Chapter 18

W hile Evelyn waited to see if Rona would reply to her letter, she kept herself busy with her further attempts to dispel the curse on her own. She'd decided, though, to move her experiments out of the small—and highly flammable—shop to the small strip of land behind it. Under better conditions, Evelyn thought maybe the space could be used as a place for the occupants of the shops to relax after the close of business. There was enough space for chairs and tables, and iron lanterns were mounted at the rear entrance, made for holding balls of fairy moss. She thought a lavender-hued moss would cast a most enchanting glow on the space. Perhaps she could even add a trellis and a well-trained vine of wisteria to match.

Somewhere along the way, someone had constructed a firepit, and with a bit of handiwork, the stones could be replaced and stacked properly once more.

She'd decided to start her improvements by adding some flower beds.

Well, they weren't really flower beds, they were two halves of a large barrel she'd found discarded down by the docks, likely used to store grains or ale. Erwin had made short work of cutting it in half, giving Evelyn two decently sized planters.

Erwin had also aided her in renting a wagon from his employer, and she'd taken it out to the farmland to dig up as much of the cursed soil as she could haul, then brought it back to her shop.

It was the kind of hard work that left calluses on fingers and knots in muscles, but those things were easily sorted with the proper salve. She'd come home an absolute disaster, with muck clinging to her dress and hands—which Archie had chastised her for as she tracked it inside—but it was the first time since beginning her experiments that she felt truly satisfied with her day's progress.

She'd decided to treat the blight the way she would treat a stubborn illness. While most mild-to-moderate illnesses could be remedied, or at least significantly aided by a potion or salve or even a common herbal draught, there were occasionally those types of maladies that clung a little more tightly, and required a bit more of a magical push to convince them to release their hold.

Aside from her enchanted satchel and the protective runes stitched into her traveling cloak, Evelyn's staff was the most magical of her possessions. In recent years, she'd rarely used it in her spellwork, and instead tended to leave it in its broom form the majority of the time. The spell to change it from staff to broom was as simple as drawing a breath now, though it had not always been so. One of the first magical lessons young witches were taught revolved around the command of their broom, both to learn how to fly and also how to use it as a channel for magical energy.

There were many witches more skilled with their staff than Evelyn, and she much preferred to work with potions and herbs, as she found them far less finicky. However, in the case of the menacing blight, she'd decided to try a new tactic.

She stood over one of the barrels of soil, one arm outstretched to keep the tip of her staff hovering just above the dirt. Her eyes closed as she tipped her face up to the sun and made her pleas to Auriel, the goddess of old, she who preceded the Four, and gave the world its sun and moon and stars. Magic coursed through her chest, down her arm and fingertips as she wove the words of a sacred incantation into her plea. She felt the sparks of power eager to flow through her and into the world, willing to do her bidding, but the magic stopped short and faltered, unable to find its way out of her and into the staff.

Evelyn's eyes squeezed shut more tightly and she tried again. Coaxing turned to urging and then grew to a rising frustration .

"Uh, am I interrupting something?—"

With a jolt, Evelyn inadvertently plunged the tip of her staff into the soil. The curse repelled the magic coursing through the staff, and a shock of energy rumbled up the length of carved wood and singed Evelyn's hand.

The restrained growl in the back of her throat was startled into a sharp yelp and she dropped the staff to the ground before whirling around to face the source of the voice.

"Are you all right?" Coren said, rushing toward her. His gray eyes snapped to the fallen staff, which had somehow turned itself back into a broom, its bristles singed and smoking, then to Evelyn as she cradled her burned hand to her chest. "What—what just happened?"

Evelyn scowled at her injury. The thin skin between her thumb and forefinger was red, but not blistered. She'd gotten lucky. Her gaze flicked up to Coren and she straightened to her full height, trying to match him, though she fell short by a few inches. "What were you thinking? Interrupting a witch while she was conjuring?"

Coren's hands hung midway between them, and Evelyn realized he'd been about to reach out and take her hand, to inspect it for himself. Heat flashed over her cheeks and she pulled back another half step, out of his reach.

Coren dropped his hands to his sides, his palms patting uselessly at his trousers, before moving quickly to slip inside the deep pockets. "I-I'm sorry, Evelyn. I didn't realize that you were—" The knit between his brows deepened and he glanced past her, at the half-barrel filled with soil. "Conjuring?"

Evelyn sighed and gently wiped her hands with her apron. "It's fine. You couldn't have known." She eyed the broom and the smoking bristles. "Maybe it was best you interrupted the spell. I hadn't yet poured the full force into it. The backlash might have been even worse, if I had." The thought sent a chill up her spine. "This magic is unlike anything I've dealt with before."

Her lips pressed tightly together at having said the words out loud. A flash of a memory replayed through her mind—of standing across from Odessa that last night, her belongings scattered and halfway packed. Odessa had asked if she was sure she could handle it, and in her haste to get away from the king and the castle and the threats and chaos, she'd brushed aside her dear friend's concerns without giving them more than a moment's consideration.

The tip of her nose stung, her vision blurring ever so slightly as she stared at her poor, battered broom.

Coren squatted down and gently picked up the broom. He inspected the singed bristles with a studious eye. "I have some marshlight reeds at home. They wouldn't quite match, at least in color, but they would hold up well."

Evelyn stared at him as he slowly rose to standing, his eyes brimming with earnest concern. "Thank you," she said, the words coming out thin. She cleared her throat and took the broom from him. "I think I have some spare bristles."

Coren's hands found his pockets once more. "Of course." He tried a smile, but it only succeeded in lifting one side of his mouth. "Listen, I can come back later if this is a bad time. I tried knocking on the front door, but then I heard your voice out here, and?—"

Evelyn leaned the broom against the wall of her shop. "It's all right. I could probably use a break to clear my head." She considered the pink-tinged skin on her hand. "And get something for this, too, I suppose." Looking back at Coren, she tilted her head toward the back door of the shop. "Would you like to come inside for some tea?"

He glanced at the door, then raked a hand over the back of his neck and glanced over the opposite shoulder. "I have my cart with me," he said, as though this somehow answered the question.

"Oh," Evelyn replied. "Right, you probably have a market to get to, or a shop…? I never did get around to asking if you have a place of your own here in town. A shop, I mean. Not where you live, as that's surely none of my business." She clamped her lips together, willing the babbling brook of words to cease.

Coren smiled. "The answer to both questions would be no," he replied, his voice warm. "I suppose I'm like you, in that way. I live where I work, and I found there was a shortage of gardens on this side of the city wall. Even before the blight. In any case, as it stands, I don't have a market today," he continued. "Which is partially what brought me here. I do deliveries on off-market days. I have a few clients who order things in larger quantities than is practical to keep at my stall, so I bring them to their place of business or their home. I, uh, had some leftover bits and bobs, and I thought you might like to have them. Or could, at least, make use of them. I just finished dropping off three rather heavy buckets of lavender to a soaper who has a shop up in the hilltop district."

"Lavender soap?" A dreamy smile made its way across Evelyn's face. "That sounds divine. I've just been using the stuff they sell at the bathhouse, which is fine, I suppose, but rather… plain. You'll have to tell me where to find this shop."

Coren smiled wide enough to show the barest hints of dimples peeking through his thick auburn and gold beard. "She gave me a few bars as part of the payment. Would you like one?"

Evelyn blinked. "Oh, no. I couldn't just take one from you. You need them!"

Coren chuckled. "Are you saying I should bathe more regularly? Because when Orla gave me half a dozen bars of soap along with the contents of her coin purse, I did worry that perhaps she was trying to tell me something."

"What? Oh, no! That isn't what I meant at all. You smell like—" Evelyn stopped short of saying bergamot, and wild sage, and the woods after a heavy rain.

Coren arched one of his thick brows .

Evelyn grabbed the hem of her apron and fussed with wiping at the cuticles of her nails, scrubbing at the stubborn traces of peat moss, left over from the morning's potion work. The injured portion of her hand protested, but she ignored it. "You smell just fine," she said quickly. "That's all I meant to say."

Coren's grin remained in place, but he didn't press her further. "Fair enough. For what it's worth, I'd say you smell lovely enough without the need of lavender, but I would be happy to share my bounty all the same."

She peeked up through dark lashes, and willed her heart to stop galloping away like the wild horses that lived near the base of the Bramblefell Mountains.

It did not so much as consider heeding her wishes.

"Now I really ought to get back to the cart before a pack of pickpockets decides to run off with as much as they can carry," Coren added.

Evelyn dropped her apron and ceased fiddling. "Oh, for the sake of Caele, Coren, Sailcloth Row is not some den of murderers and thieves."

He cast a skeptical glance up at the shoddy exterior of the shops.

Seemingly at his appraisal, the back door of the cobbler shop swung open and Maeve emerged, wielding a meat cleaver, the front of her leather apron stained a dark red. Her black hair was piled atop her head, the ends sticking out at off angles as the thick mass attempted to escape the scarf she had tied around it .

Coren flinched and took a step forward, coming in line with Evelyn.

Maeve glanced between Evelyn and Coren, and her pale face split with a wicked grin. "Oh, hello," she said.

"Maeve!" Evelyn exclaimed, gesturing at the woman's front. "What happened? Are you butchering a flock of chickens in there?"

Maeve glanced at the cleaver, then at the stained apron as though she'd only just woken from a dream and found herself in such a state. "Oh—" Her grin turned impish. "No, I can assure you, no chickens were harmed. Can you imagine the mess they'd make in my shop? This isn't blood—" She waved the cleaver at herself. "It's red dye. I've been working on this pair of bloody boots—" She winced. "Poor choice of words. But the damned things won't take the way they ought to, and the customer is some merchant's wife, upset she had to send her servants all the way to the ‘flea-infested docks'—her words, not mine—to order them for her. And every day since, she's sent one of the poor things to ask after the boots, and when I have to send them away, I feel as though I may well be sending them to the gallows."

Evelyn winced, hoping she was only exaggerating and that there weren't really merchants and lords who would do such a thing.

"And the… uh, cleaver?" Evelyn asked.

Maeve shrugged. "I needed something to cut up my apple, didn't I? "

She reached into her dye-stained apron's pocket and pulled out a red apple, placed it on the rickety table, and took a wild swing with the cleaver, chopping it neatly in half. She set the knife down, grabbed half of the apple, and took a bite, then patted her apron again. "Now, where did I stash that bit of cheese?"

Coren slid a questioning glance toward Evelyn.

"Let's go check on the cart," she said.

Nareen greeted Evelyn with a soft bark and a wag of her tail. She stroked the old dog's ears while Coren bustled around the cart like a honeybee, showing Evelyn the assortment of herbs he'd brought for her to consider. Nearly everything was something she'd ordered before or had mentioned in conversation, including a full basket of the buttershades. When she'd agreed to everything, Coren insisted on helping her carry the bundles and bottles and jars inside, lining them carefully on her worktable before going out to get the next armful.

It took a few trips, and when they were done, the front of the shop was bursting with color and fragrances. He stayed long enough to enjoy a cup of tea, their conversation largely revolving around what Evelyn could make with the assorted herbs. He listened intently as Evelyn spoke, and complimented her on the tea blend.

When they were done, she set the empty mugs in the wash basin and followed Coren outside. She watched from the stoop as he secured the empty buckets and pails firmly in place with ropes and cords, ensuring nothing could fall off the back once he got the cart moving.

"Thank you, again," Evelyn said, smiling warmly as Coren came around the back of the cart. "I'll be able to help a lot of folks with these ingredients."

He smiled and ducked his head in a brief nod. "I know you will. You're all the farmers want to talk about anymore. I think if you keep it up much longer, they might see about putting up a statue of you in the square."

Evelyn laughed and shook her long curls over her shoulders. "I doubt I could hold still long enough for a sculptor to carve my likeness from stone."

Coren's lips quirked to one side. "Oh, is that the only reason? You'd otherwise be fine to find yourself immortalized in marble?"

Evelyn giggled. "All right, I have other objections, too. Although it is nice to feel appreciated."

"Aye." He considered her for a long moment, his eyes sweeping over the lines of her face, as though wondering for a moment what her cheekbones might look like, if cut from stone.

Evelyn dipped her chin, letting her hair fall back over her face. "And I appreciate you, so I suppose it's a full circle."

"Happy to help," Coren said. "You take care of yourself, Evelyn. Perhaps I'll see you at the farmer's market on Caelmorn."

She smiled and met his eyes once more. "I'll be there."

He said goodbye and went to the front of the cart. In an effortless motion, he bent and grasped the two handles. When his grip was firm, he rose to his full height and the support pegs in the front lifted from the stones, allowing the wheels in the back to roll freely. Nareen barked and led the way, trotting in the direction of the main road.

Coren hesitated before he joined the stream of traffic, his cart rolling to a slow stop as he craned around to glance back toward her shop. He smiled when he saw Evelyn watching him, then turned and went on his way.

Evelyn lingered on her stoop another long moment, savoring the warm afternoon sun and the smell of salt on the soft breeze.

When she went back inside, she found a small, rectangular package, tied with twine and a sprig of dried lavender, laid upon the center of her worktable.