Chapter 7

A carved wooden sign greeted Evelyn at the Branigans' farm the following morning, not long after daybreak. She had followed the winding dirt road past three windmills, their sails slowly spinning, as though they were not quite awake and ready for the day to begin. A fenced yard surrounded the cottage, and several brown-and-white goats stood grazing. The largest of them scraped his horns along one of the fence posts and let out a bleat of greeting—or perhaps warning—as Evelyn wandered past. A fruit tree stood rooted in one corner of the pasture, but only a few green leaves dotted its branches.

The small home at the end of the path reminded her of the thatch-roofed homes in Everspring Glade. Simple and modest, but filled with their own cozy charm. She recalled long, rainy afternoons spent reading, sprawled before the hearth in her childhood home, while she listened to her mother hum as she chopped dried herbs and prepared for the afternoon's potion lesson.

A familiar wave of homesickness tugged in the center of Evelyn's chest, the longing strong enough to choke her, as she knew that even if she returned to Everspring now, the feeling would not fade. It wasn't the place, but the person, who'd made it feel like home. And now, that home was gone, off to wander the stardust with the Four.

Before Evelyn was fully lost in the swell of grief, the door of the cottage burst open and a small boy, Brodie, raced out on bare feet, proudly hoisting a soot-colored kitten up over his head. The kitten was decidedly less enthusiastic than the small boy. "You came!"

Lenora followed quickly in the boy's wake, sighing, and flapped the hem of her apron at her son.

"This is Goose!" the boy announced when he skittered to a stop before her.

Lenora clucked her tongue. "Put the poor thing down, Brodie. He needs to go and eat, as do you! Your porridge will be long cold by now."

"Goose doesn't like porridge," the boy complained.

Lenora smiled at Evelyn, and took the boy by the shoulders. "As you can see, the salve seems to have done the trick." She smiled down at her child, whose eyes did look much improved .

"I'm glad to hear it!" Evelyn replied, grinning at the boy as he worked to contain the squirming kitten. "Your farm is lovely," she added, taking a moment to glance around at the neighboring homes and the idyllic yards and fields between them. "It's so peaceful out here. Quite a contrast to the hustle and bustle of the city."

Lenora gave a laugh. "You won't be saying that come harvesttime. We'll be as busy as a beehive!" A flicker of doubt crossed her face as she looked out at the goats. "At least, that's the hope. If Avalora sends us her blessing."

Brodie hoisted the kitten a bit higher over his head, waiting for Evelyn to stroke the sweet kitten between the ears, before turning and barreling back to the cottage. His small voice carried after him, as he discussed whether Goose might like to try a fried egg instead.

Lenora gave an exasperated shake of her head, though a smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "That boy," she said. "He's the youngest of seven, and gave us quite a scare when he was first born." Her eyes went misty as the thought trailed off.

Evelyn smiled gently. "I'm glad the salve helped."

"Perhaps a little too well," Leona said with a laugh. "He attempted to smuggle a second kitten inside last night, and wound up getting himself a scratch!" Shaking her head, she reached for Evelyn's arm. "Now, Evelyn, let's see about getting you those eggs!"

Lenora led Evelyn around the farm, showing her the chicken coop and the pen of goats, along with a large white dog, who she said was blind in one eye and liked the companionship of his hooved friends. The farm was simple, but the pride of Lenora and her husband, Gerald, shone through in every inch of it.

By the time they wrapped back around the cottage to the small porch, three visitors came striding up the walk—two women and one man, all wearing similar clothing to Lenora and her family. The shorter of the two women spoke first, her skin a russet brown, her hair pulled back and hidden by a wide-brimmed straw hat. "Oi, Lennie, is this the witch woman you told us about?"

Evelyn's eyes widened and she swung around to look at Lenora as she stepped out of the cottage, a basket handle tucked into the crook of her arm.

"I said I didn't know if she's a witch," Lenora replied, her tone that of someone who had already repeated themselves once or twice. Then, looking to Evelyn, she cocked her head. "Are you, dear? I thought with the fancy stitching on your cloak, you might be, but then, I don't keep up with fashion these days, so perhaps it's only decoration. And then, there was the owl…"

Ah, yes, the owl.

Where he was now, Evelyn didn't know, though she thought it might be for the best that he was off exploring or sleeping. She glanced back at the three curious neighbors, then gave a slight nod. "Y-yes. I'm a Sister of Caele."

"See, there you have it," Lenora said, gesturing vaguely toward the trio at the foot of the walkway, as though the revelation was no more important than some small tidbit of town news repeated around the water well.

The three surged forward, their eyes alight, and within half a heartbeat, each listed off a series of maladies and ailments, pleading with Evelyn to help them, the way she'd already helped Lenora and Brodie. Everything from dry skin and aching joints, to bumps and bruises and burns, and one poor soul who had a lingering rash after tumbling down a hill into a thicket filled with stinging nettles.

Evelyn retrieved a parchment and stub of charcoal from her satchel midway through, writing it all down as fast as the neighbors could rattle it off, until Lenora interceded and called it to a stop.

"Whoa, you three! Can't you see she just has the two hands? Magic or not, there's only so much one person can do!"

The taller of the two women scowled. "Well of course you would say that, you already got your potion!"

Lenora's eyes narrowed.

"If I may—" Evelyn interjected. "Where is the healer? I believe his name is Jarvis? Does he not visit the farms?"

A glance was exchanged amongst the four townsfolk, and while not a word was said aloud, their eyes spoke volumes. Frustration seemed the most evident of the swirling emotions .

Evelyn dropped her chin, bobbing a quick nod. "I see…"

Lenora sighed heavily. "Jarvis means well, I'm sure?—"

The taller woman beside her scoffed.

Lenora briefly narrowed her eyes, then continued. "He used to come more frequently, but lately it's been longer and longer between visits. If there is serious injury, one of us can leave and track him down, but it often leads to a bit of a chase. There was a healer woman, much like yourself, who passed through several years ago. She enjoyed life out on the farms and offered to stay through the winter, but Jarvis caught wind of it, and while none of us knows the particulars of what was said, she left not long after he confronted her. Just up and vanished in the middle of the night! He came around a bit more after that, like he meant to make it up to us, but that only lasted so long."

Lenora wrung her apron. "We don't often have the money to pay, the way they do in the hilltop district, or up in the mountain settlement, where Lord Greymairn is building his fancy home."

Another round of disapproving glances followed.

Evelyn considered this, stringing together some of the threads of information she'd gathered since arriving in town, from the encounter with Paulette and the merchant's daughter to the offer to stay as a private healer in the haven above the city. As the tapestry stitched itself together in her mind, she considered the four people before her, then gave a resolute nod and finished writing her notes. "It will take me a few days to gather supplies and brew, but I promise I will return and do what I can to help."

The deep lines and knitted brows lifted, immediately replaced by smiles and grateful words as the four happily agreed.

Evelyn returned to the inn and offered the bottle of goat's milk and the half-dozen eggs to the innkeeper, exchanging them for another night's stay and a portion of the evening meal. Afterward, she went to her room and sifted through the notes she'd made at the farm. As with the day before, she'd noticed patches of ruined soil, where nothing grew, along with some blackened trees and barren fields.

She'd meant to ask more questions, but had quickly been swept away with the list of maladies and requests for aid, and so decided to earn a bit more familiarity and goodwill before trying to dig deeper. With that in mind, she wrote out a cleaner, more organized version of her list, using her dip pen and ink set to make a cleaner list than she had with the stub of charcoal she kept in her satchel.

After completing her list, she bundled back into her traveling cloak and left the inn, planning to get some shopping done before supper. The road outside the inn was quite busy, and filled with the voices of merchants and dock workers as they called out to one another in passing. Evelyn stepped into the flow and kept a brisk pace with the crowd as she walked uphill, toward the central marketplace she'd seen on her first day.

She kept her hood pulled up, covering her head, and burrowed deeper into its shadow as she passed the street where The Silver Fin stood, hoping to avoid bumping into the orc or his wife. Fortunately, it was easy to blend in with the bustle of foot traffic, and she went about her shopping, eventually putting the incident to the back of her mind.

As the sun began to sink toward the water, a new flurry of energy swept through the streets. Several women passed her by, carrying bouquets of flowers, while children had delicate blooms braided into their hair or tucked behind an ear. Some of the men, too, had a flower looped through a buttonhole or tucked into a shirt pocket.

Curious, Evelyn followed the procession and arrived at the large plaza with the fountain bearing the two-headed fish, and found festival preparations were under way. Several townsfolk stood on ladders, working at the shouted orders of those on the ground, to hang strings of paper lanterns between the iron lamps outlining the square. Others worked to tuck fresh flowers into the bushes planted inside large ceramic pots and tend the decorative window boxes on the shops, occasionally waving away a sleepy honeybee that nestled in the gentle blooms. Other flowers sprouted from verdant fronds floating in the shallow water at the base of the fountain.

Merchants stood under the cover of four large tents, where multiple tables had been set up. To the right, the tents appeared to sell various types of foods and beverages, while the ones to the left displayed artisan goods. The scent of the delicacies wafted on the late afternoon breeze, promising both sweet and savory options. Evelyn's mouth set to watering at the aroma of candied nuts.

Musicians were setting up near the fountain, and already, children were laughing and playing, running wild and free as their parents looked on.

Evelyn had her eye on a merchant setting up a large bowl of some kind of spiced punch, when a tall shadow stretched across the cobbles to join her own.

"Trying to decide which stall to terrorize next?" a warm, low voice rumbled.

"I beg your—" Turning, Evelyn found herself staring up into a pair of storm-gray eyes and a mouth quirked with only the barest hint of humor, "—pardon. Oh, it's you."

"And a fine Avamorn, to you, as well," he replied.

"Truly, how many times must I explain myself? I didn't intend to steal your customers?—"

Coren held up one hand, large and rough, the hands of a laborer, not a wealthy merchant. "It was meant in jest," he said, flashing an easy smile. Evelyn raised an eyebrow and his smile faded. He rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, still considering her from the corner of his eye. "I fear I may have been a bit harsh with you at the market."

Surprise moved across her face, but Coren appeared to misread it, and hurried to add, "The market can be a bit… trying, and I was not in the best of moods."

"I see." She nodded, but her brows still furrowed together. "Well, think nothing of it. I didn't take it personally."

Coren flicked his gaze toward the activity in the plaza. "Are you attending the festival?"

"I don't know anything about it. What is the occasion?"

"Oh." Coren dropped his hand to his side, then slipped it into the pocket of his olive green trousers. "It's the Festival of Blooms. It happens every spring. Normally it's earlier in the season, but we had to wait this year."

"Why is that?"

Coren met her eyes, then looked away just as quickly. "The fields where the flowers grow needed a bit more time." A frown twisted his lips.

Evelyn gave an understanding nod. "I see. Some of the farmers I met today mentioned some kind of… blight?" She added a slight lilt to her voice, and kept her eyes wide and curious.

"Aye. It's become more widespread every year, each harvest growing thinner and thinner," Coren replied. Worry showed in the bunched lines at the corners of his eyes .

Evelyn guessed him to be in his thirties, like her, but his light complexion showed subtle signs of years spent working in the sun. He was an herb merchant, but she ventured to guess he was the herb farmer, too.

"Any idea what's causing it?" Evelyn asked. "Was there some sort of natural disaster or sudden change of weather?"

Coren's eyes shifted past her shoulder, and while his lips twitched, he ultimately gave no answer, opting instead to hitch one broad shoulder. "One of the mysteries of the Four, I suppose," he offered, only then returning his eyes to hers.

A defense of the goddesses—particularly Caele—rose to her lips, but she tamped it down, instead mirroring his casual air. "These things happen, I suppose. I hope your herb suppliers are unaffected thus far."

"Uh, yes," Coren stammered. "For the time being." He glanced away again, but only briefly. When his gaze returned to her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Does that mean you're intending to stay in Shieglas? When we spoke at the market, I was under the impression you were only visiting."

It was Evelyn's turn to falter with her words. "Well, uh, I haven't made a final decision."

"I see." Coren studied her face, his eyes lingering on her lips just long enough to send her heart stumbling.

The music shifted abruptly, turning from a melodic tune to blaring fanfare. Evelyn and Coren jolted, each taking half a step back as they swung toward the source. Cheers and shouts went up in the gathered crowd as a procession emerged from the gate to the merchants' district. Finely dressed men and women, and more than a handful of children with fresh-scrubbed faces and combed hair, swept through the gate and entered the plaza. At the center of the attention was a spindly man with gray hair and a prominent nose. On his arm was a woman with dark curls and cutting eyes that flicked around the crowd with the kind of detachment Evelyn recognized from time spent among the nobles of Benenfar.

Most startlingly, the man wore a gold pin on his chest, the metal twisted into the shape of a blacksmith's hammer.

Evelyn knew the symbol at once, for it belonged to the god Ardorin and his followers.

Coren leaned in. "That's Lord and Lady Greymairn," he said from the corner of his mouth. "He oversees the harbor."

Evelyn gratefully nodded at the explanation, then returned to studying the lord, her eyes squinting as she tried to recall whether she'd seen him before at the castle. He didn't immediately seem familiar, but she tucked her chin a bit and hoped he wouldn't look her way. King Ayren enjoyed trotting out the four royal witches as though they were finely bred horses, ensuring that both his court and any foreign dignitaries and guests knew he had the magic of all four covens at his fingertips.

Lord Greymairn and his wife disentangled from one another in a well-practiced movement, with her sweeping off to one side to stand with the other merchants and residents of the wealthier district, leaving her husband to command the crowd's full attention.

"People of Shieglas, welcome to the annual Festival of Blooms," he began.

Applause and some wine-induced enthusiasm followed.

"As many of you know, my family began this tradition, going back forty-seven years," he continued, his expression frozen in a tight smile. "In years past, we've often dedicated the festivities to Caele, as she has long granted us the beauty of the delicate flowers you see throughout the fields and here, this evening, of course. However, tonight I would like to propose a new tradition?—"

Several whispers and gasps rippled through the crowded plaza.

Lord Greymairn's eyes gleamed as he turned and beckoned. A second stream of people emerged through the gate—half a dozen young servants, all wearing the same colors as their employer. In their hands, they carried large vases, bursting with flowers—but these were not flowers of nature, but of metal.

The whispers of concern turned quickly to gasps and giggles of delight as the strange flowers were distributed to the tables and merchant stalls, and people gathered to get a closer look. One vase was set down near to where Evelyn and Coren stood, and they moved toward it in unison.

Delicate copper and silver made up the stems and leaves, while fragments of colorful resin were wrapped in wire, the way a jeweler might frame a pendant for a fine necklace, only thinner and more lightweight, giving the petals the shapes and colors of their inspiration. Vibrant greens, brilliant reds, blues and yellows and purples.

"Ardorin has blessed us with his mind for machines and progress," Lord Greymairn continued over the hum of excited chatter. "And together, we can make beautiful things!"

The crowd roared with applause, but Evelyn cut a sidelong glance toward Coren and found his lips drawn into a thin line, his eyes hooded.

With his proclamation complete, the nobleman signaled with a gloved hand, and another servant raced forward, holding out a sack. With a sardonic smile, the lord plunged his gloved fist into the bag, yanked free a handful of silver coins, and tossed them into the crowd as the band struck up their previous melody.

A few more fistfuls of rivermarks followed, sending the crowd into hysterics as the coins hit the stones and rolled all over the plaza. A trio of folks chased down a coin, and Coren swept out an arm, sweeping Evelyn from their thundering path. With a soft gasp, Evelyn pressed back against the wall of the nearest shop, to avoid being caught in the chaos. The music played all the louder, over the cheers and scuffles as people elbowed and tussled to claim their coins.

Evelyn's stomach clenched, though she couldn't fully understand why.

A rivermark rolled down a line of tamped sand between the cobbles, and hit the side of Coren's leather boot. He bent to pluck the coin from the street, inspected it in the glinting of the waning sun, then turned and handed it to Evelyn. "Here. It was headed toward you, before my toe got in its path."

One corner of Evelyn's mouth quirked. "You should keep it. Consider it my penance for scaring off your customer yesterday."

Coren huffed a dry laugh. "Truth be told, your order made up for it and then some." He offered her the coin again, and when she still refused to take it, he dropped it into the exterior pocket on the side of her cloak, then flashed her a lopsided grin. "We'll call it a truce."

Evelyn fished the coin from her pocket and held it out toward him, her palm open. "Well good, now that we're friends, I'd like to place another order. Do you have any parchment on you?"

Coren stared a moment, then chuckled and took the rivermark, his fingertips brushing the palm of her hand. To Evelyn's surprise, his hands were not quite as rough as they looked, though as she retracted her own hand and tried to ignore the faint tingle, she made note of a salve she could offer him, then smiled as she imagined his reaction to such a gift.

"You're an interesting woman, Evelyn Rosewood, I'll give you that much," Coren replied as the coin disappeared into his pocket.

Her grin widened. "Oh, you have no idea."