alone in the woods,” he murmurs. Luke stands, turning eastward. The horizon is hidden behind the mountain. But we can see its first rays outlining the summit in orange. “We can still leave, you know,” he whispers.
“I can’t,” I repeat myself from earlier.
“We’ll be husband and wife. It’s normal to leave home.”
“Not for people from Capton, and not for me.” I stand, having collected the flowers I need. “You should go. The Keepers need you today.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
I almost ask him not to. There’s a strange air about him today. One that almost makes my best friend unrecognizable.
But he’s tired. I believe him when he says he had a bad dream about the day’s events. Given the recent requests to my shop, I think half of Capton can hardly sleep from anxiety.
He’s acting rashly because he truly believes our lives are about to end.
Back at the shop, he kisses me once more in the doorway. Once more, the kiss is empty. But I try and hold on to the feelings I think I should have, to him, and the dream of us, with all my might.
“If you change your mind,” he whispers. “The boat is ready. Leave with me, please.”
“Luke, I—”
Before I can say anything else, he’s gone. I watch him walk briskly down the street. He doesn’t even look back at me. I put my back to him with a sigh and start inside.
When the sun is properly risen, I begin my rounds for the day. The elves aren’t expected until nightfall. Half the brews are still warm as they clank in my basket. I have a long list in my head of all my patients, but I’m only hitting half the list this morning—the people who are too weak, wounded, or ill to make it to the town hall later.
I’ll make the rest of my deliveries when the recipients are conveniently all in one place. Hopefully, by then, I’ll have had enough time to finish their various medications.
First up is Douglas, a fisherman who has been laid up for two weeks following a spearfishing incident. Usually, a wound like this would’ve healed with just a wash in the waters of the Fade River. But it’s still angry and red, dripping with pus. Today he runs a fever as well.
After that is Cal. His daughter caught a chill this winter that just won’t abate. Then Amelia—her monthly bleed is agonizing, this month particularly so. Then Dan, who can’t seem to find the strength to get out of bed and attend to his duties as the town carpenter.
On and on I go from door to door, checking in and making sure they have what they need or, at the very least, the best I can give them. It doesn’t feel like enough. Each one seems worse than the last, as if their illnesses are clinging to them for the express purpose of making a mockery of everything I’m trying to do.
I became an herbalist to help people. But in the year I’ve been in Capton since finishing my studies at the academy, things have only become worse. They tell me that I’m doing a good job, that the problems lie with the lack of a Human Queen. But I can’t help wondering if I couldn’t be doing something more.
Kindly Mr. Abbot is the last on my list for the morning. Thankfully, he’s doing all right still. I doubt I could keep my composure if he wasn’t.
“Come in, come in.” He waves me inside with small, trembling motions of his weathered hand.
“Mr. Abbot, I’m afraid I can’t stay today. But I brought your tea so you can brew—”
“I’ve already put the kettle on.” He shuffles about the kitchen. “The tea never tastes the same when I brew it.”
“I’m sure it does.” Yet I’m putting my mostly empty basket down on his counter anyway.
“It doesn’t work as well,” he insists, per usual.
“I think you just like having company.” I smile and set to work as he eases himself into a chair at his table.
“Can you blame an old man?”
“No.”
Mr. Abbot isn’t the first person to claim they can’t replicate my brews, salves, and poultices at home—even when I sell them the exact herbs and give them detailed instructions. I suspect it’s because of my elvish kettle. The Keepers say a bit of the elves’ wild magic lives in the things they make using it. If that’s true, then maybe part of my skills are because of the necklace Luke gave me.