Page 51 of A Spell of Heart & Havoc

The return trip home proved to be, thankfully, as quiet as this morning’s ride. We only passed by a couple other folks on the way, just novices strolling back from the village. Dove looked deep in thought the whole time, sneaking regular glances over at me with a pinched, worried expression.

After we’d returned to the children’s area and tracked them down in the courtyard, she and I had apologized to Orinno for leaving him in the lurch. He looked back and forth, clearly sensing what had happened between us, and waved our words away. He’d handed us two apples from the depths of his draped pant pockets and led us to a shady bench under a magnolia tree that had begun shedding its leaves for the autumn. Golden leaves scattered over the clover lawn under our feet. The children had chattered over one another, occasionally shrieking or laughing, as they’d enjoyed their snacks in a circle on the lawn. One of the smaller ones had sketched in a pad Dove had given him, and I saw her watching him with soft eyes.

As we sat together, I’d confessed to Dove that Orinno and I had known each other well for years. That I knew many of the acolytes and novices around the priory, in fact, and they’d been kindly keeping my privacy. But Orinno had been one of the priory’s helpers—a novice at the time—who assisted with Balfie’s care in the early days. And after becoming an acolyte, he’d volunteered himself to travel across the sea in search of the crystal we needed to heal my brother. One of the kindest and gentlest souls I knew, he also possessed a rare, brave heart.

As we’d munched on our apples, keeping half an eye on the children as they chatted and played, he’d thanked Dove for taking their “troublemaker” off the priory’s hands, which made her smile and me grumbly glower. We’d talked about Balfie, her asking hesitant questions that Orinno answered in his calm, thorough way after waiting for my permission. It had felt surprisingly good to discuss the situation with Dove—to have everything out in the open.

Not everything. Not even close, a reproving voice in my mind reminded, and I firmly ignored it. That was a problem for another day.

Now Dove and I dropped off our horses with the stable hand and made our way inside via the kitchen door around the side of the manor. Choia and most of the household staff weren’t there. Just Hanc, idly stirring a pot at the stove. The hobgoblin saluted us, then yawned, returning his attention to the pot. Petra had already told us that she had some household errands to run in Talon this afternoon, so she’d taken the carriage earlier. We were fending for ourselves with lunch, which I preferred, anyway, to being served by someone else.

“Here, take that tray and gather what bits and bobs you can find,” Dove said. “I’ll hunt for dessert.”

I grabbed the tray and began loading it up with a chaotic sort of charcuterie board—figs, a couple tangerines, a wedge of the crackly gouda we both loved, some honey-roasted nut and seed clusters, and the two pressed sandwiches that Choia had left for us wrapped in butcher paper.

“Ohh yes, found it,” Dove said gleefully.

She snagged the delicious leftover mint-and-caramel cake from last night, tucking it behind her back so Hanc wouldn’t see we were taking the whole thing. An unnecessary effort, as he seemed lost in his own thoughts as usual, absentmindedly humming and swirling his ladle through the air.

“And something to drink. I could use it after this morning,” I added.

Darting to one of the cellars, Dove pulled a bottle of elderflower wine out and held it up in silent question. I nodded approvingly. “Perfect choice.”

We carried our bounty out of the kitchens and down the low-lit hallway to the ballroom. But as I turned to head up to her rooms, Dove nudged me with her hip. “Let’s eat in the orchards. It’s not too far. The sun’s out. This might be one of the last warmish days we get before the weather turns.”

I looked dubiously outside, not exactly in the mood for a picnic, but followed her anyway through the echoing ballroom and out the tall glass double doors that led to the entertaining courtyard. She grabbed a long cloth for us to use as a blanket from atop a credenza on the way, throwing it over her shoulder. Locking the door behind us, Dove then swiped a finger up the caramel frosting of the cake she carried and licked it off thoroughly as she headed across the courtyard and down wide steps that led into the gardens.

Desire shot through me. I hurried after her, balancing the tray full of food as best I could while keeping Dove’s mouth in sight. We walked through the gardens and then followed a cleared path through the cool wood. After ten minutes or so of strolling along—both of us enjoying the peace and quiet after our morning with the children—the trees opened up, and we came upon an open area with neat rows of fruit trees.

“Here we are, Mae! The famous Wistrallo orchards!” Dove said, gesturing grandly toward them as if she’d planted and pruned each tree herself.

A not-unpleasant jolt shot through my chest. “Mae?” I asked quietly.

“Oh—did you—do you not like nicknames?” Uncertainty slowed her steps as Dove came closer to me. “That just came out. I can—”

“No, I like it,” I cut her off, taking a step nearer. “I just haven’t heard that in a while. A long while. It’s what most folk used to call me back home. My friends and family… everyone I was close to.”

Her mouth fell into a small o, eyes suddenly serious. But I smiled softly and nudged her.

“Say it again?”

Gaze locked on mine, Dove murmured, “Mae. Grumpy, stubborn, secretly sweet Mae.”

Warmth coursed through me at her words, and a grief-tinged joy squeezed at my heart. Impulsively, I leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

A pleased blush on her cheeks, she led us on to one edge of the orchard, walking past the row ends as she continued talking. “We grow two varieties of apples—one that’s quite tart for baking and the other semi-sweet for snacking. But our real specialty is pears. Guess how many kinds we have.” She turned eagerly to me, and my chest ached a little at how cute she looked when she got excited about something.

“Hmm… four?” I said.

“Five!” she exclaimed, bouncing away to one of the rows in the middle. Branches heavy with fruit, these light green pears had a rosy hint as if they flushed in the sunlight. “These are my favorite. They’re called Blushing Ogre. Isn’t that sweet?”

She plucked one from a nearby branch and held it to my lips. I took a tentative bite, and buttery sweetness swept over my taste buds. She bit down on the pear too, making a little happy noise as she chewed.

“It’s delicious,” I said, eyes tracking her lips, down to her bare throat as she swallowed. She caught my gaze and blushed as prettily as the pear she held at her lips.

“Come on,” Dove said, turning and moving farther down between the rows of trees. She placed her cake plate down carefully and threw the midnight-blue cloth out across the grass. Tugging the tray from my hands, she arranged it just so over our makeshift blanket and plopped down, patting the spot next to her. I sprawled at her side and grabbed the wine bottle. As Dove took off her riding boots with a satisfied moan, I twisted the cork out with no small effort and poured us each a glass.

“What a day. And it can’t be later than one o’clock yet,” she said, accepting her glass and taking a quick sip.