Chapter 1
The petals bruise purple under my thumb.
I press harder, grinding them against the stone mortar until the color bleeds out and the sharp, sweet smell rises.
Moonbright.
The flowers only grow wild out here, pale and stubborn in the shadows where the trees crowd thick. I found them years ago—followed the deer trails until I stumbled into a whole field of them, faintly blue in the fading light.
That's why I stayed.
The paste thickens as I work, the texture coming together just right.
Not too wet.
My fingers are stained purple-blue up to the knuckles, and there's a smear across my forearm where I pushed my hair back without thinking.
Eh, I'll wash it later.
Maybe.
The color fades eventually, and there are more important things to worry about—like whether I sealed the last batch properly, or if I remembered to check the drying rack this morning.
I didn't.
I'll do it after this.
I scrape the paste into a clay jar—third one this week—and seal it with wax. The shelf above my worktable is looking thin. A few tonics, some salves, dried bundles of herbs tied with string. The paste jars used to take up a whole row. Now there's gaps.
A clatter from outside breaks the quiet. Then a squawk. Then a crash that sounds expensive.
Oh no.
I shove back from the table and cross to the door. The cottage isn't big—four walls, one room, a loft for sleeping—and I built most of it myself over the years, adding pieces as I needed them.
The roof doesn't leak anymore.
That took a while.
Outside, Nugget is standing in my dye pot.
In it.
The pot's overturned, pink liquid spreading across the dirt, and she's standing in the middle of the mess looking deeply offended. She didn't cause this. The dye pot attacked her.
"Out."
She doesn't move.
"Out of the—you're standing in—"
She fluffs her feathers and pink dye sprays in all directions. Some of it hits my shirt.
I grab her around the middle before she can redecorate anything else. She squawks, flapping, spattering more pink across my arms, my face, probably my hair. Wet spots everywhere.
Great. This is exactly what I needed today, and I still haven't checked the drying rack.
"You're a disaster."
