Page 2 of The Warlord's Wildflower
Stupid. Why did I say that?That’s not even a thing.
He doesn’t look the slightest bit fazed by my nonsense. He just leans back, resting his arms on the fence, the sunlight catching in his golden eyes. “Are you going to the tournament tomorrow?”
I blink up at him. “The tournament?”
“Mmm. You weren’t planning to?”
I shake my head quickly, my lips pressed together. Crowds. Noise. So many people. The very thought makes my chest tighten. He tilts his head, watching me in a way that makes my breath hitch. Then, softly, he says, “Can I ask you something…a little forward?”
My pulse stutters. “Yes?”
“Could I wear your favor?”
My favor?
“For luck. Just a ribbon, maybe? You do bring good fortune, after all.” His voice is almost teasing. “Even the birds stop to listen when you sing.”
I think I might disappear. Or burst into flames. Or both. But somehow, after a breathless pause, I nod. Just the tiniest movement. “Okay.”
His smile, bright and unfairlygorgeous,lights up his whole face.
“Then I’ll look for you.”
As I finally turn away, my heart racing, my face still burning, one bewildered thought lingers.
…What in the Stars just happened?
I don’t stop running until the courtyard is in sight. Maeve’s satchel bumps against my hip; my fingers are clenched around the strap like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth.
Fenric asked formyfavor.
I duck under the linen strung out to dry, slipping into the clearing by the well. Maeve is there, seated lazily on a bench beneath the shade of a tree, peeling an apple with a little silver knife like she hasn’t a single care in the world.
She perks up when she sees me. “There you are. I thought the sparrows carried you off.”
I press the bag into her hands, keeping my head down so she doesn’t see the way my cheeks are still pink. “Found it by the fence, just like you said.”
Maeve hums. “Thank you, love.” She eyes me, tilting her head. “You alright?”
I nod, looking down at my feet. “Fine. Just… warm.”
It’s not a lie, exactly. My body still feels like it’s on fire.
Maeve stares at me for a second longer than I’d like, but thankfully, doesn’t press. She just shrugs and goes back to her apple, flicking the peel into the grass.
Beatrice shows up a moment later, arms crossed and expression stormy. Her hair is in a braid, but it’s already half fallen apart, and she’s got that look in her eyes, the one that says she’d burn this entire castle down if it would get her a carriage ride back to Havenmoor.
“Did you hear what that healer tried to give me again?” she grumbles, dropping beside us with a dramatic huff. “The herbs.Thoseherbs. To slow things down.”
Maeve doesn’t look up. “They’re to help with the aching. You don’t need to be producing so much anymore.”
“I don’tcare,” Beatrice snaps. “It’s my body, and I’ll handle it myself.”
I glance between them, hugging my arms to my chest. I took the herbs yesterday. They helped. The pressure in my chest and the pulsing ache are already less. But I don’t say anything. Beatrice is too prickly right now.
I think of Elda, the healer. Her soft, wrinkled hands and her warm, kind smile. She’s been teaching me how to make poultices: herbs that are mashed up and mixed with warm water to soothe the skin. She taught me how to grind leaves and roots into powder; how to mix them with oils to make ointments for wounds. Each time I visit, she shows me something new.
Elda’s an old woman, full of stories. I’ve been spending more time with her lately, and I think she likes having me there. She says I have a knack for it, even though I’m still learning. I’m planning to visit her again later today. I’m looking forward to it, the quiet of her little cottage, the smell of drying lavender and rosemary. I like it there.
