I had moonwort. Rowan resin I could collect in the forest. But veilbloom. Where could I find it?
I studied the page, rummaging through memory. I’d seen it before, but where?
I tapped my chin as I searched my mental catalog of plants.
Yes! I remembered where. It was off a path leading to Valgarde, one of the routes Hadrien and I had taken on our evening treks to repair the wards. The veilbloom was small and pale pink, and it grew in clusters along the mossy roots of the oldest trees. My pulse quickened.
It wasn’t a guaranteed cure. The text warned caution about all the ways that the counterspell could go wrong. I had to be careful and I would. If I could harvest fresh veilbloom on the walk back to Valgarde and prepare the compound correctly…
I pressed my hand flat over the page and then pressed it to my racing heart.
Hadrien, hold on…
My mother wasin the kitchen when I came out of my room with my satchel packed with the manuscript and the moonwort.
She stood at the hearth in her dressing robe, stirring something that smelled of chamomile and honey. She looked at my packed bag and my traveling cloak but said nothing. The fire popped softly. Outside, the sky was lightening at the edges, a blue-gray bridging the nighttime shadows to the color of day.
She inhaled deeply and let it out. “You’re going back.”
“I have to,” I said. “He’s cursed, Mom. By the queen.” I’d given her a quick overview of the curse of his men, the poppy… “And I found something in Grand-mère’s book that I have to try.”
She tipped her head. “What did you find?”
I pulled out the manuscript and laid it on the table. “A counter-preparation—plant-based, rooted in old magic. Hadrien and I, we did something before, something incredible, when we were repairing the wards. And I think if we entwine our magic again…” My voice trailed off. What I was proposing was so far beyond magic I’d ever thought possible, but I had to believe. The alternative with what would happen to Hadrien was too unbearable to conceive. “I have to see if it would help him.”
She brought two cups of fragrant tea to the table and sat across from me, wrapping both hands around hers the way she did for deeper conversations.
“Is that the only thing pulling you back?” she asked quietly.
I opened my mouth to answer quickly. Closed it again.
The fire crackled. A bird sang outside and went quiet. My mother watched me with patient understanding.
“No,” I admitted.
She waited.
I turned my cup slowly in my hands. “He let me go, Mom. Told me to come home even though I could see what it cost him. We developed a”—I pursed my lips as I searched for the word—“connection.”
She reached across the table and covered my hand; hers was warm from her tea.
“Then go,” she said simply.
I nodded, swallowing a lump wedged in my throat. My family had gone through so much and a part of me weighedheavy with guilt for deciding to leave them. But someone else needed me more.
“Be careful,” she murmured.
“I promise.”
The forest path was familiar now. That should have been comforting.
I gathered the resin first.
I harvested carefully, the way my grand-mère had instructed. Take what you need. Do no harm. Give thanks.
I did so, tucked the vials into my satchel, and kept moving.
That was when I heard it.
