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Verve swallowed. “Two.”
The scent of honey blended with the fresh green smell of his garden, and Verve inched just a little closer to him. Just to adjust her grip on the handle, of course.
They said in unison, “Three—”
The word whooshed out as the door sprang open, sending both Verve and Alem stumbling backward over the grass. She careened into his solid chest as he let out an “oomph,” and they collapsed together in a lavender bush. Another clap of thunder rumbled through Verve’s bones as she tried to scramble to her feet, but her legs caught in the lavender bush and she nearly fell again. Until a strong hand gripped hers and pulled her upright. Alem’s palm was calloused in some places, but smooth in others; evidence of a varied life.
“Thanks,” she breathed.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I guess I need a new door.” He gave her that crooked smile she was starting to hate because she liked it so much.
Suddenly it was of the utmost importance that she brush away the lavender leaves from her coat. “Not the first time I’ve fallen,” she replied, not looking at him. “Doubt it’ll be the last, either.”
“Right,” Alem said just as thunder rolled again.
He went back to the cottage and stepped inside, beckoning her to follow. Verve paused at the threshold, assessing the interior for any unpleasant surprises. A single room greeted her. Drying herbs hung from the rafters, neatly bundled together and organized by type. Shelves of books, scrolls, and various jars filled with unidentified substances lined the walls. A flimsy ladder led up to a loft, which probably held his bed. Like Ivet’s home, Dannel’s colorful weavings hung in every available space.
No sign of danger. Thunder crashed outside, the rain clattered harder, and Verve closed the door.
Alem had gone to a long desk that took up one entire side of the cottage, and dug through neatly labeled jars filled with dried herbs. The hearth was dark. Verve stood out of the way while he dumped various herbs onto the desk. He whistled softly as he worked, stopping only to murmur to himself as he sorted through the herbs.
“Bucksbalm, for pain relief,” he murmured. “Cat’s claw, to ease any inflammation. Oh, where’s that rosewood root…?”
Verve cleared her throat. “Is this the stinky part?”
“That’s in a few minutes, once we steep these,” Alem replied.
“So you asked me here to stand around, or…?”
He winced. “Sorry. I got distracted. Will you please get a fire going and set that cauldron up to boil?”
She obliged, grateful as much for a way to keep her hands busy as for the warmth and light of the fire. Once the fire was lit, she maneuvered an iron hook over the fire, then placed an iron cauldron already filled with water on the hook.
“Thanks,” Alem said as he dumped several handfuls of his herb mixture into the water. “We’ll let that steep for about twenty minutes. I’ll get the rest ready.”
Rain pounded outside. Verve eased closer to the fire. “Anything else I can do?”
“Keep stirring,” Alem said, nodding to the mixture. He handed her a long wooden spoon. “Don’t let it boil over. I’ll have my hands full over here.”
He withdrew a pair of scissors and a length of thin cloth and began cutting sections off, folding them into neat squares. Again, Verve couldn’t stop looking at his forearms, or noticing the deft, confident movements of his agile fingers. He’d shown the same gentle strength with the new mages as he’d healed them.
Heat swam through Verve, so she focused on stirring the now-bubbling herb potion. A bitter, acrid scent drifted up from the herbs, underscored by something sickly sweet. The mixture smelled strange now, so heat and water probably wouldn’t improve the situation.
But right now, everything was… quiet. Cozy, like she could just kick off her boots and curl up on the nearest chair with a cup of tea. The storm-darkened sky felt distant, like she and Alem were in another world.
One she didn’t want to leave.
She shook the foolish notions away and shot another glance at Alem, humming off-key to himself as he worked.
“How are those wounds?” he asked her suddenly.
Verve flexed her arm. “Just a few fresh scars now.”
“If you’d let me help you, they’d have healed cleanly. You have enough scars.”
“I have as many as I have.” She glared at him. “Too bad if the sight offends you.”
He ducked his head. “Shit. I’m sorry. I know I get too pushy, sometimes. It’s just… I can’t tell you how many folks I’ve healed from what should have been totally avoidable injuries. People get reckless, and they don’t think about how fragile they are. It’s like we’re all made of glass, you know? My magic may heal what’s fractured or torn, but there’s only so much I can do when someone’s dead set on destroying themselves.”
