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“What do you want, Mr. Aster?” She did not put worms down his shirt or ask a bee to bite his backside. If that was not courtesy, then what was?
“I know where your sister is, Miss Foxglove.”
A cold stone dropped into the pit of her belly and lodged there. She was half surprised her teeth did not chatter when she spoke.
He had not happened by the ship after all.
She had known it was too much to hope for.
“Do you?” she said, positively dripping politeness. She blinked as though she were a little confused. Couldn’t possibly know what he was hinting at. She was only a green witch, after all, with a limp and marigolds in her apron. “That’s a relief, as I assure you, no one else does.”
He was spiteful and spoiled. And unfortunately, not stupid. More’s the pity.
She could call out for Ethan, but what would that do but confirm any suspicions Charles might have of him, of where Petal was hidden? Perhaps he was bluffing.
Unlikely, but not impossible.
Charles remained on the other side of the shields Briar knew Ethan had worked at the borders of her gardens. Iron and rowanberries and bonedust. She did not know if it was dumb luck or mindfulness that kept Charles from triggering them. He did not mean her well, that much was obvious. But he was unlikely to physically hurt her. He did not like to get dirty by mud or blood or magic. That was for others to do on his behalf. His mother. Mr. Crane.
“Don’t cross me again, Miss Foxglove. We will have this land, and you will keep it hale for us.” He ducked under a branch and walked away, crossing onto the cobblestone street, whistling. For some reason, that enraged her most of all.
Briar was still frozen in place. He could be lying. He might suspect something, but that was not the same as actually knowing something he should not, something he could use to hurt Petal. And it was not as if he would be welcomed on the Sea Dragon ship to snoop around. Not him nor any other.
She had to stay calm.
Tell that to her trembling hands. Her stuttered breathing.
Was it her panic that triggered Ethan’s wards? Or something else? She did not know. She only knew that one moment she was standing in the sun feeling cold to her bones, and the next, Ethan was stalking through the orchard.
But it wasn’t Charles he hauled out of the lilacs on the other side of the pear tree by the shirtfront. It was an Iron Crow. This one appeared to be an ordinary brute with flat, angry eyes. He had no Black Shuck, no siren. Only fists the size of hams.
They did not save him from Ethan’s wrath.
Every one of Ethan’s blows landed with vicious precision. A fist to the jaw, the stomach. An elbow to the back of the head. The Crow dropped like a stone, gagging on pain. Ethan pressed his boot to the man’s chest. Blood stained the side of the Iron Crow’s lips, dripping from his nose. “She’s mine.”
The Crow coughed, groaning when it tore at what must be a set of cracked ribs.
“Understand?” Ethan did not remove his boot. He tilted his head as though he were listening carefully. His left eyebrow rose. “I said, do you understand?”
His dragon snapped at the Crow’s familiar: a wasp with a glowing stinger. He clawed at Ethan’s ankle. “I understand.”
“Good. I’m going to leave you with just enough of your teeth so you can tell the others.”
And after all of that, it was the white roses shedding petals that stuck to Ethan’s hair that did it.
The cold stone in her belly melted. Her witch knot flared. She tasted mint and roses and fennel. She jumped to her feet. “I have to go.”
Ethan’s hand around her wrist stopped her dead. “Not alone.”
“Yes, alone. Just down to the village.” She pulled but could not break his hold. Not that she had expected to.
“Briar, perhaps you failed to notice, but there was a Crow here not five minutes ago. And he was here for you. So if you’re going, I’m going with you.”
“You can’t.”
His expression hardened. “Pardon, sweetheart?”
“You can’t,” she repeated with a huff of impatience. If she was right, she needed to hurry. “No one will notice me on my own. But if I go strolling through the square with the Dragon…”
