Page 73 of A Spell of Heart & Havoc

“Dove,” she breathed. “I love you. More than you know. And I’m going to spend every minute making you as happy as possible.”

I beamed back at her. “Too right you should.” More seriously, I said, “But not because you feel guilty, or torn up, or something. We’ll certainly need to talk a lot more, about all that’s happened. But I’d like to, eventually, move past it. I want us to have a fresh start. None of this shamed penitent attitude I’ve seen you slipping into. It doesn’t suit you at all, love.”

She grumbled at that, some of her old spark lighting in her eyes. “Cheeky imp.”

I kissed her nose in response, then lingered on her mouth for good measure.

“Oh! And,” I said, drawing back again despite her groan, “as you’ve heard, I’m going to convert the estate into a proper orphanage. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’m very set on the idea. Once your brother is on the mend and we’ve settled my parents in the city. How does gardener slash schoolmistress sound?”

“Schoolmistress?” Mae snorted. “The title will need work. Maybe Head Teacher. Keeper of the Kids. Master of Thieving and Botanical Arts. I’ll come up with something.” Her eyes softened. “But I think that’s a wonderful idea, Dove. I can’t imagine anything better.”

“It will be a lot of work,” I said, gripping her hands in mine.

She squeezed back. “And we’ll do it all. Together.”

EPILOGUE

Six months later

Mistress Kirim, Mistress Kirim!” A squeaky voice came from somewhere near my elbow. I sighed deeply into the hydrangea bush that I was trimming and gathered my patience before turning slowly.

“Alwin, I’ve told you a dozen times. It’s Maerryl. Just Maerryl. Or Mae. Or M. Or even ‘hey you.’ But please, enough with the ‘Mistress Kirim.’ It makes me feel like an old fuddy-duddy.” I scowled for good measure.

The tiny mop-haired boy just blinked back at me, then broke into a smile. “Okay, Mist—I mean, Maerryl. Anyway, Susu keeps kicking dirt into the hole I’m digging! Make her stop!”

I glanced over at where his little accusatory finger pointed, to find a nonchalant-looking Susu peacefully watering some nearby plants. With the toes of her boots covered in dirt.

“Susu, if you’re messing with Alwin, please stop. I beg of you. We only have—wait, why are you digging a hole in the garden?” I swung back to Alwin, arms crossed, ignoring the other child now sticking her tongue out at me.

He smiled again, gap-tooth showing. “For the bulbs!”

“Bulbs? We aren’t planting dahlia bulbs until next week,” I said.

“But I’m ready to plant mine now,” he said proudly. “Because I’ve already got the holes ready.”

Goddess help me. “Wait—hole or holes? Alwin? How many holes have you dug?!”

The boy skipped off. I sighed and pinched the spot between my eyes. This is what I get for letting Dove convince me to accept seven-year-olds into my horticulture class.

“Right. I think it’s time for tea,” I said, pocketing the clippers and then brushing off my overalls. A cheer went up around me in the garden. “Picnic style again today?” Another cheer of consensus.

“Alright, Gilly, you’re in charge till I get back,” I said, nodding to the most responsible youth of the bunch, a fourteen-year-old who I knew could keep chaos from breaking out for at least twenty minutes. He nodded back, getting up from the flower bed he’d been weeding and beginning to gather tools and supplies from where everything had been strewn about over the past hour. Other kids joined in, chattering cheerfully among themselves.

“And Alwin, enough holes,” I said. “You go pick a good shady spot for all of us to have tea.” He raced off toward the forest line.

After a quick back stretch to loosen up my muscles—gardening proved to be tough work, and I was no spring chicken—I sloped up the path and across the patio, now half-filled with the very long table and benches we used for outdoor meals when the weather allowed, and made my way into the manor. Here, the old grand ballroom had been transformed. We’d removed the heavy velvet curtains from the tall windows, and everything had been dusted and cleaned, letting bright afternoon light fill the spacious hall that now held half a dozen round oak tables in the middle. A collection of musical instruments lay waiting in one corner; this space had excellent acoustics for the jam band that formed a few weeks ago.

A long trestle table ran along one wall of the room, where meals were served buffet-style by Choia and Hanc. Now, they just held the usual juice, water, and tea that Choia liked to keep on hand for the children during the day. Along with the perennial basket of baked goods and fruit, of course. Breakfast and lunch tended to be busy, chaotic affairs, with everyone in the orphanage on different schedules, so she felt it important that there was always something on hand for folks to grab. But supper, we all ate together. Young, old, and in between. Children and teachers, staff and volunteers from the village. Every evening at seven o’clock, we sat down for a shared meal.

Right now, though, a few of the round tables held some of the middlings—what kids about seven to thirteen had come to be called colloquially here—riveted by Orinno’s history lesson as he scrawled a huge and messy map of Kurriel on the blackboard. Littlelies were, of course, anyone six and under, while the older youths had at some point been dubbed, quite comically, elders.

Orinno joined us as a regular volunteer a couple months ago, at Dove’s and my begging, and he’d been an integral part of getting the orphanage set up in the first months. And once we opened our doors in late winter, it became increasingly clear that all of the children who joined us from the priory and the village felt much better knowing that he’d be around. It was a big change, after all, going to another new home again. And though all the adults involved knew it was the right decision, and the children were adjusting here surprisingly well, we wanted to do everything we could to make this feel like a home.

“I hope you’re all behaving for Cleric Orinno,” I called, sending a stern scowl toward the small faces that whipped around at my voice.

“Yeeessss, Maeeee,” they sang disjointedly. One kid who I had a bit of an ongoing feud with just picked his nose, rubbing it off under his seat. I narrowed my eyes at him, and he gave me the finger.

“You’re all very lucky to have Orinno teaching history, healing, and meditation here. If it fell to me, you’d have your realms all mixed up and your toes falling off from gangrene.” The class erupted in giggles.