“It is not like you to be so practical.” Her kind tone did not soften the blow of her words. I was a dreamer. I was not a practical person. I was not intelligent enough to see things sensibly. Every insecurity I’d ever felt flared back to life, making themselves known. I frowned, and Mother reached out. Her soft hands squeezed my bare arm. “You are meant to be a dreamer, Oleander. You have always been one. Do not start allowing life’s practicalities to change you or prevent you from seeking your happiness.”
It was unexpected advice from my mother. She treasured practicality and had always scolded me for not having enough of it. “Some dreams are not meant to come true.”
“And some are.” Mother studied me for a moment longer before squaring her shoulders. “Now, there is a crate of syrups in the back. They need to go there.” She pointed at a bare spot on the shelf. “We need them stocked before the market opens.”
The soft moment had ended, and normalcy had returned.
An hour later, the market was in full swing. Mother had kept me busy, and she kept popping out to check on me between each of the customers that sought out her healing magic. I had never found anyone to deliver the note to Castien, and I hated the idea of him waiting for me at his stall. I searched every customer’sface for one that was familiar enough to send the note to him, but the only familiar face I’d seen was the woman from the Pavilion who had scoffed at my humble shopkeeping.
I would not trust her to deliver anything safely for me, nor did I believe she would willingly do it.
Another hour passed, and I knew that Castien would think I stood him up. Had he left the stall to search for me, or did he believe I’d shared a night with him and had no desire to see him again? My heart ached in my chest at the idea.
Finally, I saw a familiar face I could trust.
“Acantha,” I called out as they passed the stall.
Their head turned toward me, and I watched as their face lit up. “What are you doing here?” Acantha asked as they cut their way to the counter. “Castien said you despised apothecary work.”
“Father’s ill,” I told her simply. “Can you please tell Castien? I do not want him to think—”
“That spending the night in his cabin meant nothing to you?” they teased, wiggling their eyebrows in a suggestive way. I’d thought I’d seen them from the corner of my eye as I left that morning. This was simply confirmation. I nodded, and Acantha’s smile grew brighter. “I’m very glad to hear it. My brother does not like most people.”
“I’ve picked up on that.”
“He likes you.”
My face flushed. “I’ve picked up on that too.”
Acantha picked up a wrapped bar of soap meant to sooth scaly skin and sniffed it. “I like this,” they stated. “If I do not have dry skin, will it be too much?”
That was a question for Father. That might even be a question for Mother, but she was tucked away behind the curtain, working her magic on a young child who had hurt their ankle earlier that day. I’d been on the receiving end of that bit ofhealing magic in the past, and I knew Mother would be angry if I interrupted her. “I do not know,” I told Acantha honestly. “I would assume that it wouldn’t, but I’ve never been good at any of this.”
Acantha laughed and put the bar of soap back down on the counter. They picked up a vial of oil. “This reminds me of the oil Castien has been wearing this week.” I leaned forward and smelled it. The smell was familiar, though it lacked something that was distinctly Castien. I wondered if it worked like my favorite oil, enhancing natural smells to draw people to me. “Until this week, I think Castien only wore it three times. He’s put it on every day for the last few.”
Had he?
“He has also been much more careful in how he dresses.”
“I watched him dress this morning,” I told them with a shake of my head. “I did not see any careful consideration.”
“I know my brother.” I had no doubt about this. Castien had said that Acantha was the closest to him of all his siblings. “I’ve never seen him smile as much as he does with you, either.”
“What are you saying?” I asked Acantha softly.
“I am saying that my brother cares for you in a way I’ve never seen before. He is different with you.” Acantha’s face turned serious. “If you care for my brother, and I believe you do, then you need to speak to him. You need to tell him how you feel, because I do not think either of you will find anyone better suited. You bring out a side of Castien that I’ve always known was there, but he does not allow most people to see. He is softer with you. He pulls his head out of his notebooks and studies.” Acantha reached across the counter and cupped one of my hands in theirs. “He told me about you. Years ago.”
Years ago.
Our first meeting and our first kiss, when we were barely more than boys. The memories came rushing back, mingling with the new memories we’d made this year.
“He studied the stars for an entire year after he met you, and he said it was because of the boy at the market. He wanted to find you the next year and tell you stories. He even asked Pari to pick up a book on the stars from Dun Steorra for his Naming Day. It was the only time I’d seen anything capture his attention the way his gears and cogs and inventions did. Until now.”
I could imagine it. I could imagine Castien’s serious eyes reading over pages of the legends of the stars. I could imagine him studying the star charts that had never made sense to me, and I could picture him trying to find each of the constellations in the skies of Gearwick. All because he wanted to tell me about them, only I never showed. Just as I never showed that day.
Until now.
The words echoed in my head.
