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“You’re wonderful,” I cut in, fighting to keep from kissing her again in front of my da. I’m just so happy and relieved and grateful to have her safe. Spared. Almost whole. “Once you’ve healed, we’ll figure out something to help you walk on your own,” I say. “Something nicer than a pirate’s peg. I’ll carve it myself.”
“You’re not listening,” she huffs, shifting her attention to Da. “Tell him, Father Cooper. I might not be able to have children, at least not human ones, and I don’t—”
“I don’t think he needs to be told anything, dear,” Da interrupts gently, resting a warm hand on my back. “And I don’t think you do, either. I think the two of you are old enough to figure the rest of your story out on your own.” He looks poised to start back to the house when he hesitates and adds, “Though, I would very much like to be your tutor, Clara. If you’ll allow it. To help you rule your new magic.”
Clara frowns quizzically, and I feel the chance of a moment alone dwindling even before she asks, “My new magic?”
What follows is several hours—yes, hours—of magic conversation over tea and pastries, interrupted only briefly for trips to the grove to cuddle Wig and Poke and reassure them about a wide variety of things.
I assure them that I’m alive and I forgive them for trying to kill me, seeing as they’re so remorseful about it. Clara assures them that she’s fine and that it’s all right to call her Clara instead of Foxglove. And that it’s also fine not to feel upset about their witch mother being dead since she was a dreadful person who apparently murdered Clara’s sisters before trying to finish Clara off this morning.
Clara breaks down during the telling of that part, and Wig, Poke, and I all try to hold her at once. I end up getting a mouthful of feathers and accidentally elbowing Poke in the face, but he assures me it’s “no less than he deserves.”
Wig agrees with this assessment and begins a song recalling all the times Poke has stabbed him in the face—or the eye, or the stomach—in such intricate detail that it makes Clara smile and snuggle him close. Poke pretends to be annoyed, but it’s clear he’s relieved that no one’s crying anymore. He stops fretting about what will become of the garden, though he does wonder aloud what will happen to the plantings who are stuck in their beds or too young to seek out food and water in the human world.
“Well, we’ll go feed them, of course,” Clara says, smoothing his feathers with a gentle finger. She glances over at me. “And maybe…you and I can go, too. I could introduce you to all the plantings. They’re very sweet, once you get to know them.”
I nod, finding the thought of returning to the garden not nearly as scary as I would have expected.
But then, I’ll be going with Clara, and just about anywhere sounds good as long as I get to be there with her. Hopefully, for keeps.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Declan
By the time everyone finally gets sleepy and I’m banished to the barn with my father, it’s nearly midnight. Before we cross the yard, we help Clara into Mr. Barolo’s shed, where she and Adrina have decided to sleep.
Neither of them felt ready to return to Adrina’s room.
The memories—and the smells—are too fresh.
In the morning, Da has me out of bed before the sun, preparing to head for home. The ship that carried him here had to push on to fish warmer waters, but he feels confident we’ll meet a crew willing to take us to Amaria, even if it’s in a smaller boat.
“You use magic more often than you let on, don’t you?” I ask, covering a yawn with my fist as I toss my rolled blanket on top of his in the corner of the hay loft.
Da gives one of his inscrutable shrugs. “This time I won’t have to. Who could resist the pleas of a beautiful girl who’s just lost her leg in a tragic accident? I expect we’ll have several offers before noon.”
I peer out the end of the loft toward the sleeping house. “Nothing can be done for her leg? Some sort of magic to help it grow back again?”
His brows furrow. “Not with harpy venom. It’s one of the few things that can kill an immortal. She’s lucky to be alive. If I’d waited even a second more, she might have passed from us, and I’m still not entirely sure…” He trails off with a sigh.
“Not sure about what?” I press.
“It’s nothing.” The assurance is unconvincing, earning Da a harder look from me. He shrugs again and amends, “It’s most likely nothing. We’ll have to wait and see.”
