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“Maybe there, in those hills,” Azriel said, pointing to a large copse of trees in the distance. “If so, we have some walking ahead of us, but I don’t mind it. The air feels different here, more fragrant.”
“It does,” Galen agreed. “Perhaps we should be on our way.”
They strolled through the center of town, noting the handful of establishments. They enjoyed the scent of baked goods wafting from an open doorway, tempered by the earthy smell of iron and fire from the blacksmith’s shop, and before long, they spotted the sign that simply read: Apothecary.
An older gentleman with graying hair and an ill-fitting waistcoat that hung from his lean frame was just opening the doors when they approached.
“May I help you?” he asked, scrutinizing them with clear, brown eyes. His aura was a mix of lighter and darker blues that nearly matched Azriel’s—though these days, the magenta had claimed its own space in the center of his persistent melancholy.
“We are…friends of Mr. Blackburn,” Galen began, then took a deep breath to steady his voice. “He is Azriel, and I am Galen, from Lunar’s Reach.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve been anticipating your arrival,” he said with a kindly smile. “I am Mr. Browning. Come inside.”
They followed him into the shop, which was smaller than Moon Flower, and though at first glance it sold similar types of liniments and dried herbs, it possessed a different kind of air. The quaintness of the country as opposed to the vitality of a larger town, Galen supposed, and somehow he felt soothed by it. Being here was less overwhelming than when he’d first set foot in Lunar’s Reach, desperate to earn his keep and get food in his belly, in whatever way he could. And earn his keep he did.
“What of the sickness?” Azriel asked, perusing a shelf of mortar and pestles. “Has it reached Solar’s Edge?”
“Not yet.” Mr. Browning looked grim. “But it cannot be far behind. It has devastated Willow’s Wick, which is the nearest village. Many have fallen ill, and I’m not certain if they’re through the worst of it yet.”
They looked at each other, and Azriel cleared his throat. “I assisted Madam Langley at the apothecary in Lunar’s Reach, so I am willing to help, but I don’t want to overstep.”
“I would welcome it. Mr. Blackburn mentioned your work,” Mr. Browning said, and color dotted Azriel’s cheeks, his self-deprecation returning. “In fact, he mentioned you both. He’d grown quite fond of you.”
“Mr. Blackburn has been here, then, to his cottage?”
“Yes, a few weeks ago, to get some affairs in order. And, he left some correspondence behind for you.” He produced a letter from beneath the counter and handed it to Azriel with a frown. “This should explain everything.”
A sharp pang of melancholy lanced through Galen, and likely Azriel as well, because there was a slight tremor to Azriel’s fingers as he placed the communication in his bag.
“You must be tired from your travels. It would do you well to get some rest at the cottage before we speak again. I apologize in advance for any dust. I would’ve sent the housekeeper over if we had notice of your arrival.” Once on the street, Mr. Browning pointed toward the grove of trees they’d noted earlier. “You cannot miss it. Right by the field of blooming lavender.”
Galen’s pulse ticked up as he remembered the evening they’d discussed Solar’s Edge with Mr. Blackburn. He seemed so fond of his time here, and Galen was beginning to understand why.
As they trudged toward the cottage, around shrubs and trees on an overgrown path, Galen’s muscles began throbbing, and he looked forward to some rest and getting settled—as much as they could without real answers about why Mr. Blackburn had invited them there.
Mr. Browning was correct in his description of the cottage and adjacent gardens—it was hard to ignore their appeal. As soon as the lavender scent floated on the breeze, Azriel pointed to the charming brick structure in the middle of the countryside.
Some dust kicked up upon their entry, but nothing that distracted from the cozy, well-kept surroundings. There were two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a sitting room with a large hearth they immediately lit to chase the chill away.
“I can almost picture it,” Galen said as they warmed their toes by the fire.
“What?” Azriel said around a yawn. He looked as weary as Galen felt.
“Mr. Blackburn and his Arthur,” Galen said dreamily.
“Which reminds me.” Azriel gripped his hand, affection blazing in his eyes. “I think you promised me a kiss.”
Galen grinned, closing the distance between them. He wrapped Azriel up in his arms, connecting their mouths and tangling their tongues. This embrace felt different—for the first time, they were truly alone, and it seemed like they had all the time in the world.
When Azriel drew away to catch his breath, Galen’s gaze caught on their bags, which they had yet to unpack. “I wonder what the letter says.”
