Chapter 8

HOPPING OFF THEtrain and making his way through the station, much older and less lavish than the one he'd left from in the Castle City, Ash kept a purposeful pace as he whistled. He knew he had a good few miles ahead of him before he reached the town of Sweethaven, but he didn't mind a walk. With only a small duffel bag containing essentials he carried back and forth, part of his belongings were waiting for him at home, the rest securely locked away in the room he was renting at the inn in the city near the royal castle. He tended to travel light.

There were a few carriages waiting outside the station for those who wanted a quicker, easier form of travel and didn't mind parting with their coin for it. It wouldn't have occurred to him to use the service, especially on such a clear day. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he started his walk.

Once he'd gotten close enough that his little town was nearly in sight, he ducked behind a boulder, close to the foothills edging the nearby mountain range. With practiced, silent efficiency he unzipped his bag and slid his bow out, notching an arrow into it while he waited. It wasn't long before he heard the telltale yelping of a female turkey. When she waddled into sight, he didn't hesitate, piercing through her neck cleanly. Unsheathing his hunting knife, he retrieved his arrow and sliced through the hole he'd made, leaving the head for the wildlife. After rinsing his hands and knife in the nearby creek he finished out the rest of the journey with the hen grasped firmly in his hand.

Sweethaven was less than six square miles end to end, with tidy, cobbled streets that were rarely used for anything but walking. It boasted the usual landmarks of a small town, like a bank, post office, and a marketplace with baskets of bright produce and assorted textiles out front, grown and woven by the residents themselves. There was a cozy little bed and breakfast inn for the occasional tourist, and two restaurants. One was casual, for when you didn't feel like cooking at home and just wanted something slapped onto a plate and presented to you. The other was a bit more frilly, where you went for birthdays and anniversaries and the like.

Arriving home, he creaked open the front door to the house he'd built for he and his mother to live in. When they'd first moved to the tiny town, they'd stayed in a one room shack that was now used for storing her jarred preserves, among other things. It had taken him nearly a year to complete the basic little two-story wood structure, even pouring 12-hour days into it five, sometimes six, days a week. Part of the time spent had been doing other odd jobs, even working at a nearby ranch, in order to afford the lumber and materials needed. He'd hired a plumber and an electrician from the nearest city to turn the sturdy wooden frame into a livable home.

Not only had it given his mother a sturdy roof over her head and a place she could feel safe and proud in, it had cemented his image with the other residents of the town as a craftsman, a mechanic, whatever they needed him to be. He had a broad range of practical skills that could be put to use, and rarely was there a time when someone wasn't willing to pay or barter for them. Later, once he'd begun developing his powers, he could add healer to that list, though they did have an official doctor of medicine among the residents in town as well.

"Mom?"

"Ash!" Mollie Daye let out a squeal of delight at his voice, scrambling up from her rocking chair, placing her knitting needles down as carefully as she could in her haste. Holding the turkey high above her head to keep it from brushing her, Ash manfully held back a wince as she smacked loud kisses on his cheek. "I didn't know you'd be coming back so soon!"

"I'm going to try and come every other weekend," he explained. When she finally backed up from him enough to take in his appearance, he wiggled the hen in his hand. "I brought you something."

"You're the most thoughtful son in the world." She gave him a tender smile. "Here, let me take it and I'll get the feathers off and dress it out. I can roast it for supper tonight."

"I'll do that. You just finish your knitting." She knew him well enough to know that arguing with him was rarely anything but a waste of time, so she sat, retrieving her needles off the side table.

Because the kitchen and living room were side-by-side, and the house wasn't needlessly roomy, they could chat comfortably as he plucked the bird, preparing it to be scrubbed out and cooked.

"What are you making there?"

"It's a baby blanket. The oldest Cagney girl down the road is having her first. I'm getting some bacon and peaches for it."

"Good deal," Ash commented. She was a seasoned knitter, so a small project like that wouldn't take her more than a few days. "Now that you've got me thinking about it, I hope you'll be making me a peach cobbler while I'm here, too."

She made a humming noise, as if trying to make up her mind. "If I'm not too busy, I'll think about it." Leaning his head around the separator, he gave her a comically pleading look, making her laugh. "Of course I will. But enough about all that. I want to know how you're liking the city, and what you've been doing there. Tell me about your new patient."

Regaling her with stories of the impressive architecture and fun tourist attractions, he answered her rapid-fire questions with ease, used to her excitement. For a middle-aged woman, Mollie could be childish, and incredibly naive. Her petite body and wide, unsophisticated eyes only reinforced the notion. Her hair, a mousy brown, was chopped short so she didn't have to bother with styling it.

When it came time to describe his current patient, he gave her a carefully edited version. She had no notion that he'd been hired by the crown prince, something that would have only caused her unnecessary worry, let alone that his patient was a wealthy, privileged aristocrat. And another magic user, at that. The irony that he'd found himself romantically entangled with a noble sorcerer, the same as she had, was almost laughably sharp.

The difference was that Laurel wasn't already married to someone else, and Ash wasn't an innocent, gullible woman to be manipulated into a torrid affair. Their sessions together weren't clandestine trysts that would eventually result in the creation of a bastard offspring.

"So you think this one will be taking longer than the others?" She asked, after he'd given her a brief summary of the situation.

"Probably," he admitted. "He's got a lot of baggage holding him back, so there's a lot for me to work through."

"Well, you'll get it done as you always do, I'm sure."

He smiled at her unflagging confidence in him. It was probably the biggest reason he was so unreasonably self-assured. "Yeah, you're right. Just takes time."

"Everyone's being nice to you out there, right?" It was such a reassuring thing for her to ask, it charmed him, even though it served as a reminder of her aversion to nobility.

"Everyone's very polite," he assured her. When he glanced up from his nearly finished carving, his eyes caught the patch of sunflowers planted just outside the kitchen window. He squirmed a little, guiltily, at the omission of such an important revelation in his life. He wasn't the type to hide things, and especially not from her. "I, ah, met someone." Surely that was sufficient enough to quell his guilt.

"What kind of someone?" She asked, curiosity evident in her tone. When he hesitated, she let out a sound of surprise. "Oh, that kind of someone. Already? Well, tell me about them!"

Ash wasn't sure he could do that without causing problems that didn't need yet to be caused, so he chose his words carefully. "His name is Laurel."

To his ear, it seemed she let out a sigh of relief. "That's lovely, a name from nature. Nothing too snooty or pompous."

"… Yeah." He could see the track of logic her mind had taken to assume that snobbish nobles wouldn't use nature names for their children, especially because she'd chosen his name from the same pool. In a way though, he was glad she was misinformed on the subject. There would most certainly come a time where he'd be introducing his snippy, sarcastic blonde to this part of his life, but until that day he hoped to avoid the awkwardness.

"Well?" She pressed him for more, grinning down into her knitting. "Tell me about him. Is he an intellectual type? An athlete? What sort of job does he do?"

"He's an artist." It was the safest answer he could give, recalling the vague information Nero had given him, though he'd never actually discussed art with Laurel himself.

"How interesting!" Her excitement was genuine, probably because he'd never really formally introduced a lover to her. Not that he was horrified by the idea or anything, but he'd known somewhere inside him that he'd been waiting for someone. As a result, he'd never gone beyond casual, mutually beneficial relationships that tended to end amicably. "When do I get to meet him?"

"It's still early, Mom," he reminded her. "I don't want to come on too strong or anything." Ash couldn't help but imagine the expression Laurel would make if he'd heard those words come from his mouth.

"Ah," she acknowledged, raising her eyebrows. "You don't want to scare him off, you mean."

"He's a little high-strung," Ash admitted. "Just give me some time to warm him up to everything, alright?"

"I can't imagine you with somebody like that," she said, but she sounded more surprised than judgmental. "Is he cute?"

"Cute?" Ash mused, shaking his head. After cutting off the wings, legs and thighs, he dropped them into a boiling pot to begin the broth's hours-long simmering process, throwing the rest in a roasting pan and into the oven. "I wouldn't call him cute. He's more…" It was difficult to describe Laurel's dazzlingly elegant, aristocratic bone structure without stirring up her suspicions. "He's very attractive, I'll say that."

Finished with his work in the kitchen, he washed up and headed upstairs to his room to put away his bag. He let out a satisfied groan as he finally stretched his body out onto his bed. There was still plenty to do, but for the moment, he could take a quick rest. Pillowing his arm on his head, he glanced around the sparsely furnished room.

It was a strange atmosphere to imagine Laurel in, but he couldn't stop himself. He hadn't yet visited the von Isildor home, but he had to imagine it was a manor of sorts, with spacious rooms and fancy molding trimming the high ceilings. It wasn't that he felt self-conscious necessarily, but Ash couldn't imagine Laurel having any interest in the rustic life he'd built here. It wasn't personal, he assured himself. There was no need to feel defensive about any of it. It was simply the hand fate had dealt him, linking him to an elite, privileged noble who'd likely never scrubbed a pot or milked a cow in his life.

But there was a part of him, a part he hated to even acknowledge, that wanted Laurel to accept this part of him. But he was getting ahead of himself there. The sorcerer hadn't even yet accepted the truth of their eventual bond, let alone confronting his own current feelings about the matter. Still, as he'd assured Laurel over and over, he could, and would, be patient. No matter how many tidal waves of cautious lust crashed over him when they were together.

It wasn't often that Ash bemoaned the gift of his magic. After all, he'd used it to help so many people, to better so many lives, including his own. But it was a unique sort of punishment, forced to absorb the excessively erotic combination of wary, but fervent greed for him. And it had seemed to come out of nowhere, striking into his understanding like a bolt of lightning. Rolling onto his back, he steadfastly ignored his body's insistent twitch as he processed the event. Had it been a one-time deal, brought on by some strange combination of hormones and exhaustion? Or would he be suffering through it on a regular basis now?

He was absolutely, without question, sure that Laurel was meant to be his, and would be. But that didn't give him free rein to act on whatever impulses might spark between them. He had a job to do. He'd given his word. And without knowing what terrible things had happened to Laurel in his past, he didn't feel comfortable navigating what would likely be the equivalent of an emotional minefield anyway.

When the aroma of roasting meat and rich broth wafted its way up to him, he realized how long he'd been thinking. With a sigh, he tossed his legs up and over the edge of the bed, indulging in a yawn and a back-cracking stretch before going down to see what else needed taking care of.

YOU WON'T EVENthink of me.

Wrong again, Laurel thought wryly, dropping a handful of coins into the coachman's hand before bouncing off the carriage onto his lawn. Even if the excitement of the wedding had been sufficiently distracting to keep Ash from surfacing in his mind, he'd had a therapy appointment scheduled afterward.

At first he'd been apprehensive to mention the healer, very nearly convincing himself that he didn't need to. But he'd made a point of censoring nothing from Katharin since he'd begun working with her. And because he'd been so uncertain, he figured that probably meant he needed to talk about it more than anything else.

She'd been pleased to hear that he was participating in another kind of therapy. He wasn't sure how she felt about the complex relationship that was forming between them, and he hadn't had the courage to ask. At any rate, she hadn't outright told him that pursuing anything was a bad idea. So that was something, he supposed.

Quietly slipping into the front door, he wondered if Ingrid had come straight home from the wedding, or if she'd had something else to do as well. His question was answered when he heard her voice, muffled with distance and rooms between them, but animated with frustration and anger. Tiptoeing to the hall, he leaned his body in to try and make out a better understanding of the argument.

"But he isn't your responsibility, Ingrid. He's an adult, and he doesn't need you coddling him." Laurel's fingers stiffened at the sound of his vatra's voice, curling around the door frame as immediate understanding washed over him.

"I don't coddle him," Ingrid denied. "I love him, and I enjoy being around him. He's my best friend. You just see what you want to see."

"You've been holding yourself back to indulge in his quirks long enough."

"What have I held myself back from?" She demanded hotly. Normally acting as an anchor of serenity for his stormy moods, it was rare for Laurel to ever hear her so upset. "I've never once given up anything for him."

"You have the potential to be more, to tour with a nationally recognized orchestra. But you've chosen to clip your own wings and deny yourself true success."

"Nothing's ever good enough for you, is it? My orchestra is nationally recognized, and I am successful."

"Your vatra is only, in his way, trying for you to be everything that you can." Minael's soft voice floated into the conversation as well. "And we don't want you to give up opportunities for the sake of Laurel."

"I already told you I haven't. I don't have any interest in traveling the world. I'm happy where I am, with what I'm doing. If you want me gone, then just wait a few more months. I'll be of age and I'll have my trust fund and all the money I've saved up from my job, and I'll be out of here."

"Out of the question," Helio snapped. It was a rare occurrence for a young noble to move out of their parents' house for anything but marriage. And it was sure to cause plenty of gossip when it did happen. "You aren't a common mongrel. You won't be leaving home unless it's to be the wife of a suitable spouse. Your brother's embarrassed us enough, I won't have you-"

"Don't talk about him like that! You don't know anything about what he's gone through! I'm sick of you talking down to him all the time."

"Ingrid," Minael's voice was predictably gentle, but admonished.

"No." Laurel could hear the tears in her voice now. She was always quick to them. "It's so completely unfair. Neither of you understand a thing about him or what he's been through."

"Enlighten us, then," Helio invited, though exasperation was clear in his voice.

Laurel's heart pounded in his chest, his palms slicking with sweat. She wouldn't really tell them. She'd promised him.

"I-I can't tell you. But if you cared about him at all, you would-"

"I've given you and your brother everything you need to be successful adults. I've made sure you have every advantage possible." Helio's voice was stiff, and obviously offended. "If you, or Laurel, find my parenting to be lacking then you are welcome to concisely explain it to me in a civilized discussion. Not during a tearful, faltering tantrum of hysterics in which you refuse to even specify your concerns."

Unable to stomach anymore, Laurel retreated to his bedroom for the night.

WHAT WOULD FEELlike worlds away for both of them, Ash stroked a loving hand over his beloved mare's head. Crunching through the carrot he'd given her, she regarded him with a placid look. He was sorry he hadn't found time to ride her, but he knew she wasn't suffering neglect. He'd hired a young neighbor boy to feed her, and keep her groomed and exercised while he was gone.

He had no concerns that the bargain wasn't being followed through on. Her coat shined with the telltale luster of a recent brushing, and she wasn't restless as he knew she'd be if she hadn't been out and about in awhile. Still, there was little he enjoyed more than taking her out onto a dusty path until they stumbled onto something new and interesting.

"Soon," he promised her, giving her another pat. She wasn't the most rare or distinguished breed, so the price for her had been more than fair. He'd bought her as a filly, shortly after moving he and his mother to Sweethaven, and after he'd constructed the small stable for her, knowing he'd eventually need to travel to neighboring towns.

Carriage travel was expensive, and completely impractical in the minds of the townspeople, many of whom had their own horses as well. To see a carriage was a sure sign of a traveler passing through, though they'd sometimes stop for a night on their way. If anyone ever caught wind of all the times he'd ridden in them already while in the city, he knew he'd be ribbed mercilessly.

"Are you sure you can't stay another night, Ash?" Mollie spoke up from the doorway of the stable.

"I can't," he repeated, though he was sorry for it. "I have a session planned with my patient early tomorrow. I wouldn't be able to catch a train in time."

"Well, okay." Wringing her hands together a bit, she stepped up to touch his arm. "I'll be glad when you're able to come home for good again."

Guilt and uncertainty bubbled in his stomach at her words. What would happen when he was finished treating Laurel? How much would their relationship have advanced? Would his position be reversed, spending five days a week at home, traveling to see him on the weekends? Would Laurel be staring at him with that accusatory disappointment when he had to leave, too?

"I don't have to go just yet," he told her, relieved when she instantly brightened up. "I'm going to the store. Would you like to come with me?"

At the general store and mercantile, Ash made purposeful strides up and down the aisles, with Mollie's arm threaded through his. He'd already gone through the house to take note of supplies that needed replenishing. Plunking a bag of ground coffee into his basket, he half-listened to his mother's chatter, an endless stream.

"What will you do about your Laurel when you're done treating your patient and come home?"

Surprised, he raised his gaze from the box of laundry soap to stare at her. "Where did that come from?"

"Well, he lives in the city, doesn't he?"

"Just outside it, yes."

"I think you'll miss him when you come back home, won't you?"

"I told you it's still early."

"But he's important to you. Or you wouldn't have mentioned him at all." Her guileless face had always reflected every emotion, leaving no room for deception or subtlety. Worried, she frowned. "I don't want you to feel lonely."

"I won't," he promised her, understanding now that she was afraid for him, for his heart. "It might be complicated, for a bit, but I promise everything will work out. You believe me, right?"

"If you say so."

"Hey." He took her hands in his, giving them an encouraging squeeze. "You know I can take care of myself, right?"

"I know you can take care of everyone else."

Again, surprised by her, he pursed his lips and let out a sigh. "I'm the last thing you need to worry about. Trust me. Everything's fine."

As he unloaded the contents of his basket onto the counter, the young teenage daughter of the store owner clacked keys on the register. She'd been a toddler when he and his mother had moved to Sweethaven. In the awkward stage of puberty, she had frizzy hair pulled back into a long ponytail, and patches of acne on her cheeks and chin. When her mother walked by, arms wrapped around a box of produce, she had fine lines around her eyes, the start of laugh wrinkles around her mouth. The sight gave him a sense of comfort he wasn't sure he could articulate.

A disproportionate amount of the residents in the castle city were of noble lineage, and it was easy to tell them apart from the commoners. They were preternaturally attractive, with smooth skin, glossy hair, and straight, even teeth. It was, he was sure, a combination of carefully maintained genetics and cosmetic procedures. He didn't mind it on Laurel, but seeing so many flawless features could feel unnerving after awhile.

He knew he'd gotten a bit of that gene from his father too, but he was glad it was diluted with his mother's run-of-the-mill looks. She wasn't ugly by any means, but she didn't sparkle with unnatural glamour like a highborn woman would have.

"Do you have any vases for sale?" He asked, once the girl had finished adding up the cost of their items. She looked thoughtful for a moment before asking him to wait while she checked in the back.

"What do you need a vase for?" Mollie asked.

"To put flowers in."

THE SUN WASalready sinking into the warm horizon by the time Ash was ready to head back out to the train station. Kneeling next to the cheery little garden outside the stable, he used his knife to quickly snip a few sunflowers, dropping the stems into the glass container he'd half-filled with water. He'd even dropped a few cubes of ice in to keep them fresher, knowing he'd have to protect them on the journey home and overnight before they could get to Laurel. There hadn't been any fancy vases at the general store, so he'd settled for a rather small and rather plain-looking pitcher. But he decided it gave the bouquet a somewhat charming look.

Wondering if the sorcerer would find the gift cheesy or too forthcoming, Ash gave a slight shake of his head. Laurel would be used to more expensive gifts, he guessed. As the thought surfaced, he realized he didn't know very much about Laurel's courting history, other than his brief, and apparently unsuccessful, liaison with the crown prince. If that wasn't proof that he would be accustomed to more materially valuable gifts and dates, then he wasn't sure what would be.

Well, there was no use obsessing over it now. The flowers had been picked, and he was determined for them to make it to Laurel's hands. It was silly, Ash knew, but he wanted Laurel to see the flowers he'd compared him to. It hadn't been some shopworn line he'd thrown out hoping to charm an attractive stranger in a coffee shop. He'd meant it fully, had needed Laurel to know how he'd felt.

And if the wealthy noble didn't care for them, then that would be fine, Ash thought, fully unconvinced, even in his own mind. And if Laurel would rather have jewelry or trinkets with no sentimental value whatsoever, then that was fine, too. He'd figure out a way to make it work. He always did.