Chapter 8

" J ust how much of that plum wine did you drink last night, Evelyn Rosewood?"

Evelyn slung an arm over her face, blocking the sunbeams filtering through the window as her familiar disturbed the curtains. "Archie," she groaned.

The rustle of wings and soft hoots was followed by stronger rays of light as the owl managed to tug the drapes open the rest of the way. "The sun has been up for hours!"

At this, Evelyn peeked out just long enough to shoot the owl a glare, then quickly retreated back under the sleeve of her nightgown.

" Hoot !"

Wings flapped and Evelyn pushed up to a sitting position. "Fine, fine, I'm awake now."

"Good, now you can order some more of that delectable marmalade." Archie's feathers rustled as a thrill of anticipation swept over his tiny, winged body.

"Marmalade again?"

"Why not? You can afford it!"

Evelyn breathed a laugh and rubbed her eyes. "I fear our newfound wealth has gone to your head, Archie." A smile tugged at her lips, even as a dull thrum of a headache pulsed between her eyes. In truth, the owl wasn't all that far off in his estimation of her troubles. She had indeed partaken of a few glasses of wine over the course of the festivities in the plaza. "And it was pomegranate, not plum," she added.

"What was?" Archie hooted.

"The wine."

"Hmm. Well, I believe I'll stick with orange for the marmalade, if you don't mind."

Despite Archie's heckling and the twinge of headache, Evelyn smiled as she dressed for the day and stepped out to order breakfast from the rosy-cheeked innkeeper. Perhaps she had indulged in one too many glasses of the sweet wine, but the night spent at the Festival of Blooms was the most fun she'd had in recent memory—and certainly the most free she'd felt since the bitter winter afternoon when Rona and the other four coven leaders declared she would be the next Sister of Caele sent to serve the king. From that day forward, it had seemed as though her life shrank and narrowed, and now it was expanding again. Like lungs drawing a gasp of air, after spending far too long underwater.

"What are you planning to do with the day?" Archie asked when she returned. "Now that I've so cruelly roused you from sleep?"

Evelyn padded across the room, wincing at the place where her bare heel peeked through a large hole in the bottom of her knitted sock and touched the cold floor. The socks, a solstice gift from Tansy two winters ago, were nearly at the end of their usefulness, but she was loath to part with them. She sat on the edge of the bed and drew the quilt up around her shoulders, her gaze sliding to the window, where a drizzly gray mist had covered the street.

"We need to find a more long term place to stay. Somewhere with a fireplace and room for a proper workbench and shelves to organize my supplies. Preferably somewhere private, too, where I won't have to worry about nosy neighbors peeking in or interrupting my spell work."

"I suppose you could ask that oaf of a man you were making eyes at last night," Archie said, his wings fluttering as he took a long jump and landed on the bed frame.

Evelyn glanced up, then shook her head. "What are you—? Coren, you mean? Archie, honestly. He's the herb merchant I told you about! What you witnessed last night was a matter of commerce, nothing more."

"It looked a fair bit cozier than a bit of commerce." The owl's golden eyes narrowed. "I saw you purchase him a glass of wine."

Evelyn smiled at the memory, then quickly banished it under her familiar's ongoing scrutiny. "I didn't. Not really, anyway. See, there was this rivermark, and he insisted I keep it, and so then I insisted on using it to buy the—" She stopped short and glowered. "You know what, it doesn't matter."

Archie's gaze narrowed further.

Evelyn tossed her hands in the air. "Oh, you're impossible. I don't know why I bother."

A soft knock signaled the arrival of their breakfast tray, giving Evelyn a chance to steer the conversation far from the intriguing herb merchant.

"Well, if you won't ask the oaf?—"

"Coren…"

"You might consult someone at the post office, which we have yet to find," Archie continued, seemingly convinced by the appearance of a jar of marmalade to set aside his teasing. At least for the time being.

The small owl flew over and pecked at the toast impatiently, making it difficult for Evelyn to spread the rest of the marmalade evenly. "Stop that!" she finally hissed. "Honestly, Archie, you have the table manners of a swine."

If he took umbrage at the remark, he was too busy eating to object. Or, perhaps his beak was sealed shut with the sticky fruit preserves.

Which, Evelyn thought, would serve him right .

"In a town this size, it shouldn't be too hard to find a suitable space."

"While you're at it, see if you can't figure out where to buy our own marmalade," Archie added, finding his voice once again.

"Yes, yes," Evelyn muttered. "I'll ask the innkeeper about it, and see if she might know of more permanent lodgings. Or would that be rude?"

A tendril of doubt unfurled in her stomach. Despite her thirty-two years, she'd never had to find her own housing before. In Everspring, everyone had a cottage with the essentials, and there were common gathering places for work and leisure. Cooking duties were shared among the sisters, as was tending to the gardens and animals. Some of the witches were better suited for making clothing, while others constructed baskets and fishing nets; some hunted or foraged for food in the woods around the base of the Bramblefell Mountains, while others tended to repairs and the construction of tools.

Those who wished to settle down and start a family did so, and the parents often came together and minded the children in gaggles, allowing for various types of work to continue.

Even at the castle, Evelyn hadn't fully started from scratch. The sisters of Caele who had come before her had placed the furnishings in the lofty tower, meals were arranged and prepared in the royal kitchens, and there were servants available to aid with the menial everyday tasks of mending clothing, laundering, and making repairs should something break.

Granted, they never got around to properly fixing Evelyn's roof, but that was another matter.

The idea of starting over on her own terms—in a home of her choosing, with the opportunity to furnish it and arrange it any way she liked—was equal parts intoxicating and daunting.

At the foot of the bed, Archie stuck his face inside the rim of the marmalade jar, his beak and small tongue working to get every available glob stuck to the bottom.

Evelyn snorted a laugh. "I'm not helping you clean all that out of your feathers."

The owl peered up, his eyes halfway glazed over, delirious from joy and sugar and sleepiness.

"Perhaps we might find a house with room for a coop. What would you think of that? You know I've always wanted chickens of my own," Evelyn asked, arching a brow in Archie's direction.

That snapped him free of his dreamy haze. He hooted loudly and shook his wings. "What's this?! I'll not be forced to live alongside such cur!"

Evelyn grinned. "Oh, I was only teasing! Though the eggs would prove useful, both for food and in my potions. One can do a lot with a simple egg yolk."

Archie only glowered. "I'll have to take your word for it. "

For reasons entirely unclear to Evelyn, her feathered familiar held extreme prejudice against chickens.

"No coop, I promise," she said, stifling a laugh as she raised one hand, holding it up as if vowing a solemn oath. "But a little cottage, you think?"

"Yes, yes, whatever you say," Archie replied, his head drooping down to his chest, his eyes half closed.

Evelyn left Archie to sleep off his sugar-induced haze. The innkeeper gave her directions to the post office, where a community message board was mounted with offers for those looking for work, as well as those seeking workers, and another section was reserved for postings of homes and shops available for lease.

Evelyn took one of the listings and, with the help of kind passersby, navigated her way to a shabby side street named Sailcloth Row, not two blocks from the bustling harbor. The road was paved with well-worn cobbles bearing the marks of heavy foot traffic. The shops looked worn, too, with a few boarded up and locked tight. She found the vacant space pushed up alongside a cobbler's shop, the exterior of which had once been painted a cheery yellow, though the color had faded over time. Rough-hewn flower boxes were mounted beneath the two windows framing the door, but no plants sprouted from the dark soil.

Evelyn double-checked the address on the scrap of parchment and came to a stop in front of the vacant shop. The advertisement said there was a loft that could be made suitable for a living space, and the price was more than fair, at least, so far as it was within her own means to pay, and it was quite a bit less expensive than the other listings she'd found on the message board.

Boards covered the front windows, one of which seemed to be cracked. Whoever had nailed up the boards seemed to have done so in a hurry, and there was a gap wide enough for Evelyn to press her eye to it and see the darkened interior of the shop. The space looked big enough, with two smaller windows on the opposite wall. A stone hearth stood near a narrow staircase. It was simple, but there was plenty of space, and judging by the relative quiet on the road, Evelyn thought she might be able to work without much interruption.

"Glad Iseulmorn!"

Evelyn jerked back from the window, clutching at her chest, as she spun and found a willowy woman with a long braid, as dark and glossy as a raven's beak, but for a few silver strands, leaning against the doorframe of the cobbler's shop. She stood about as tall as Evelyn, with a well-formed figure and toned arms bare under a short-sleeved black dress. Her braid hung in a loose tail nearly to her waist, with two curling strands falling about her angular face, and her skin was as pale as moonlight reflecting off a still pond.

She looked at Evelyn with a wary eye. "Well, you aren't the mercer, are you?"

Evelyn blinked. "Uh—no?"

The woman waved a hand, the middle finger adorned by a simple silver band. "No matter. The hides will turn up eventually, I suppose." She sighed and shifted her weight onto the slight heel of her black boots, and considered Evelyn anew, her sharp eyes lingering on the pointed toes of Evelyn's own boots that peeked out from the hem of her cloak. "You in the market for a new pair of boots?"

Blinking, Evelyn followed the woman's gaze and then fluttered her cloak, momentarily concealing her shabby footwear. The boots, like so much of her wardrobe, were worn and weathered and patched so many times, there was hardly anything left of the original material.

"Are you looking for something specific?" the woman pressed. "I have more inside."

"Perhaps another time," Evelyn replied, offering a warm smile. "I was actually interested in the shop for lease, if it's still available."

The woman straightened and brushed the braid off her shoulder. "Did Roisin send you this way?"

Evelyn frowned. "Um, I'm not sure." She held up the scrap of parchment she'd taken from the message board.

"Ah. Yes, that will be her listing. "

"Oi, Maeve! Tell me you have my boots ready!" a deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind Evelyn.

With a jolt, she whirled and found a massive goblinkin man striding toward the shops. Blue-tinged skin stretched over thick muscles and broad shoulders. His hair was black as ink, cut to the scalp on the sides, the rest pulled back in a thick braid. He wore trousers, a simple linen with a leather belt, but only a leather jerkin covered his torso, leaving much of his solid form on display. Whirls of black tattoos circled his forearms, stopping with thick black rings of ink just below his elbows.

Maeve tossed her hands into the air. "Lorcan, I told you I'd have them for you on Talimorn! Did I oversleep and miss half the week?" She cocked a dark eyebrow in challenge.

The goblinkin stopped a few paces short of the cobbler's shop, his hulking shoulders rippling as he crossed his enormous arms over his chest. "It was barely a puncture! A nail hole shouldn't take nearly a week to fix, Maeve."

The cobbler hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "You want them as they are, then? The patch hasn't fully set, but if you're careful, you'll probably be fine. Of course, Roisin is running the docks today, and you know she has a tendency to make folks nervous. Wasn't that how this mess got started? The way I heard it, she spooked one of the new hires, and the fool spilled a whole barrel of nails. The glass shipments are coming today, from what I hear. I'd hate to think of what would happen should you step on a shard or stray nail that with a sole that's still soft?—"

The goblinkin grumbled something under his breath and dropped his massive arms. "Fine! Talimorn?"

Maeve grinned. "Talimorn."

With that, the goblinkin turned and lumbered off, and while she was sure it was only her imagination, Evelyn swore she felt the cobblestones beneath her own boots tremble and shake.

"Bah!" Maeve jeered, quietly enough the goblinkin wouldn't be likely to hear. "Folks around here don't appreciate craftsmanship anymore. Could I have slapped some putty on the boot and sent it with him the same day he dropped it off? Sure! Could have the coin in my coffers already, too. But what good would that do me, when he'd bust through it in two weeks' time and be back here on my stoop, blubbering about needing another fix?"

Evelyn wasn't sure she was meant to reply to the question, but she sympathized, as King Ayren hadn't been known for his patience or understanding.

The cobbler tore her shrewd gaze from the goblinkin's back, and looked to Evelyn.

"Is the, uh, dock master, this Roisin, the same as the landlord here?" Evelyn asked.

The cobbler, Maeve, cracked a smile. "One and the same. You ever met a redheaded elf with a temper?"

"Can't say that I have—" She eyed the shop.

Maeve barked a throaty laugh and clapped Evelyn on the shoulder. "Eh, she's not so bad once you get to know her. You want me to show you around? She gave me the key, in case anyone came to see the place."

Evelyn glanced up at the pitched roofs, constructed of clay shingles that appeared in decent condition. At least, good enough that it shouldn't leak, which alone would be a massive improvement on her previous living quarters. "It says there's something of a living space above each shop."

Maeve nodded. "That's right. Nothing fancy, of course, but it keeps warm enough in the winter. Of course, my old knees complain about the steps up and down, but what can you do?"

"Old?" Evelyn said with a laugh. "You're hardly what I would call old . You can't be much more than forty."

Maeve threw her head back and laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Well, now you have to move in next door! You'll be good for my ego. I turned forty-eight last winter."

Evelyn smiled, then stuck a hand out. "I'm Evelyn, by the way."

Maeve placed her arm parallel with Evelyn's and the two women clasped their hands around one another's forearms. "Well met, Evelyn. I'm Maeve."

There wasn't much to look at, but Evelyn took her time, weighing her options as she wandered the shop and ventured up to the loft. With its pitched roof, the loft was not quite as spacious as she'd hoped, but there was room for her bedroll or perhaps a small cot if she could find a furniture maker. As for the shop, there was more than enough room to work.

The entire place was in desperate need of a good scrubbing, and as she descended the steep staircase, she swiped cobwebs from her face and hair.

Maeve had opened the back door and stood leaning against the frame. "This out here is a shared space between those of us on this side of the Row, but as you can probably tell, it doesn't get much use."

Evelyn peeked out past the woman. A small garden patch lay barren along a low stone fence that encircled the space. A few rickety wooden chairs, none of which looked sturdy enough to hold up, stood around a dirty firepit.

"What type of business are you looking to open?" Maeve asked.

Evelyn went still, her breath hitched, and then she forced an exhale and braced herself. If she was going to be the woman's neighbor, she figured she may as well get the whole witch thing out in the open, lest it lead to an uncomfortable reaction after the lease agreement was signed.

"A potion shop, I think."

Maeve arched an inky eyebrow. "You think ?"

Evelyn winced. "Oh, I mean, I know. Yes, a potion shop. I'm a Sister of Caele, so I deal mainly in healing magic—salves, draughts, herbal remedies."

Maeve gave an approving nod, then broke into a wide grin. "That's excellent news! So, do you think you'll take the place, then?"

Evelyn took one more slow turn, considering the room, then faced the cobbler and smiled. "I think this will do quite nicely. Thank you for showing me around."

Maeve inclined her head. "Anytime. And, if you ever need to, I don't know, borrow a cup of sugar—" She paused, her mouth twisting to one side. "Well, scratch that. I've never been much of a baker. But I make a mean stew. You'll have to come over for a bowl once you're settled in."

Evelyn smiled, touched by the stranger's gesture. "Thank you. That does sound rather nice."

Maeve showed her out and locked up, then bade her goodbye before returning to her shop, muttering about where the blasted mercer had gone off to with her leather hides.

Evelyn turned and gave the boarded-up shop another long look, before smiling and setting off in search of its owner.