Page 15
Is this our fate? No. I cannot believe that.
After that conversation with Caspian, I decided to move the rocking chair inside to the front foyer. Spring rain is a constant in Orca Cove, shrouding the small village in a damp mist, but it’s grown stormier of late. I stayed awake all night listening to the drip, drip, drip of water hitting the various pots and pans scattered around the cottage.
When dawn rolled in through the torn curtains, I knew what I had to do.
It doesn’t matter that I don’t have Spring’s blessing to heal her. My Petal carries a wound no magic can mend.
But if I can’t mend her, I can mend the world around her.
George had a little workshop out back, and though it was covered in cobwebs and dust, it hadn’t taken long to dig out the supplies. Good, hardy metal tools and decent enough planking. Fine enough to fix a few leaks in the roof. So I hauled out the ladder and planks of wood and got to work with my own two hands. The way I’d built our bed at Castletree.
The last few days have passed by in a blur of hammer and nail, replacing rotten boards with healthy ones. My mind feels empty, not in a numbing way but in the contentment of trusting my body and instincts to know exactly what to do next. Tear up, hammer down, fix. It is the peace of making something better than how it was found.
“Wow.” Caspian puts his hands behind his head and grins up at me. “If I knew this was going to be the view, I’d have kicked your ass into motion ages ago.”
I grimace, looking down at my bare chest. It’s a particularly warm spring day, and the sun shines hotter here on the roof. I scowl down at Caspian. “Farron is off foraging, Dayton is beginning tonight’s supper, Kel is... Well, we don’t know where Kel goes, and Wrenley is at work. What are you doing?”
“Me?” Caspian presses a hand to his heart. “Motivating. I told you already, dear Ezryn.”
I return to my hammering. Because damn if he isn’t right.
Again.
Spring rolls on like a steady stream. I finish the roof, and the leaks have stopped. I also added some panels to Wrenley’s tree house, reinforcing the foundation and replacing the rotten wood. With some old rope, I wove a hammock for myself as I still find the fresh air the best place to sleep. I notice there’s a cache of extra wood, so I build a simple bed and put it in the corner of the living room.
Between Wrenley’s wages and Farron selling a portion of his foraging to a vendor at the local market, we have enough to buy another mattress. I tell Dayton and Farron they can switch who gets it, but the next morning, I find them in it squished together.
Dayton takes on the role of household cook, and while it’s not quite the fare of the Enchanted Vale, his delivery of sandwiches during the day is a welcome treat. Though I’ve told him never to mix peanut butter and cheese again. Vile, truly.
Farron spends most of his days in the forest and brings back chanterelles, morels, and oyster mushrooms. He gathers fiddleheads, young nettles for tea, and crisp miner’s lettuce. Sometimes he comes home with wild violets or spruce tips that make the whole cottage smell like rain, and once, he arrived with a bundle of sea lettuce still cool from the tide.
When he’s not cooking, Dayton goes down to the harbor. Somehow, he’s charmed a local fisherman into letting him assist with the ship. In return, he comes home with bounties of spot prawns, halibut fillets, and thick slabs of wild-caught salmon.
Wrenley spends most of her days at her workplace, the bookstore. Sometimes she’ll join us for dinner, standing at the edge of the kitchen holding her plate, as if she’s not quite sure where to sit, even if there’s a free chair.
An odd feeling crests through me when I see her like that. Logically, I know there’s still a part of her that’s the Nightingale, the ruthless assassin who betrayed us. I also know she’s my mate’s sister and my brother’s mate. Yet I don’t think that’s why I feel this—what is it? Protectiveness? Pity? Dare I say, affection?—for her when she stands on the edge of rooms, shuffling her feet. Or when Dayton proudly presents her with a dish called macaroni and cheese, and she scarfs it up when she thinks no one’s looking.
She’s so…awkward. I understand why she and Kai found kinship with each other.
As for Keldarion, he spends every single day deep in the woods, though I do not know why. When I pressed him, all he said was, “I’m helping in what way I can.”
Rosalina has not touched the gardening supplies Caspian brought her, but every so often, I catch her glancing at them.
I spent the afternoon clearing the weeds from the gardening plots, so they will be ready for her when she is ready. It was strange touching the dirt and feeling only soil beneath my fingers. There were no magic currents of life running through my veins, answering the blessing of Spring, crying out for growth.
Just my hands and the soil.
Presently, I head inside and shower. There's a leak under the sink in the bathroom. Perhaps the Seagull’s Gullet has some books on human plumbing. When I’m done, the smell of garlic butter and grilled prawns hits me, and I find Dayton at the stove, flipping halibut.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Ez, can you gather everyone?” Dayton smiles at me over his shoulder.
Nodding, I go to my task, though it is not an easy one. I start with Aurelia, finding her, as usual, wrapped in George’s clothes, tucked in the darkest corner of her bedroom. She does not want to join us today, but I find victory in telling her the sunset will be beautiful and her allowing me to open the curtains.
Next, I go to my Petal.
Her door is cracked enough to suggest she doesn’t want to be alone, not completely. I knock anyway and lean my head in.
She’s curled up on the bed, hair falling like a curtain.
