Chapter Eleven #2
Will points across the street to the widest building in the village.
“Hungry?”
The sign above the inn reads The Valerian.
The flowered herb is known for sleep, accommodation, and healing—a perfect name for a respite among this austerity.
Inside, the basic wooden tables and chairs are almost all empty, with a tarnished bar over to the right and an open door that, from the smell and steam, leads to the kitchens.
I follow Will to a small table by one of the windows.
He pulls out a chair for me—chivalrously, which doesn’t have any impact on me in the slightest—places my basket on the floor, and takes the seat opposite.
The few other patrons are mostly elderly people sitting slouched in corners, taking slow spoons of broth as though each mouthful should be savored, no matter the contents.
“Are we taking food away from the village if we eat here?” I ask in a hushed tone.
“Not at all,” Will says. “I’ve found that the people with less to give are usually the most willing to share.”
He says nothing about the opposite side of the coin. About how he probably thinks someone like Bastion, with so much wealth and security, could be more generous, especially toward places like Mithian. I wonder if that’s why they fell out, considering all I’ve learned about the royals recently.
“And besides,” he adds, because of course he has to, “we walked a long way. You wouldn’t make it back without something to eat and then I’d have to carry you and the flowers.”
I pout at his grin. Why was I warming up to him again?
A stocky middle-aged woman exits the kitchens in a stained apron and heavy knit cardigan, her blond hair bundled on the top of her head and cheeks flushed from the heat of cooking. Will waves and her face lights up like a buttercup in summer. Within seconds she’s trotted over to our table.
“Willoh, darling, I didn’t know we’d be seeing you today!” she says, then beams at me. “And who is this? Gosh, aren’t you beautiful.”
I was about to introduce myself, but her compliment has me faltering. Me, beautiful? Is that something my curse would allow me to say out loud?
“Anhora, this is Felicity Farrow, Alrick’s most renowned florist,” Will says for me. “We just popped over to Reed’s.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Anhora rests her hand on Will’s shoulder, and it strikes me to see someone touch him so familiarly. There’s usually a sword swinging for his head.
“Well, it’s lovely to see our Will with someone for once,” she says. “He always hides away in the back corner there. It took some time for him to come out of his shell when he first started visiting with Ruth. He was such a shy wee lad back then.”
“Oh, really?” I reply and raise my eyebrows at Will. It’s his turn to look away. I can’t imagine “shy” being a word associated with him at all. Luckily for the both of us, just like Card, Anhora has the sought-after talent of being able to keep a conversation flowing.
“I tell you, we’ll never forget when he saved our Truffle from falling off that ladder after my blasted roof had been blown off by a storm.
I have so many stories, Felicity, but”—she looks between us—“you probably have so much to talk about without me blabbering on, so what can I get you both? We’re running low on vegetables and the soup is a little watered down, but it’s hot.
” She says it like the promise of a warm meal is as pleasing as all the riches in the castle vault.
“We’ll take whatever you recommend,” Will says, and his embarrassment is more entertaining than I expected. Anhora pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchens.
“Huh…shy Willoh Vane…Do tell me more,” I say.
“There’s nothing to tell. I’ve been dashingly confident from birth.”
I snort. Sure.
“Why didn’t you choose your regular table?” I ask.
“Well, this one has—” He stops suddenly and gestures to the window. “I guess you can see the village and the flowers from here. And. Whatever.”
“Wow, that wasn’t very eloquent,” I tease, but he’s right. From my seat, I have a view of the whole street, the people passing by, and even better, the potted daffodils on the windowsill. Aw, did he choose this table for me? How interesting…
Anhora brings out two bowls of slate-colored soup for us and insists we share some of the freshly baked bread before she bustles away again. I blow the soup on my spoon and take a mouthful. It’s surprisingly good, if a little weak. I decide to say so.
“It tastes better than it looks.”
Will barks a laugh and shakes his head. “I do enjoy your bluntness,” he says.
“What else can I say? Cursed, remember?”
“That’s a good question. What can you say? Have you figured out all your restrictions?”
I eye him carefully. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious. You aren’t exactly common and it’s intriguing.”
My chest flares alive. He just means my curse, surely. He wants to know more from a sorcerer’s perspective. But he also pulled out my chair for me and carried my flower basket and I want him to want me around for more than my curse. I think through my sentences and try to explain.
“It depends on how I learned the factual information. If I read it or heard about it, perhaps it’s not the truth, just an opinion or it’s been misinterpreted, so I can still repeat it if I start with ‘I read that’ or ‘I heard that.’ Questions are useful if I’m not sure if I’m correct, like, um…
Anhora cooked this soup, didn’t she? Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but I can make an educated guess that is potentially wrong.
What else…? Oh, I can say my own opinion too even if it’s not true for other people.
Like, for example, grapes aren’t delicious. ”
“What? You don’t like grapes? After all those trade agreements with Dreah…”
“No, they taste weird. I don’t like the texture.”
“They’re grapes. Just shove them in your mouth.”
“No, thank you.”
Will laughs, then rests his chin on the back of his hand and looks at me so directly, my mouth goes dry.
“You really are unique, Farrow.”
A flush radiates across my cheeks, and I squeeze my spoon tightly. Oh no. I don’t know how to navigate this. It’s the first time I’ve felt like this since Lark, and I think I’m starting to really like him. He needs to stop. He can’t keep saying things like that.
No, I want him to. Compliment me. Call me unique and fascinating and intriguing and keep your eyes on me.
“But,” Will continues, giving his soup a stir, “on behalf of all grape eaters, I have to tell you that you’re lying. Grapes are very delicious.”
“I can’t lie,” I say with a weak smile, like it’s not the chain that binds my every breath.
I look out the window at the daffodils doing their best to endure the unusually cold weather.
They’re not so much thriving as surviving, just as I’ve been doing for possibly my entire life.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been shoving down my feelings and pretending everything is fine.
It was better than drowning in despair, I’d thought.
Exist and persist, stare at nothing but the future, the next step, the next order, the next bouquet, don’t let anyone down, be reliable, be polite, smile, help Card with his wedding planning, do what the queen wants.
Stubbornly stare past Lark. Put everyone else before myself.
Hold my tongue. Then Willoh Vane obstructed my path.
He helped me off the forest floor, and now I’m here, in a new village with new flowers and a person who doesn’t find my curse annoying, who doesn’t nag me to speak faster, who not only supports me but also encourages my passion for floristry.
It feels like I’m claiming back the pieces of me that I lost. I’m reaching inside and remembering myself.
I’m listening to my own wants and needs, not Lark’s or Card’s or the queen’s, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t care what they think.
I don’t care. I’m choosing myself and I’m not willing to share.