He pulls the stem from the earth, exposing the slender roots beneath. ‘Valerian. Grind it up into a powder and it can help you sleep. Helps with headaches, too.’
‘And that one?’
‘Cowslip. Reduces swelling. And see over there? The white ones? That’s wild carrot. Not to be confused with poison hemlock. It’s important, when learning which plants are edible, to make note of the ones that are deadly – particularly those that appear deceptively similar to others. You know those currants you like?’
I nod. I couldn’t help noticing that the fruit has been in regular supply ever since I mentioned my partiality. More peace offerings.
Fox produces what look like three identical berries from his pocket and holds them out to me. ‘Pick one out of the line-up.’
I frown uncertainly. ‘The … left?’
Fox shakes his head. ‘Moonseed.’
‘Middle?’
‘Nightshade.’ He smirks a little at my disgruntled expression. ‘False familiarity. Never underestimate nature’s ability to trick. Some weapons are made; others grow.’
‘You sound almost admiring.’
‘I suppose I am. I admire the fact that a tiny berry can kill as easily as a knife, and sometimes faster.’
He tosses the berries over his shoulder.
I shake my head incredulously. ‘Your grandmother really taught you all of this?’
He nods, twirling the stem of a fern between his fingers.
‘And what of your grandfather?’
‘He was a woodcutter,’ Fox tells me. ‘He built her workshop, built her a home.’
Once again, I find my hand in his. I see a little cottage by the Creek, with a smoking chimney and crooked stained-glass windows.
‘We used to spend whole summers there,’ he says. ‘My sister and me.’
I watch a girl with hair like autumn leaves swinging upside down from a branch, toasting bread on a bonfire, sleeping soundly underneath a chequered quilt. All of asudden Fox’s grip tightens, and the warm glow of memory is replaced by a gust of ice-cold wind. Another vision swims into focus – Freya, eyes bulging with terror, suffocating to death.
Fox drops my hand as if it burns him and takes an unsteady step back, his expression tight, tortured, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. I can almost see the cracks beginning to form, fault lines spreading across his chest from the gaping hole in his heart. For a moment I think he might be about to break. I don’t know what to say, so I opt for a distraction.
‘Oh, I like these ones,’ I blurt out, pointing at a group of the tall thimble-shaped blooms I’d preferred to Hal’s roses. ‘What are they?’
It works. Fox blinks and exhales, and I watch as the pain slowly drains from his features. ‘Those?’ He leads the way to the patch of wildflowers. ‘These are foxgloves.’
The corners of my mouth twitch.
He arches a brow. ‘What is it?’
‘Pleasetell me that’s your full name.’
Fox stares at me. Then, as if he can’t help it, he laughs.
I’m about to smile back when, all of a sudden, the air is filled with the unmistakable sound of voices.
‘You should’ve seen the size of its teeth!’
‘Please, it’s no match for my spear.’
‘Take it easy. Remember, the Baron wants it alive.’
