the moments that I know that I would miss if I ever went off, if Oliver ever took me away.