Chapter 16

Rowan

THE DAY IS WARM—THE warmest we’ve had yet this summer—and I’m hot beneath my armor. I stood at the northeast entrance to Faunwood this morning, bidding goodbye to the last few travelers who visited this year for the Beltane festival. It seems the stragglers have all departed, and the village is quieter for it.

Now I’m walking the streets, nodding to the villagers I pass by. Though I’ve been here since early spring, they still seem unsure of my presence, staring and even whispering at times when I walk past.

I think again of how disappointed I was to have been assigned this post by King Jorvick. As one of his knights, I am sworn to him, and when your king calls, you answer.

Never thought I’d be called to serve in a sleepy little village like this though.

On my way through the market square, I spot a bouquet of colorful blooms sitting atop a wooden cart, the man behind it dozing off in the afternoon sun. Looking at how bright and cheerful the flowers are, I can’t help but to picture them on Aurora’s kitchen table or sitting in her windowsill, soaking up the sunlight. She was so delighted when I brought her the sunflowers, but those have long since wilted and been tossed into her compost pile. When I’m done with my duties for the day, perhaps I’ll stop by and purchase a fresh bouquet for her.

With a small smile, I turn to continue on my path.

Suddenly, I’m overcome with a racket of clucking and cackling. Startled, I step back to find a particularly flustered hen standing at my armored feet. She glares up at me—or seems to, at least—and ruffles her creamy brown feathers, sending a few drifting down to the cobblestones.

I stare at her, and she stares back.

“Sorry?” I say, feeling very much like I’ve offended her in some way. I hadn’t realized she was standing there until I turned to walk away.

The hen lets out another cluck, then tips her head. The sunlight is glinting off my armor, and she’s drawn to the reflective surface of my sabatons. She takes a few steps forward, then pecks my foot.

“Hey,” I say, taking a step back from her. But it doesn’t deter her. She scurries after me, more intent now on pecking my sabatons and greaves. After trying a few times to evade her, I finally realize how ridiculous I must look: a knight running from a chicken. Aurora would probably be doubled over laughing at me right now.

With a huff, I bend down and scoop the hen into my arms. She squawks and struggles, but after I tuck her into the crook of my elbow, she settles down, looking somewhat comfortable despite my rigid armor.

The man behind the flower cart is awake now—the ruckus must’ve roused him—and he’s staring right at me. With a sigh, I head in his direction. My shadow falls over him as I stand before the cart.

“Sir knight,” the man says, removing his floppy cap to bow his head to me.

“Do you know whose chicken this is?” I point to the hen, and his gaze flicks quickly to her.

“I think she came with one of the travelers. She’s been wandering the square for a few days, but no one has been able to catch her.” His eyes shift back to mine, or what he can see of them through the slit in my helmet, sparkling now with amusement. “Seems she’s taken a liking to you.”

I look down at the hen, and even though my face is covered, she stares right back. Her gaze is unwavering in its intensity, and I finally look away. For some reason, she feels more intimidating than facing an enemy in a joust.

“Where should I take her?” I ask the man, and he shrugs.

“You could give her to the baker,” he suggests. The idea makes my stomach turn, and as if the hen understands his words, she squawks again and wriggles more firmly into the crook of my arm.

“Hmm,” I mumble, brain turning as I look down at her. “I think I’ve got a better idea.”

AFTER REMOVING MY ARMOR IN my quarters within the guard tower and quickly bathing, I pull on comfortable loose-fitting cotton trousers, then drag a wooden comb through my wet hair. There’s one window in my room, and it allows early-evening light to stream into the small space, making the dust motes sparkle and illuminating the hen where she dozes on my bed.

“You’re lucky I’m the one who picked you up,” I say to her as I pull a green tunic over my head. She opens one eye to regard me coolly. “Smart hen, avoiding the other villagers.” She’d probably be in a potpie by now if someone else had scooped her up.

Despite the odd attachment I feel I’ve already formed with her, I certainly can’t keep her here. A guard tower is no place for a hen, and if she were to get out, I’m sure someone else would eventually catch her. There’s only one place I can think of that may be suitable for her.

“Come on, then,” I say to the hen before scooping her once more into my arms. She clucks and rustles her soft feathers, then settles again into the crook of my elbow. A bouquet of colorful flowers sits on my nightstand—purchased earlier today from the man at the flower cart—and I pick those up as well before departing my room and closing the door firmly behind me.

The air smells almost sweet as I head north on Brookside Road. The dirt beneath my light-soled boots is warm and soft, and bugs hum in the trees and bushes. Disturbed by my presence, yellow-winged grasshoppers take to the warm air to fly away from me, making rattling sounds as they go. The hen watches them with interest, and if I were to set her down, I’m sure she’d take off into the forest in an attempt to catch them.

“I think not,” I say to her. “Though I’m sure it’d be hilarious having me chase you through the woods.”

My words remind me of chasing Aurora through the forest, of the ghostly flashes of her lightweight dress as she ducked behind trees, the scent of flowers in her hair as I pressed my mouth to hers. The memory makes my neck warm and my abdomen tight.

In my arms, the hen clucks.

I step off the wooded path at the end of Brookside Road, and Aurora’s cheerful yellow cottage greets me, looking more familiar every time I set my gaze upon it. The evening light is striking it just so, making it look warm and inviting, and all manner of tiny winged insects drift about in the balmy air.

From here, I can see the blackberry bushes growing along one side of the cottage, and a few small birds flit about on the thin branches, plucking at the tiny unripe berries. I believe it will be some time before they’re ready to eat, but I’m already wondering if Aurora knows how to make blackberry cobbler. The thought has my stomach grumbling, reminding me I’ve not eaten since lunch.

“Rowan?”

Her voice washes over me like a magic spell, making my hair stand on end in the most pleasant way. I want to hear her say my name again, and again, and again.

Tearing my gaze from the blackberry bushes, I find Aurora standing in the garden. The sun shines down on her, making her green eyes gleam and her elbow-length hair glow. When I turn and head in her direction, her eyes shift to the hen in my arms, and she cocks her head to one side.

“Who’s this?” she asks as I open the garden gate and step into the little oasis she’s grown for herself.

I close the gate behind me gently, then turn to face Aurora. Her cheeks are a bit pink, probably from being out in the sun, but she’s not got any smudges of dirt on her face this time. It’s a shame, for it was so cute the last time I caught her working in the garden.

“I found her in the market square,” I say, holding the hen out toward Aurora. “Or rather, she found me. One of the villagers told me she was left behind by some travelers.”

Aurora brushes her hair back, then welcomes the hen with open arms. A small smile curves across her lips, and she whispers something gentle to the hen that I can’t quite make out.

“She’s beautiful,” she says, drawing one finger over the hen’s head. The hen closes her eyes, and I swear she makes a sound almost like a cat’s purr.

Speaking of cats . . .

There’s a rustle in the grass just before Harrison slinks into view and hops up onto a raised garden bed. He meows, tail flicking, and Aurora’s forehead furrows.

“She’s a friend, Harrison,” she says, “ not food.”

He meows again, ears flicking back, and Aurora casts him a sidelong look.

“You promise not to bother her?” she asks.

It’s the oddest thing, watching her speak to a cat and hearing it meow back. But in a way, I suppose it’s really not that strange at all. She is a witch, after all.

I’ve spent a good amount of time around witches. King Jorvick has a handful in his employ, a group of wild-haired women called the Shadowfall Court. I don’t recall any green-haired witches among them, mostly those with red and black hair, women capable of wielding fire and shadow, using their magic in ways that make grown men tremble. Looking at Aurora, surrounded by plants and warm sunlight, I don’t imagine she’d much like being part of the Court. She looks much more at home in the garden.

Giving Harrison a look, she kneels to set the hen upon the ground. Immediately, as if she has no worry for her own safety, the chicken walks right up to Harrison. He reaches out a paw as if to touch the comb upon her head, but she quickly ducks out from his reach and scurries a few steps away. Aurora giggles, watching her go.

But I just watch Aurora.

And when she turns to me, her smile makes goose bumps rise along my bare arms.

Her gaze flicks to my other hand, which is still grasping the bouquet of flowers.

“Is that for me?”

“Oh.” I’d almost forgotten, enchanted by her as I am. Dropping dramatically to one knee, I offer them up to her. “I saw them and thought of you, my queen.”

“Sir Rowan,” she says with another little laugh. “You shouldn’t have.” She takes the flowers into her hands and lowers her face to the petals, breathing in their soft floral aroma. “They’re lovely. Thank you.” Leaning down so that her hair falls around us like a veil, she presses a kiss to my cheek.

I rise smoothly to my feet and capture her around the waist, then give her a real kiss. Her lips are warm against mine, and the scent of the flowers swirls around us.

The sound of rustling from a bed of what look like tomato plants has Aurora pulling away from me. The hen is weaving through the plants, plucking at the ground. At first, I think she’s about to damage the young stalks, but Aurora looks pleased, not worried.

“She’s helping with the bugs,” she tells me, turning away in a whirl of skirts to walk toward the hen. Kneeling, she holds a hand out, and the chicken gently pecks her bare palm before moving on. “Does she have a name?”

Pushing my hands into my pockets, I shrug. “If she does, I certainly don’t know it.”

“We shall give her a new one, then.” She looks back over her shoulder at me. “You rescued her, so you should do the honors.”

My gaze goes to the chicken as she hops out of the tomato bed and then into a nearby bed of greens. Watching her, one name pops into my head. It makes my heart squeeze, even after all these years, but somehow, it feels right.

“How about Lucy?”

The hen pauses in her search for bugs, meets my gaze, then clucks and continues on her way. It makes Aurora giggle.

“I think it’s perfect.” She watches Lucy for a moment more, then looks back at me. “What do you plan to do with her?”

I give Aurora my most innocent smile while reaching up to push a hand through my now-dry hair. “I was hoping... she could stay here with you?”

“Oh.” Aurora blinks her bright green eyes before looking back to Lucy. Harrison is following her through the garden, but he doesn’t pounce or even so much as ruffle one of her feathers. “Well, she’d certainly be a help in the garden. The bugs are bad this year.” Her expression softens. “We’d need to build her a coop though.”

It takes a moment for me to push past the pride impeding my throat, but I finally say, “Could Alden help?”

And you’d think I just handed Aurora a cone of honeyed ice given how bright her smile is.

“I’ll ask him. I can’t imagine he’d say no.”

Neither can I; I could never say no to Aurora Silvermoon.

Aurora stands, hands on her hips, and watches Lucy and Harrison traverse the garden beds together. In the quiet, my stomach grumbles again. She flicks her eyes to me and raises a brow. “Hungry?”

I give her a sideways smile.

“Come on, then.” Aurora strides toward another bed thick with greenery and picks up a basket sitting beside it. It’s full to the brim with all manner of fresh produce: spinach, red beets, a few yellow potatoes, and a handful of peas. Having tasted her baking before, I can feel my mouth watering at the idea of eating a homecooked Silvermoon meal.

She heads toward the garden gate, then pauses to look back over her shoulder at me.

“Grab her, would you?”

Lucy is just crossing my path, on her way to another bed, and I quickly kneel to pick her up. She flutters her feathers and gives me a displeased cluck. At my feet, Harrison looks up at me, tail flicking through the dirt.

Aurora flips the latch on the gate, then pushes it open wide. “Let’s show Lucy her new home.”