A week had come and gone since my encounter with the dreadtusk. One filled with busy days mixing tonics and making deliveries, and restless nights experimenting with the black blood, pondering its nature from the comfort of the Dream. And though it proved a most vexing opponent, in time it gave in to my relentless badgering and revealed one of its closely guarded secrets to me. A soil composition that could withstand its corruption with nary a whiff of its foul scorching scent.

  Eager to share my discovery with Mother, I awoke that morning and rushed to the garden, sifting through pots and planters with bare, shaking hands, mixing dirt, sand, compost, and clay until the composition that had once only existed in the Dream was brought into the waking world.

  I still recall the look on her face. She spoke as she always did when discussing my wicked compound, in a low whisper, as though the blood might overhear our discussion.

  “You’re certain it’s safe?” Frightened — by the blood itself, or my fervor, I cannot say with certainty — yet intrigued, the faintest tremble of shared excitement in her voice. Though this endeavor had been a pet project of mine for longer than I could remember, it was one in which she’d always taken a keen interest.

  Just from a good, safe distance, lest the intensity of my obsession overwhelm her.

  Nodding so fast my still matted hair flung in every direction, my mouth moved faster than my thoughts, words crashing into one another in a desperate attempt to be heard. “I assure you it is, Mother! I know it may not seem much, but this proves there lies some way to tame its nature! Oh, Mother, I’m sure of it now! This is what I’ve been missing.” To what purpose I dared not say aloud. I was my mother’s daughter, and I knew better than to risk the fellblood learning to what end I sought to use it.

  “Have you tested it yet?” She asked, adding quickly, “on this side?”

  I shook my head. My teeth sank into my lower lip, and my electric nerves dulled.

  “I’ve not. There are still more tests I want to do first before I risk wasting even a drop of it in this place.” Though not the whole truth, no part of my explanation was a lie. She worried enough as things were. I couldn’t bear to see the frightful frown she’d wear, nor stand to feel the clenching ache in her breast, if she knew how the blood affected the Dream. How its foul stench and wicked vapors twisted the nocturnal haze into a cloud of nightmarish uncertainty and ghastly whispers.

  No, before I brought that evil into the waking world, I wanted to be sure and certain of the steps to follow. To set it to use immediately.

  A smile found its way back to my face, along with a girlish squeal, a sound foreign to my own ears, but not hers judging from the way she beamed. “But, we’re drawing close! I can feel it!”

  “I’m sure you are, love.” Mother laughed and bounced on the balls of her feet as I did, reflecting my excitement back as the moon shines with the sun’s light. “But, if you’ve no business with your wicked friend in the daylight, would you mind watching the house while I’m away? I’ve some deliveries to make, and we’ve orders to fill from the front lines.”

  An order from my brother, no doubt, judging by the way her voice raised as she swelled and grinned. All mothers loved their sons, but few with as much pride as she.

  “Will V be coming through to pick up the order?” I asked with a knowing smile on my lips.

  “So he says! So he says.” Now it was her turn to give in to youthful glee, all but skipping as she pattered about the kitchen. Stopping only to clear her throat and flash me a scandalous little smile. “I’m told he has Lucien in tow.”

  “Does he?” I asked, pausing at the window to gaze at the garden. “That's for the best. Left to himself, I’m certain he’d lose his way walking from his bed to the dinner table.”

  Mother chuckled, “You’re far too cruel, Celeste. He’s a good boy. Strong, courageous…”

  “Exhausting to be around?” I added with a teasing grin. “Don’t misunderstand, Mother. I’m quite fond of Lucien. He is my dear brother’s closest friend.”

  I turned, watching Mother pause at the sink to massage her hands. Moving to her side, I took her hands in mine and held them tight.

  “I’ll do the deliveries.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but a foregone conclusion. She opened her mouth to protest, as she always did, but I would hear none of it. “You’ve been working too hard.”

  “As have you,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Walking the length of the village during the day, toiling away at night when you should be resting.” With a pursed lip stare, she took my hands in hers. “When’s the last time you slept, Celeste? Really, truly, let your mind be at ease, rather than working through your dreams?”

  Her hand reached for my cheek, fingers grazing the hair covering my ears. I flinched; she pulled away and frowned.

  “When my work is done, I’ll take a nice, long nap. I swear it.” I assured her with a sunny smile. It flickered at the look in her eyes, turning to a frown. “I swear it.”

  “You needn’t lie to ease my worries, Celeste.” She smiled and squeezed my hands. “I know the woman you are. If one job ends, you’ll simply find another to take its place. You truly are the worst, you know?” She kissed my cheek and turned to walk away. “But you make me proud. I’ll be in the garden. Do let me know when your brother arrives, won’t you?”

  “I’ll be sure to send him home.” I called after her. Once the door fell shut, I went about preparing myself for the day. Though it was only in dreams, my work with the black blood left me feeling filthy upon waking. Even if it meant delaying our deliveries, I refused to let the world see me covered in its ethereal stench.

  ***

  I strolled into the square, a basket of poultices on my arm, assaulted by a sudden unpleasant itch, burning like a beacon in my shoes. I followed it to the source to find the kindly, old fisherman sitting nearby.

  “Eldwin.” I called to him with a twinge of discomfort as the itching grew worse the closer I drew. “How do you do? None too well, I take it?”

  He looked up with a start, the wide-brimmed straw hat nearly falling from his head. Squinting behind his thick-rimmed glasses, a smile lit up beneath his ragged beard.

  “Why, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! You’re looking lovely as ever, Miss Celeste.” He cleared his throat and tried to stifle his persistent scratching at his thick rubber boots. “I don’t suppose you’ve got something for me, have you?”

  “I do indeed, my good sir.” I reached into the basket, running my hand across the corks without a glance, and retrieved a bottle of thick, syrupy liquid. “You’ve had an unfortunate encounter with some mungweed, haven’t you?”

  Eldwin chuckled and nodded. “Guilty as sin, I’m afraid. Landed a monster of a catch the other day, but it was a fight hard won. The beast dragged me into the lake up to my knees. Thought I'd surely be meeting Oblivion, I did.” He reached for his pocket, but I shook my head and stuffed the bottle into his hands.

  The itch was driving me toward insanity, and the pleasantries were little comfort.

  “And yet, you returned victorious.” I forced a giggle, covering my mouth to hide my grimace of discomfort. “Please, good sir, be done with your suffering.”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad, Miss Celeste. Just a bothersome itch, nothing more. I’ll deal with it —”

  “You’ll deal with it now.” The corners of my eyes crinkled, even as my teeth started to grind. “I insist, good sir, that you take care of yourself with haste.”

  "Best not to argue, I’m afraid, Eldwin.” A crooning voice, one I’d not heard for thirteen years, said with a laugh. “Surely you’ve learned by now our Celeste isn’t one to take no for an answer.”

  I turned to the voice with a genuine smile, my eyebrows raised. “You’re home already? I expected it to be after sunset given your company.”

  “Come now, Celeste! Must you be so sour while looking so sweet?”

  My eyes narrowed; my smile sharpened.

  “Have I said anything that isn’t true, Lucien? You’re a savant with a spear, to be sure, but a map may be the one foe you’ll never best.”

  The duo laughed, and I greeted them with an eager embrace, slipping into my brother’s arms as if he’d never left. The faint hint of sweat mingled with the Sunrose Bloom cologne I’d sent him months ago, warming my heart to know he’d kept it all this time. I refused to let him go, feeling the years come crashing back into me, forming a tightness in my throat. He squeezed me back and kissed my head.

  Eventually, we pulled away, and he held me at arm’s length.

  “You’ve not been stressing our dear old mother, have you, Sister?”

  “Not any more than that to which she’s grown accustomed.”

  Vasco laughed and shook his head, wearing a grin that surely made the fair maidens he’d been off rescuing blush. His dark hair, the utter opposite my own, had grown long, falling across his even darker eyes.

  My eyes and fingers were drawn to the scar that now graced his cheek. I frowned, deeper still when he reached up to take my hand.

  “Just a scratch. Nothing to trouble you with.” His grin grew wider as he leaned in to look me in the eye. “Don’t give me that look, Sister. It really was nothing at all.” Standing upright, he clapped a heavy hand on the shoulder of his companion. “With this one at my side, I’ve nothing to fear. Not Fellbeast, nor Fiend Lord, nor the Fallen, herself!”

  My gaze drifted over to finally acknowledge Lucien. Like a loyal hound waiting expectantly for a treat, he wore his usual crooked smile and carried himself with a confidence few men could match.

  “Tis true, Little Star! You can rest easy knowing V is ever in good hands.” He ran a hand through his hair and flashed me a look meant to reduce me to a simpering puddle. Instead, I rolled my eyes and turned away to hide the smile still clinging to my lips.

  “You’re quite lucky it suits you, or I’d be ever-so-cross that you robbed me of the opportunity to mend it.” Remembering my client, I looked to Eldwin to confirm my salve’s success, but the relief I felt in my feet already gave me the answer. “All’s well now, I take it?”

  The fisherman nodded, sliding to his feet, fishing rod on his shoulder, and a big, beaming smile on his face.

  “That it is, Miss Celeste, that it is! Thank you kindly. I’d best be on my way before I lose too much sunlight.” He bowed his head, first to me, then to my brother. “Sir Vasco, Sir Lucien. It’s an honor to welcome you both home. You boys — ahem — you gentlemen enjoy your time here before you head out again.”

  “Best of luck to you, Eldwin. May your cast be true and your stance strong.” Vasco said with a bow of his head in return.

  “And do be mindful of the mungweed, good sir.” I called after him. “Meager or not, it pains me to see you suffer.”

  Eldwin waved and disappeared beyond the edge of the hill. My duty done, I motioned for the duo to follow and made my way back down the street.

  “Let’s not keep Mother waiting. She’s all but bursting to hear of your exploits, Brother.” I glanced at Lucien with a smirk. “And yours, as well, I suppose.”

  “Your words cut me deeper than any blade, Little Star.” Though he whimpered with exaggerated sorrow, he’d not stopped smiling from the moment I looked his way. From the way the corner of his mouth twitched and his restless hands shifted at his sides, it was clear he wanted nothing more than to regale me with every last detail of his time away.

  An arrangement with which I was certain Vasco was more than content. Lucien had always been the storyteller of the two, my brother his most captive audience even for tales in which he played the starring role. And, loath as I was to admit even to myself — and I would never admit it to him — Lucien did have a talent for spinning the most mundane happening into a gripping epic, even in his letters.

  “That,” I paused, dragging out the silence to ensure I had his attention, “is only because you choose to hide behind my brother when it’s a blade you’re facing.”

  “Do not blame Lucien for my proclivity to run headlong into danger.” Vasco said.

  “Trust that I hold you both equally in contempt. You enable one another’s worst instincts, Brother.” But I couldn’t finish my scathing rebuttal without laughing. “Will you be staying long?” I asked, changing the topic. To my surprise, Vasco nodded. There was a grim pallor on his face, one that also clouded Lucien’s usual sunny disposition.

  “I told Mother we were coming to retrieve a shipment for the Valeguard. And while there is some truth to that, our reserves of tonics have run dangerously thin, that is not the sole reason for our arrival.” He paused, his mouth forming a thin line that reminded me of Mother when she worried.

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  After a pause, and a glance toward Lucien for the reassurance to continue, he lowered his voice and said, “A Fellbeast has been spotted in the valley near Spring Hill.”

  I released an airy sigh. “Is that what troubles you? The beast was slain a week ago. I watched it breathe its last with my own eyes.”

  Lucien shook his head. “I know of the one you speak. I dealt it a fatal blow when we were stationed in Jade Hollow. I’m glad to know it met its end, but it was not our quarry.”

  Of course, I thought with a nod. My supposition had been correct after all; the Fellbeast’s wound had come from Lucien’s spear. But the worry in his normally confident voice shook me. I came to a halt and turned to them completely.

  “This seriousness is not becoming of the two of you. What reason is there for this other beast to give you pause?” I watched them trade a glance, and my grip on my basket tightened alongside a knot forming in my stomach. My mouth grew dry; my palms damp.

  Vasco opened his mouth to speak and —

  "Flowers, oddities, trinkets, and baubles! Treasures collected from Northswain to Sheerside at your beck and call!” A new voice, accompanied by jingling bells and squeaking wheels, called out across the square.

  The cart came to a stop in the square, its owner stopping to first rub his knees with a pained expression, then to visit the nearby regulars and ask if he might set up his shop for a few days. Satisfied with their response, he returned, set his donkey free, taking it to graze nearby, and opened the hatch on the side of his cart. My eyes widened, and breath quickened at the odds and ends on display.

  Glittering jewelry, polished trinkets of gold and silver and crystal, and well kept beast belts were most prominent in the display, though I had no interest in any of them. What caught my eye first were the thick tomes he pulled from below to set on a makeshift counter, then the potted flowers he laid at his feet.

  Most merchants avoided Spring Hill, knowing that so meager a place lacked the coin to fill their coffers. But though he dressed in clothes of noble make, they were frayed and stained with grass and dirt, threadbare in parts, with naught but the flowered cap upon his head in pristine condition.

  This was a man who earned his keep with his own two hands. One who might have something to offer — understanding, material, or otherwise — to people such as us.

  “Hm? Celeste?”

  My brother’s words were miles away as I walked, transfixed, to the opulent little stand, taking a moment to feel the wood with my hands and admired the care that went into maintaining it. Though my eyes longed to wander, I held them at bay, fixing my trembling gaze on the lacquered wood.

  “Ah, welcome, lass! You’ve an eye for quality, have you?” The man asked, striking up a conversation with a jaunty chuckle. He rose from kneeling, a flash of pain flaring in the small of his back and in his knees striking me so suddenly I nearly gasped, and approached me with a warm, accommodating smile. “I hate to be the one to disappoint, but I’m afraid she’s not for sale. Need her to carry me on my way when the deed is done here.”

  I gave a little laugh and turned to him with a smile to match.

  “I’d not think to rob you of so fine a craft, good sir. I can see from the shine that she’s well loved for her burdens.” As my hand continued to idly stroke the smooth surface of the cart, my eyes were at last given freedom to explore, drawn to the thick, leather-bound tomes he’d so carefully laid out. “What brings you to so quaint a place as Spring Hill? Surely we’ve little to offer a man of such refined taste as yourself.”

  The man rose ?to his full height with a deep breath, then let it out and nodded, gazing around the square with eyes that knew the truth. There was no one here who could afford even half of what he’d brought, and even that which remained would bankrupt us all.

  “Perhaps, Miss, perhaps. But, ah, I’ve been on the road so long, I’ve learned two things: never be afraid to be surprised, and never pass up a chance to learn something new.” He grimaced as he turned — the pain in his back flaring up once more — but smothered it with a smile. “I’ve been to places small as this one many a time. What they lacked for coin, they made up with good conversation and even better food.”

  “Hm, then you won’t be disappointed. The huntswoman, Hannah, has her share of stories to tell and can spin a yarn to rival that of your jacket in its glory days.” I laughed and reached out to pick up one of the tomes, perusing its pages. “And you’re sure to stop by the Emerald Sundrop before departing. While there, treat yourself to the Snakebite ale. The first sip may sting, but you’ll find yourself unable to resist another.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see the man sizing me up. Not as prey, but as an artifact of interest. The corners of his eyes crinkled, his smile reaching them at last.

  “You’re quite the merchant yourself,” he remarked. “Well read, too, I presume? Ah, but where are my manners? Call me Cassabag. An odd name, I know, but it’s mine and I wear it with pride.” He stepped back and gave a little bow.

  “Celeste,” I said, nodding my head in return. The man’s flourish caused his ache to ignite, and it took all the strength I had to stay my tongue. Shutting the book, I returned it to its resting place and searched my bag for what remedies I had left.

  But as I dug about my basket, hearing and nodding along to Cassabag’s words, he brought out a new offering that stole the air from my lungs.

  “Is that a witherlily?” My voice rose, tinged with bewilderment, and my eyes grew wide. There was no mistaking the pale white petals, fading like smoke to black at their tips. It was a flower I’d only seen in drawings of in books; a flower that could not possibly be before me now.

  Cassabag peered up at me with a grin. “Ah, I was right. You truly are something, aren’t you, Miss Celeste? Know your rare blooms, do you?”

  “As well she should.” Vasco’s voice reached me in my stupor. His arm encircling my shoulders caused me to jump and start to breathe once more. “She’s the finest apothecary anywhere in the valley. Been patching us up since she was a little thing.”

  “Don’t,” I cleared my throat and shook my head, staring transfixed at the flower. “Don’t be absurd, Brother. You speak too highly of me — how exactly did you come to possess a witherlily?”

  “Is there something special about it?” Lucien asked, to which Cassabag laughed in response.

  “Tis a rare bloom, indeed, Sir Hero.” He lifted the pot with careful hands and brought it closer, setting it atop the tomes between us. “These little beauties were the pride of Northswain before it was taken by the Dreadlands. Swallowed up by the wastes, they were thought to have been lost forever.”

  “Northswain?” Lucien traded a look with Vasco. The pair of them now shared my bewilderment. “The Northern territory was taken some five hundred years ago.”

  “Five hundred sixty-three.” I licked my dry lips. “There’s not been a witherlily seen since. How —” I shook my head. This wasn’t like me. Thoughts jumbled, tongue tied, I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it, but my beating heart demanded an answer. “How could you come to possess something that should no longer exist?”

  Cassabag’s eyes twinkled. “Why, from Northswain of course.”

  “You’ve been to the Dreadlands? Are you mad, sir, or suicidal?” Vasco asked, his voice rising in pitch and volume, attracting the attention of the others in the square.

  “I wouldn’t say mad, and certainly not ready to give up my claim to this life, no sir. As I proclaimed when I entered town, I’ve oddities from all corners of the valley. This one, though? This was quite a find. I was pursued by a rotfly in my travels. Fleeing for my life, whipping through trails and trees, ducking round bends and hiding in hollows, but I couldn’t shake the accursed thing. Torn between a miserable, festering end and facing the unknown, I fled into Northswain in hopes I might lose it. For three days, I hid among the ruins. Waiting, barely breathing, knowing that even the slightest peep would be my undoing. And when at last the beast grew tired of the chase, I crawled out of the wreckage and what should I find? Why…a witherlily, in full bloom.”

  “That’s impossible.” Vasco shook his head. “Nothing can grow in the Dreadlands.”

  The merchant responded with a solemn nod. “Quite true, Sir Hero. But, see with your own eyes,” he gestured to the witherlily, “that which should not be, is. Somehow, it learned to grow in that accursed place, and we’re once more graced by its beauty.”

  “I’ll take it.” The words burst from my lips, but I felt no shame in speaking them. There would be no argument, only a negotiation. I dreaded the next steps of my experiment with the Fellbeast blood, but to be in possession of a flower that not only resisted, but thrived, within the wastes would be a boon worthy of any price.

  Clearly, my abrupt response startled the men. The three of them turned to me with matching looks of incredulity. I cleared my throat and repeated my demand. “I want it, good sir.”

  “Well, well…at last I meet someone with an appreciation for the truly bizarre.” Cassabag stood upright — flinching, but pushing through his ache with an eager grin. “There is, of course, a matter of payment.” His delivery grew stilted and slow, as if he’d reached this point only a few times in the past, just to be shot down. “The flower before you is the only one of its kind in the world, lost to the world for five, nearly six, centuries. And acquiring it was no easy feat…why, I’d dare say one that cannot ever be repeated, oh no.”

  “Out with it, man.” Lucien stepped in. He flashed me his crooked grin. “It’ll be the Valeguard’s coin that procures the good lady, Celeste’s, purchase today. Name your price.”

  Cassabag shook his head and rummaged through his cart. “Oh, Sir Hero, I’d never speak it aloud. I’ve no desire for the good people of this place to think me more mad than I already am. But, a moment, if you would…” He retrieved a slip of parchment and passed it to Lucien. Already his smile was waning, sweat painting his brow.

  And for good reason, it seemed, for when Lucien read the parchment, his face went pale and his jaw dropped. “You truly are mad! This is no price for a flower, it’s the cost to run Champion’s Forge for a year!”

  The merchant nodded, taking his hat in his hands and lowering his balding head.

  “I certainly understand your skepticism, Sir Hero, but I assure you, no lesser price will do. My words alone cannot capture the horrors I endured to procure so rare a flower.”

  Vasco looked over Lucien’s shoulder and soon, he too, looked haunted.

  “I’ve no desire to put a price tag on your life, sir, but this is…well, it’s troubling to say the least.” He glanced in my direction, knowing I’d not be deterred. “Celeste, much as I long to make you happy, I cannot see a way in which we could —”

  Cassabag’s knees were starting to tremble, their ache climbing up his spine.

  “Tell me, good sir,” I spoke, suddenly, bringing the argument to a halt, “how long has it been that you’ve lived with this pain?”

  “Hm? Well, I think it’s been three, no, maybe four? Ah yes, four years since my dreadful excursion through the Dreadlands. Why do you —”

  I shook my head. “No, my good sir, I don’t mean the scars you bear from your frightful journey. I mean the ache that causes you to hobble and cringe as you stand on your feet?” I made a show of looking him up and down, bringing my fingers to my chin. “Your knees and back, it seems?”

  He looked at me with wide-eyed awe. Then he nodded.

  “Well, time’s arrow lodged itself within my knees ten or so winters ago. My back?” He paused and looked at me. “Pray tell, what gave it away?”

  Now it was my eyes that twinkled, a smile threatening to make itself known through my frown of concern. “Recall my brother saying I am an apothecary of some skill. I’ve a, well, let’s call it a knack, for knowing what ails my patients.”

  Cassabag considered me for a moment, then, with a shrug and a weary sigh, he recounted the tale. “Most of my life, I’m afraid. When I was but a boy I became possessed by some irresistible urge and tried to climb the Mother Willow.”

  I let my smile loose and giggled, “Ah, courageous and blasphemous, were you, my good sir?”

  “No, no! Nothing of the sort.” He chuckled and shook his head, but a faint blush colored his cheeks. “Merely young and reckless. Unfortunately, in my haste I failed to plan for my descent. And when my fingers slipped, I fell from a height few men would ever reach.”

  “An aching back is a better reward than a trip to Oblivion’s embrace, I suppose.” Vasco pointed out, and Cassabag nodded.

  “Sure enough it is, Sir Hero. If I could not undo my mistake, then I am ever grateful that it ended as it did and not worse.”

  “Would it not be better,” I asked, “if you could be free of that reminder of youthful folly?”

  “If such a thing were possible, Miss Celeste, I’d surely have given anything to claim it.” Cassabag sighed and shook his head. “But, tis not to be.”

  “Oh, but it is, good sir.” I reached into my basket and retrieved an ointment: an orange-yellow liquid, thick and pale, sloshing around the phial. “In fact, I’ve the remedy for what ails you here.”

  The merchant chuckled and shook his head. He fixed me with a knowing smirk. “I see what you’re doing, lass. But, I’ve tasted my share of snake oil over the years and I’ve learned that anyone offering an easy solution wants something for it. Not even a Healer could mend the damage deep within my bones.”

  “Rest assured, good sir, I’d never try to swindle someone with false cures. Nor would I insult you by pretending I have no ulterior motive. I think my intention clear: I’ll undo the damage time and folly has done to you, and in return you’ll give me the witherlily.”

  I looked him in the eye, wearing a look of quiet confidence. His eyes flicked from my own to the phial in my hand. I gave it a little shake and raised my eyebrows.

  “That’s a heavy price you command, Miss Celeste.”

  “I think it a fair price. You risked life and limb to acquire this bloom; I offer relief to life and limb in exchange for it.” I turned to Lucien. “Please, Lucien, fetch a stool from the tavern so I might treat the good sir.”

  “Oh! Of course, Celeste. I’ll return shortly.” And he was gone, sprinting with speed regularly reserved for the battlefield. He returned in under a minute, a wooden stool under his arm. He placed it between us, and I gestured for the merchant to take a seat.

  “Please, have a seat. I’d never ask you to take me at my word alone. Even if you find my price too steep, I’m not so cruel as to leave a man suffering due to wounded pride.”

  Vasco chimed in, saying, “She’ll hound you to the ends of the earth if you refuse. Best let her work her miracles and be done with it.”

  Cassabag looked from me, to the boys, then back to me. Then, with a shrug, he took a seat on the stool.

  I started with the less invasive procedure, rolling up his trousers above his knees, knobby and swollen with age. I poured some of the tincture into my hands and massaged it into the skin with deft fingers and a careful touch. Every flinch or wince was known to me without looking, my touch softening, but never straying from the source of the pain. After just a minute, I heard a breathless gasp and felt relief in my own knees.

  My work completed, I brushed him clean and sat back on my haunches. The swelling was shrinking; looking up, I saw his eyes growing.

  “Would you mind if I treated your back now, good sir?”

  His response was a short, muted nod.

  I rose to my feet, pulled down his trouser legs, and slipped behind him. He trembled as I pushed up his shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary greeted me, save the cuts and scrapes expected of one possessed by wanderlust. Leaning him forward ever-so-slightly, I took a more generous helping of the ointment and worked it into the stiff, throbbing muscles in the small of his back.

  And like the flicker of embers bursting into roaring flame, I felt relief wash through him as our shared pain started to fade.

  “Do you feel some relief, good sir?” I asked, already knowing the answer from his airy moans. By the time I was done, he wept tears of relief and leaped to his feet with a spring in his step.

  “What sorcery is this, lass? Just what is in that miraculous little thing?” He accepted the still half-full phial when I offered it to him, gazing into it with awe and delight.

  “A simple healing mixture, nothing more.” It was only mostly true. Most of the ingredients were common enough, though I possessed the only Wildedrop daisy necessary for its creation. “You’re quite welcome to keep it for when time’s arrow catches you unawares once more. I would, however, recommend you avoid climbing the Mother Willow any time soon. You may be healed, but old bones are wont to break more easily than young. I fear a second fall would not give you time to apply a second coat.”

  Cassabag clutched the phial as if it were made of gold and let out a boisterous laugh. “Too true, lass! Too true! By Elysium’s grace, I can scarcely remember when I last felt so spry! Why, I feel as though I should take a turn hauling the cart!” He laughed again, and this time I joined him.

  My mouth covered by my hand, eyes twinkling with mischief, I asked the question looming just out of earshot. “Would you agree such a feeling is a worthy exchange, then?”

  He blinked his eyes and looked at the witherlily in a stupor. Then, without further hint of hesitation, he scooped it up and deposited it into my hands.

  “I feel as though I’m the one robbing you, Miss Celeste! I must agree with your noble brother’s assessment. You truly are the finest apothecary beneath the Mother Willow’s crown!”

  Despite my attempts to maintain modesty, I felt a flush of pink painting my cheeks. I’d grown so used to the familiar praise of Spring Hill’s residents that I’d long forgotten what it felt like to hear it from someone new. To know that I’d brought an end to a lifetime of suffering with my own two hands. An unguarded grin spread across my face, stretched from one rosy cheek to the other.

  “You’re quite welcome, Sir Cassabag.” For just a moment, I didn’t care about the rare flower in my hands or what it might mean for the future. All I could see was his smile, all I could hear was his laughter. And for just that moment, that was payment enough.

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