Chapter Three
Isla
The sun beats down on the back of my neck while I tend to the garden.
Yarrow and chamomile flowers dry on a small wooden rack my papa made years ago when I told him about the herbs I wanted to grow for medicine.
He simply smiled and built what I needed.
The back door shuts, pulling my attention to the little house in front of the garden. My papa hobbles slowly down the path.
“Good morning, my dear,” he calls out to me. I sigh in relief at how strong his voice sounds.
“Papa!” I shouted. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“Bah,” he scoffs, his voice sounding much stronger. “There’s work to do. Let me help.” I brush the dirt off my hands on the small apron tied around my waist. Papa stands on the edge of the garden, leaning his weight along the small fence.
“Well, who am I to say no?” I give him a tight smile and hurry into the house to grab a chair. Setting the small wooden chair in front of the echinacea flowers, I hand papa a basket. “Here. The echinacea needs trimming. They’re getting too leggy and long.”
Papa smiles at me and squeezes my hand before turning his attention to the purple cone flowers.
For years we tended to the garden. He took my love for plants and let it grow, nurturing it to the passion I have today— constant praises and reminders to always let my heart guide me and to never fear the whispers that danced across my soul.
Watching him work makes my heart tighten in bittersweet feelings.
I missed the days when I ran around the garden in excitement of what we could grow next.
There wasn’t a care in the world for taxes, for putting dinner on the table, for a swirling rebellion that was closing in on us.
We work in silence for the next few hours.
The birds chirp a happy song while my papa hums a quiet lullaby.
Before long, Raia bounds into the garden.
“Papa!” She shouts in greeting; a huge smile takes up her face.
Raia holds a basket of bread in her hands.
There’s dirt smudged on her forehead and her wild hair is barely contained in its braid.
Walking up to my papa, she gently kisses him on the cheek.
“It’s so good to see you out and about. How are you feeling? ”
He sighs. His skin was still too pale for me. The weariness is evident in his voice. “Better. It’s good to be out and enjoying the sun.”
Raia nods. “I brought fresh bread. Why don’t you and I go inside and fix lunch?
” She helps papa up and I watch them walk inside.
My heart aches at the age that is showing more and more each day.
Gathering my harvest, I follow them inside.
I need to make another tonic for him to drink for strength, anyways.
Raia cleans up while I help papa into bed for more rest.
“I need us to make a trip to the Grove. I’m running far too low on marshmallow root.” Raia nods.
“Great! We can talk on the way. There’s a lot of buzzing in the village today.” She wears a sly smile on her face that has me shaking my head.
“You’re impossible, you know that? You listen to too many rumors. Help me set this harvest out to dry and then we’ll be off.”
“Bah,” Raia stares at me while I prepare today’s harvest to dry.
“Tell me again, precisely what Sir Oliver said.” I bite back the urge to groan.
I don’t want to constantly re-hash the tales of Oliver’s adventures when the duties of his captaincy calls.
My best friend looks expectantly, waiting for every detail I can never provide.
Raia’s obsessed with any news of the rebellion.
She eats up every bit of gossip, from the Duke’s family to what the prince is eating for dinner.
Every bit of information brings her hope that one day, the Duke will fall, that the monarchy will end, that the power struggle will cease. She hates the imbalance of it all.
“Oli said the rebellion was growing stronger, something about a leader, called the Hood, causing issues. Prince Cailean’s required need of him.
They’re moving towards the Coarann Grove,” I recount the news I know, listing it off in a monotone, bored voice.
Each attempt to give her any bit of information to pacify her search for failure.
I sigh and look over at my best friend as she takes the news in.
There’s a calculating gaze in her eyes as I tell her about the villages.
“Raia, this Hood— he’s a monster. He rapes and pillages these villages. You should be terrified, not hopeful,” I chastise. “Fates-willing, Oliver is going to crush this rebellion. He’s going to capture this Hood and bring him to justice. We’re better off. We’re safe here.”
Raia rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Isla. Are you sure he’s even telling the truth? That he isn’t just filling your head up with grand hero tales, so you will swoon harder? I really don’t understand what you see in him. You’re a lowly farm girl.”
“I’m well aware of my station, thank you.” I reply testily.
“This idea that you and Oliver have any sort of future is futile. Don’t you see that?”
“Why does it bother you so much?” I ask her. Raia stands up, twisting her hands together as she paces the edge of the garden.
“Isla, he isn’t who you think he is. The Duke isn’t who you think he is. These people, they have us in chains. It shouldn’t be that way. Don’t you see that?”
I look away, refusing to listen to the traitorous words that spills from her mouth.
“Shhh, don’t. These are dangerous words, Raia.
Even for you. Do you hear yourself right now?
We should be thankful we have the protection of the Cahir’s.
We could be out in the streets right now fighting for our lives, or living under a far different rule than what Prince Cailean and his council have done for us. Shouldn’t we be thankful?”
Raia sighs, shaking her head. Her shoulders drop, along with the will to argue.
She leans against the fence post and wrings her hands together.
“There’s so much more than this life, Isla,” She whispers, looking down at the ground.
I know everything that runs through her head is because of the rebellion.
We can’t let it poison our minds. For all we know, they’re lies.
Terrible, insidious rumors to cause disorder and corruption. It has to be.
∞∞∞
Guards swarm the market more than usual.
It’s created an uncomfortable air that’s tense and quiet.
I stand at my small stand of tonics and tinctures and fiddle with the arrangements of everything.
Four small cartons of eggs were gathered over the past two mornings.
The hens have, once again, started laying.
I haven’t seen Raia since our argument in the garden two days ago.
Please, please, please don’t get wrapped up in the rebellion, Raia.
She can’t, or at least I hope she won’t.
Oliver and the crown prince walk down the cobble stoned streets.
Philipa walks, clinging to Prince Cailean’s arm, and to his every word it seems. Her doe-y eyed gaze never leaves the side of his face.
She wears a pink silk gown that drips in lace and bows with a deep neckline that pushes her breasts up.
Prince Cailean eyes the village market. His nose is high in the air, staring haughtily down it.
Every villager within distance bows until he walks away from them.
I hold my breath, praying to the Fates they won’t walk this way.
My heart can’t handle the indifference from Oliver with the Prince.
His attitude is far different in public than it is when we’re hidden away, not worrying about the stress of the world.
I fiddle with the tinctures again, willing my heart to quit racing the way it is.
A throat clears behind me. Damn the Fates who play cruel and wicked games. I turn around. My cheeks heat as the three stare at me expectantly. I drop into a low curtsy to the prince.
“Welcome, my prince,” I speak softly, keeping my eyes on the ground.
“And what do we have here?” The Prince asks. Can he hear my heartbeat racing? Smell the fear that radiates off me?
“Medicinal tinctures and tonics, My Prince.”
He nods, walking around and examining the small wares.
“Witchcraft?” There’s a hint of suspicion in his voice that has my nerves quivering.
Witchcraft and sorcery are banned by the crown.
Anyone suspected of practicing is immediately arrested and dealt with; no one could explain what exactly happened.
A century ago, magic ran free and flourished in this land, but jealousy and deceit quickly brought it down.
After the King died, the Queen decided to end the power imbalance between humans and those with magic.
The Queen claimed their existence killed her husband, that they could have saved him.
People who once lived in harmony, helping and caring for one another, were swiftly shifted into enemies of the crown.
Humans turned on them. Elves and Fae were killed for their heritage during the Blood years.
Twenty-five years later, people still panic when they hear one has any sort of magic blood in their veins.
“Nothing of the sort, your highness. Just natural remedies I grow in my garden. The village healer has helped me. Simple things for aches and pains to keep him less busy with the townsfolk.” I smile hesitantly, willing my voice not to waver. Oliver nods at me reassuringly from behind the prince.
“All of this is a waste. Absolute rubbish,” Philipa snarls. She looks down her nose at me, disgust lining her features. Prince Cailean pats her hand that clings to his arm.
“Now, now, Lady Philipa,” The Prince says, breezily. “There are some truths to these potions, I’m sure.”
“Isla has helped many villagers according to Healer Sibley,” Oliver adds.
“Interesting,” Prince Cailean whispers. His gaze pierces me with an intensity that makes me more nervous than I thought possible.
I dip my chin, not willing to stare at the prince.
He takes a step towards me, releasing himself from Philipa’s tight grasp.
His knuckle lifts my chin. “What a stunning creature.”
Oliver chuckles. “She is, My Prince.”
My skin crawls with unease. They speak of me as if I couldn’t hear them, as if I were a toy, an object begging to be played with.
“She’s a commoner. A poor one, who just so happens to make things with dried leaves. There’s far from anything special about her,” Philipa snaps, cutting her brother off. My heart leaps in my throat.
“Are you jealous, sister?” Oliver teases.
Oh, how I wished he wouldn’t. Every tease and taunt at his sister's expense will be far worse for me in the future when she catches me alone. From the very first visit she made in the market with her family, Lady Philipa would taunt, belittle, and sneer at me. She’d turn over a tonic, or break a few eggs, chase customers off with a look, anything that would be a bane for my small business.
Prince Cailean takes a step back while the siblings bicker among each other. I let out a slow and inconspicuous breath of relief at the distance between the Prince and I.
“How long are you visiting our humble home?” I dare to ask him. Anything to get the attention off of me. The Prince smiles. It’s a cruel smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It sends an uneasy feeling to my stomach.
“A week, I suppose. Then we’ll be off to another village, inspecting the people and,” he pauses. He takes a step back from me. “Perhaps their wares will be as fine as yours.”
My skin crawls at the lust in his voice, but my ears perk up at the “we” in his sentence.
Everything about this interaction has alarm bells going off in my head.
I pray that Philipa will be accompanying him the rest of the way.
Rumors swirl of their impending engagement.
Rumors fueled largely by Philipa herself, but nonetheless.
“I can’t believe Oli gets to accompany you, but I have to stay here,” Philipa pouts, cutting her eyes at me before she shifts her focus back on the prince. She sticks her bottom lip out. Prince Cailean smiles down at her while she re-attaches herself to his side.
“My dear Philipa,” Prince Cailean coos. “The road is no place for a lady such as yourself.”
I want to keep listening, but her words keep replaying in my head. Oliver will be gone, again. There’s no telling how long this venture will last this time. Each trip has lasted far longer than the last.
“Oh, I know. It just hurts my heart to be away from you for so long,” Philipa responds in a sickly-sweet voice that churns my stomach. Prince Cailean kisses her cheek in response.
“I promise, my dear. As soon as the tour is done, I will send for you,” he assures. Philipa’s chest puffs up in response. I steal a glance at Oliver while Prince Cailean and Philipa are wrapped up in each other.
“Later,” Oliver mouths. He clears his throat. Philipa gives me a revolting look for good measure.
“Can we continue our walk? I grow tired of her.” With that, they walk to the next stand in the market. Their backs to me, I feel like I can finally breathe.