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“We are enamored with it,” Azriel said dreamily, and Galen had to concur. “It makes sense why Mr. Blackburn and his Arthur would’ve enjoyed this dwelling.”
“Oooh, do tell,” Sparrow said as they all sat down at the table. “We know so little of them.”
So they did, and even recounted the heartbreaking letter, though it was painful to do so and Galen became misty-eyed all over again. Given his emotional state, he didn’t dare tell them about the other things they’d found—an intricate key in a drawer, then the lockbox hidden under the bed, which contained personal belongings: correspondence written between the lovers and a single hand-drawn portrait of Mr. Blackburn and his Arthur. Galen wished he could’ve been the artist who’d detailed their likeness and shown the love shining in their eyes.
Azriel’s foot slid against his beneath the table, and Galen sighed. He could not picture his life without this man and hoped he never had to. He swallowed down the melancholy that thoughts of Mr. Blackburn always brought forth. He knew nothing was guaranteed and they could lose their precarious existence in the blink of an eye. Mr. Blackburn certainly had.
Mr. Browning was rather tight-lipped about Mr. Blackburn’s final days—likely according to the man’s wishes—but he did show them where their grave markers were located next to one another beneath a willow tree. Galen saw it as a sacred place and often left them bundles of wildflowers. Apparently, it was yet another reason Mr. Blackburn had wanted someone he trusted to be the custodian of the property, and Galen felt honored that Mr. Blackburn had chosen the two of them.
“That is so beautiful.” Wren chewed a bit of bread, then offered the basket to Sparrow, who took a second slice and murmured in agreement.
Galen served each of them a bowl of vegetable soup before sitting beside Azriel again. Normally, they sat across from each other, but now, with the twins in attendance, it reminded him of the long table at Moon Flower and how feeling Azriel’s heat beside him had always comforted him.
“Delicious,” Sparrow said, sipping the warm liquid. “Did you make this?”
“Our housekeeper, Miss Alberton, did,” Galen replied.
“But Galen has become quite skilled at cooking himself.”
“Barely.” His cheeks heated at Azriel’s flattery. “We can fend for ourselves in between visits.”
“We shall tell Miss Celestine she has a rival,” Sparrow said with a wink.
Galen laughed. “I certainly miss her cooking. Perhaps I’ll ask Miss Alberton for a similar biscuit recipe. I didn’t realize how much I’d enjoy some of the things she’s taught me.”
“Such as growing herbs to use in recipes,” Azriel said affectionately as he waved toward the windowsill lined with pots. Galen had done his share of drawing during his free time, but it was refreshing to discover new things about himself. He’d always enjoyed tinkering in the apothecary, and he supposed in the kitchens with Miss Celestine as well.
“Which reminds me,” Galen said. “What supplies did Madam Langley send along?”
“Mainly Dragon’s Blood to help you concoct an elixir and a liniment,” Sparrow replied. “Madam Langley worried you had no recourse here against the illness.”
“A liniment, you say?” Azriel asked, placing his utensils down.
Wren nodded. “For any outbreaks on the skin.”
“I’ve been able to reproduce the elixir mostly from memory, but something to help alleviate the inflammation on the skin would be very useful.”
“We came as quickly as she could spare us, but there was much to do when the violet fever began spreading in Lunar’s Reach,” Sparrow said, sounding weary.
They’d constantly wondered how Lunar’s Reach had fared—and everyone they’d grown fond of—but there’d been no word about what had become of any of them.
Still, they’d had plenty to keep them busy in Solar’s Edge. Azriel, a fixture now in the apothecary, had shown Mr. Browning what he’d learned from Madam Langley. Azriel was also thrilled about all the wildflowers growing in close proximity—the lavender fields, especially—astutely learning different methods from Mr. Browning, who was just as knowledgeable as Madam Langley. Azriel had become a healer in his own right.
“So tell us…” Galen said hesitantly, “what has become of Lunar’s Reach?”
“It was awful at first,” Sparrow said in a glum tone. “As more became infected and died.”
“Madam Fairborn was able to secure more seeds, but it took time for the remedy to be distributed to those who needed it.” Wren glanced at Sparrow. “Some of our friends grew ill in the process.”
Sparrow nodded. “Percy, and then Francis.”
Galen sat up. “Do tell me they’ve recovered!”
“Yes, but it was quite distressing,” Wren explained. “Francis was especially feverish, with a rash all over and an awful cough.”
“We split our time between helping in the apothecary and keeping watch over them from afar, afraid we might catch it ourselves,” Sparrow said. “Madam Langley quarantined them in the sleeping quarters until their fevers broke. She didn’t want to take them to the infirmary that had been erected in the field near the railway, where many were dying.”
