Chapter Ten
When the day of the Mithian trip finally arrives, I wear an indigo pansy in my hair for a change, the color bleeding toward the center like rain.
They’re an easy addition to any bouquet and come in a delightful variety of colors, all meaning that the sender has been occupied by thoughts of the recipient.
Something very true for myself of Will. He’s been gnawing at my senses like a sparrow at the window—small and subtle, but completely remarkable if you stay still long enough to pay attention.
Will is already at the crossroads when I arrive, leaning against a tree with his hands in his jacket pockets.
Just the sight of him has my stomach wrapped in nettles.
A sting of excitement. Or nerves. Whichever.
Both. His head turns my way, and I smooth down the purple pleats of my skirt with clammy palms.
“Felicity Farrow. Did you manage to get here unscathed?”
I adjust the flower basket in the crook of my elbow.
“I am able to get through a day without injuring myself.”
“Apparently so. Come on, it’s this way. Watch your step.”
Funny.
Will tips his head to the northern path and matches my pace.
I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I settle on picking at flyaway hairs of wood on the handle of my basket.
A rogue word, a badly phrased sentence, and I could spoil what’s starting here.
However, from the small glances I dare, Will’s expression is more relaxed than ever.
There’s something about the forest and heading north that’s putting him at ease, as if the farther away from the citadel he gets, the less he has to preserve his posture, preserve the mask.
“How often do you go to Mithian?” I ask as we crest the top of a hill.
“Maybe a few times a month. My mum heads up more often to check on patients in the area and support the apothecary.”
“Isn’t the apothecary in the citadel closer?”
His eyes twinkle in the sunlight that peeks through the canopy.
“Yep,” he replies succinctly.
“So…?”
“Mum won’t go into the citadel. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I seem to stir up a bit of trouble if I go myself.” He says it playfully, with none of the aggression that Bastion has for the topic.
“Oh, I noticed,” I say, in an attempt to match his humor while still keeping to the binds of my curse. “But is Ruth okay walking all this way alone?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s fine. The forest is a familiar friend and there’s more than one way to find a path home.”
I scan the thick line of trees on either side of us, the misshapen branches and uneven, mossy floor.
Perhaps the groaning of the trees is advice, each crooked twig and forked trunk a nudge in the right direction.
But even though there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger, you never know, not in this forest. I wonder if there will be more guards out patrolling—I think Prince Merit should be arriving any day now, and they’ll want to get him home safely.
“The apothecary in Mithian must be wonderful,” I guess out loud, and swing my basket.
Will laughs, and it’s a delightful carefree sound. “Yes. And I suppose we’ll be needing to go. I’m sure you’ll gain at least one injury on the way.”
“Hey!” I jab his side, and he exaggerates a wince of pain.
“Ouch! Are all florists so violent?”
Before I can think of an impressively scathing reply that fits within the confines of my curse, we round a bend in the path and come across the unusual clearing I first saw during my search for the Feiyan—the hollow ashen-white oak tree in the center of a shriveled brown circle of earth, all life leached away.
The air stills—just as frail as before and just as unsettling.
It constricts my lungs and sits heavy on my shoulders.
I want nothing more than to walk away quickly, like I did the first time.
From the silently held breath in the area, any local wildlife had the same idea.
Today though, two figures are tying a fresh braided rope around the trunk. I’m about to look at Will to gauge his reaction to the tree he supposedly cursed when I realize one of the people is surprisingly familiar.
“Pigeon!” I gasp.
She turns sharply, hand flying to her belt.
Her shoulders drop when she recognizes us, and a wild grin stretches across her face.
Beside her is a shorter teen with blond hair that flicks outward below her sharp jaw.
She’s in similar attire, aside from a few curious metal shells at her hip, which are no bigger than the head of a rose.
As the blond girl finishes tying the last knot of rope, I tread over the mud toward them.
“Well, look who it is,” Pigeon says, and sticks her hands on her hips. Her eyes jump to Will as he strolls to catch up. “Wow, you got him to socialize? What a rarity.”
“We’re heading to Mithian,” I tell her eagerly. “There’s supposed to be some rare exotic flowers in stock.”
“Pigeon. Tansy,” Will greets the girls cordially. “Nice to see you’re still in one piece.”
“I could say the same for Fliss. How’s your ankle doing?”
“Great!” I say, far too fast. Calm down. Speak slowly. “Yeah. Um, thank you again. Will did a great job of healing me.”
“I knew it,” Pigeon says with a pinch of smugness. “And now you’re on your way to Mithian together. Huh.”
“A thrilling update,” Will says flatly. “You’ve just come from there?”
“Yeah, we had to stock up for…” She trails off and I get an uncomfortable feeling. Pigeon doesn’t know about my curse, but I know all too well when people are concerned about speaking freely.
“Well,” she says, “gotta be prepared for the day is all.”
“Sounds like a completely normal day,” Will drawls. “What is it this time? Arrows or explosives?”
Pigeon folds her arms. “You can’t complain about our methods. I asked if you wanted to help and you said no.”
“Correct. I’d like to keep myself out of the dungeons, if possible. I’d hate to give the queen the satisfaction of my committing an actual crime.”
I frown. What are they talking about?
“Don’t fret, I double-check all of the phosphorus levels these days,” Tansy chimes in, tapping her fingers over those metal shells. “There’s only enough to stun.”
“Exactly,” Pigeon says. “We didn’t take that guard’s death lightly. You know we’re more careful these days.”
My blood runs cold. Colder than the bite of wind against my frozen limbs as I reached for the Odyssa. Colder than the mountain Pigeon found me on. My mind is having a hard time catching up. Pigeon saved my life. She helped me. But—
“You’re one of the rebels,” I say.
It’s the truth.
Tansy’s eyebrows rise in offense.
“That’s what they’re calling us in the citadel, yes.
Apparently we’re all corrupted with evil magic,” Pigeon says gravely.
“But we’re more of a…volunteer group. There’s about forty of us from the affected villages, and all we want is enough to survive.
We’re only taking back what was taken from us until we find a way to heal the land. ”
I can’t move.
I made the mourning flowers for Simon. I chose the marigolds and dahlias and placed them in his mother’s arms. I saw her crying at the fountain for weeks.
“Fliss.”
Will’s voice is outside a bubble that has me paralyzed, that’s shoved a dagger between my ribs as I realize what this means.
I know who some of the rebels are. I know who is responsible for Simon’s death.
Oh gods. Oh gods. What do I do? I should turn them in, right?
I should tell Ava. It’s the right thing to do.
Is it?
Either way, the queen will find out. She’ll know I’m hiding something. She’ll pry it out. She’ll do anything she can to wring this truth from me.
I shouldn’t know this information.
I shouldn’t know this.
Pigeon should have left me on that mountain.
She shouldn’t have told me.
Oh gods, oh gods, oh—
“Fliss. Felicity. Fliss. Breathe.”
Will grabs my elbows. I blink away the sting of tears and focus on him, on that golden glint in his concerned hazel eyes.
The coil of roots in my chest calms. Not for the first time, Willoh Vane is a balm, a medicine as strong as the pansy in my hair.
More than anything, I want him to keep looking at me as intensely as he is right now.
“S-Sorry. Sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, his grip tight.
“I-I’m not used to people sharing information like that with me.”
I’m a liability. Pigeon just shared a huge potentially devastating truth, and she doesn’t know that I’m the queen’s plaything or that my best friend is soon to be part of the royal family. Neither does Will. There’s so much to hold inside, the pressure of the secrets stretches at my seams.
“Just breathe. You’ll be okay, Farrow,” Will whispers.
He releases my elbows, brushing light fingers against my lower back until my weight is balanced again. Then his hands are gone, tucked back in his pockets, and where he touched becomes an empty, cold breeze.
Pigeon gestures to the newly tied rope, a circle of protection for the fraying bark underneath.
“We come here every now and then just to…remember, I guess. To pray that the life here heals, that the north heals, and that we don’t have to steal to be heard,” she says, defiant tears threatening the corners of her eyes.
“We know loss. We’ve lost houses, farms, livestock, healthy soil, entire villages.
Fine, we can rebuild. But we’ve also lost people, loved ones, and those can’t be replaced.
This talisman of rope is an old custom. It’s a prayer for the god that died here and a prayer for those lost after.
I have siblings who need to eat. Tansy has grandparents who can’t walk well.
What are we supposed to do? Just sit around and wait to die?
The food in those trading wagons won’t be missed in the citadel. There’s plenty to go around.”