But sleep did not come easily that night. Coriander tossed and turned in her little bed, fighting the urge to slip into her mother’s room and curl up with her. After her father passed, it had taken years for them to be able to sleep in separate beds again, but Coriander always felt bad being the one to go to her mother. And besides, she’d caused enough trouble for one day. Bestina needed her rest.

If only Coriander’s mind would let her do the same. There was a physician so close to them, so easy to reach. Coriander could send a letter, requesting they stop by eventually, but there was no telling how long before the physician would find time for someone who didn’t need immediate help. Preventative care was all very well and good, of course, but there were plenty for whom it was already too late. Who needed splints and sutures, or tonics, or, Fate be kind, surgeries.

And there were so many things in Mowry that most everyone Knittelnau have never seen. Hundreds of people more, multi-level buildings, a clock tower.

She wrestled with her conscience for hours before sleep finally found her, though it was far from restful, and she was still tired when daylight found her. Coriander woke to the chickens crowing outside just after dawn, demanding to be fed. She dragged herself from bed, head aching, still bleary and half wishing the sunrise would reverse itself for just another hour or two. But chores had to be done, and chickens waited for nothing and no-one.

So she dressed properly -- poque belt, petticoat, bodice, and waistcoat, with her kerchief only loosely tied around her neck -- and and made way for the back door, stopping just long enough to listen at Bestina’s door. A light snoring sounded through the wood. Still asleep, thank Fate. She could have breakfast prepared before Bestina even woke up, and maybe smooth things over from last night. Coriander grabbed her boots from their place by the door and slipped out into daylight.

The garden faced northeast, and it seemed more beautiful than ever this early in the day. Coriander looked out at the the plants and spices, and the flower fields beyond, at the golden glow that seemed to make everything feel more alive. Almost magical.

She basked in the beauty for a moment -- and then a man’s yelp, followed by frantic clucking, pulled her back to reality. Coriander blinked rapidly, pulling the coat more tightly around herself, and ran for the chickens.

“Jasper?”

He had one foot keeping the coop’s door mostly shut, and one hand inside with a handful of feed. The chickens fought against him, trying to get to the small pile of feed behind him -- spilled from the overturned back that should have still been in storage.

“Ah -- good morning Miss Tippit!” He grinned, though some color turned his dark skin even darker. “Beautiful sunrise, isn’t it?”

“Um -- w-would you like to let the chickens out?”

She didn’t miss the relief in his eyes. “What a splendid idea. They’ve been clucking and cawing at me all morning, demanding a proper breakfast.”

“All morning?”

“Since dawn, at least.”

She looked out at the sun, which hadn’t even fully risen above the horizon.

Jasper laughed, and shrugged. “Well -- ten minutes, anyway. Mister Waites wants to leave early, and I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”

She whirled back to Jasper, eyes wide. “Mister Waites?”

He nodded. “Yes. He’s taking me there. Said he has business with a physician there, apparently. I was inquiring at town hall yesterday afternoon, I ran into him there.”

She was quiet for a moment, going between confusion about how she’d missed this, and at Jasper’s choice of words. They didn’t have a town hall. They weren’t even a proper town. The mayor mostly conducted business in his own home, and community meetings were held in the square.

“Well -- forgive me. The public house, I suppose. They’ve got two very nice rooms for travellers, though I’m sure you already knew that -- would you like me to open the door now?”

Coriander blinked, and nodded, still not totally sure what was going on.

Jasper released the chickens, who descended upon the pile of feed just as Coriander lifted the bag out of their way and began to scoop some of it up. Jasper knelt to help only for the chickens to start pecking at the pile -- and at his hands. Jasper stood with a yelp, dancing around and continuing his tale despite the fowl harassing his boots.

“Anyway there were lots of people there yesterday, all talking about Sir Erron, and asking me all these questions. And you know I loathe being the center of attention --” the smile he gave her suggested the opposite “-- but I did my best to help settle their fears that I was not a mysterious queenly spy, and certainly I wasn’t here to discuss incorporating Knittelnau into a larger territory.”

He went on, still trying to avoid the chickens. Coriander listened as he spun a tale of political intrigue. Coriander dragged the bag of feed back to its proper place, just inside the spice garden, where it seemed Jasper had left his cloak and travelling bag. He followed her out quickly, leaping up to stand on the fence, not unlike someone leaping onto a chair to avoid mice. Coriander fought the urge to laugh as she herded the chickens away from him.

Jasper finally relaxed with a sigh, leaping down to the ground on the other side of the fence. “My thanks, Miss Tippit. Those are some clever sentries you’ve got there.”

She nodded, slipping out and shutting the gate behind her as Jasper continued his tale.

“Finally, a tall fellow with an impressive beard and fine coat -- you know, Mister Waites really does have a fine coat --  he walked in to stop my assurances in their tracks and asked when I’d be going. It seems that he had business with a physician up there. He hasn’t had a travelling partner to take to Mowry for a few years yet, not since his husband passed -- Sylph keep him -- and asked if we might go together. Provided I know a few good travelling songs, of course.”

“Oh. I-I see.”

“I do, you know.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

She hesitated. “Do what?”

“Know good travelling songs.”

“Oh.”

“Shall I sing one for you?”

“Ehm…” She glanced down. Besides the bag of feed, a watering can sat at her feet.

“May I sing if I help you with your chores?”

She flushed. “Oh -- I, ehm. I can do it. But…”

He grinned, and leapt from the wall. “Just tell me when to stop singing.” He started with a simple tune, something Coriander knew herself, and rushed to the water pump so that he already hand his hands on the lever by the time she got there. Coriander hesitated, but allowed him to fill the watering can. He sang as she worked, changing to a different song once the first ended, and then to a song he’d made up himself.

Clopping sounded from the road at the bottom of the hill. Coriander had knelt down to prune one of the younger plants, and glanced up. Jasper hadn’t stopped singing, even as he looked out at the road, more forlorn than she had ever seen him. He finally ended the song and spoke, sounding as happy as ever despite his expression: “That sounds like Mister Waites.”

Did he know she was looking at him?

Jasper inhaled deeply, and turned to face her fully, his usual demeanor returning instantly. “Well. I shouldn’t keep him waiting. I told him I’d be here before we left. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my friend, now could I?”

Something tugged at Coriander’s heart, and a lump formed in her throat in an instant. Right … he was leaving. “Friend?” she echoed.

Jasper rushed forward to take her hands. “Don’t look so sad, Miss Tippit. I may be a poor navigator, but I’m an excellent traveller. I’m practically made up of road-stuff, you know.” He shook his hair at her, letting a few twigs fall out, and grinned hopefully.

She made herself smile back.

Jasper’s smile finally fell. “Now that’s terribly rude. I finally get a smile out of you, and it’s when we’re saying goodbye. I can write to you, if you like. Tell you all about Gaelgallah when I get there, and how handsome the elves find me. I’ll be turning suitors away left and right, wishing for the happy days where it was just us sitting in a flower field making daisy chains. And you won’t believe a word of it, because you know I’ll have already fallen in love with the handsomest man there. Right?”

She nodded. “Right.”

“May I hug you, Miss Tippit?”

She nodded again.

His arms were gentle. Coriander leaned into the hug, reluctantly at first, but as a tear slid down her cheek, she squeezed him back. He would write. And if she was lucky, her mother wouldn’t mind it too much. She wouldn’t leave home, after all. Just hear from a -- from a friend who had.

Bestina coughed behind them.

Coriander shot back from Jasper, wiping her tears quickly. “Ma -- good morning. How are you feeling?’

She leaned on the doorway in her shortgown and housecoat, loose braid thrown over her shoulder sloppily. “I was doing just fine until I saw my daughter in the arms of a scoundrel.”

“A scoundrel?” Jasper echoed, sounding almost excited, though his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. He reached out to place a hand on Coriander’s shoulder, though he didn’t press once she flinched away. “I’ve never been one of those before, but you seem to know an awful lot about them. Tell me, how does one … scound?”

Bestina scowled. “I heard you had to leave for Mowry.”

“Oh, I do. Indeed, it’s very important I go there today. Which is why I’m here.”

“In my spice garden?”

“Bestina! You’re up early!”

All eyes turned to Waites, leaning a little too casually on the garden wall to seem natural. He smiled pleasantly, only slightly out of breath from the trek up the hill. He waved pleasantly. “Good morning, all.”

Bestina stiffened and straightened her posture, pulled her housecoat tighter around herself, and smiled. “Good morning. You don’t usually call on us so early.”

“I’m afraid I’m taking young Jasper to Mowry today. We thought it’d be nice to say goodbye first.”

“Oh. Well.” She shifted her weight and nodded again. “That’s very kind of you. Shall we send you off?”

“That would be very kind of you.” Waites looked over to Coriander and Jasper and shrugged. “Coriander? What’s wrong?”

She flinched and looked away, wiping at her face. “Oh -- ehm. I’m sorry, uh…”

Jasper shook his head. “I subjected poor Miss Tippit to my singing. I don’t think she’ll ever recover.”

“Is that so?” Waites stood upright and made his way into the garden properly to join them. “I quite liked your singing, you know. Have you ever heard him sing?”

Coriander thought it would be wiser not to nod. She glanced to her mother instead, who shook her head. “Never have,” Bestina said. “It’s a shame, Mister Jasper. You were such an interesting addition to the town. I’ll be sad to see you go.”

Liar, Coriander thought, but said nothing.

“Well, you don’t have to see him go, do you?” Waites asked.

Bestina frowned. “Do I?”

“I mean to say, we’re going to Mowry, Bess. You know, there’s a physician just moved in there. It might be a good idea to meet with them before it gets too hot.”

Oh. Coriander looked down and braced herself,  well aware of what was coming next.

Her eyes darkened but her smile remained in place. “Indeed, my Coriander told me about that just last night.”

Oh no. Waites and Bestina liked each other well enough, but they were both stubborn as an old oak tree. The slightest disagreement could start an argument that lasted for weeks before they became friends again.

Jasper reached out again, laying a hand on her arm. She flinched but didn’t pull away, waiting for voices and tempers to rise.

Waites remained unexpectedly civil, if a bit stiff. “I take it the idea of leaving doesn’t agree with you?”

“Not in my current state. Can’t make it past the farmland half the time, you know.”

“Well, I’ve got a cart. You could ride.”

They continued to discuss and negotiate, leaving Coriander and Jasper nearly forgotten. They stood silently, awkwardly, like children watching their parents bicker over menial niceties. Coriander couldn’t make herself look up from the ground, and Jasper chewed on his words, smile becoming stiffer the longer the discussion went on.

Finally Waites threw his hands in the air, though he had yet to raise his voice. “Fine, Bess. If you’re so adamant about doing nothing for your health, then at least send Coriander to speak with them.”

She paled at the mention of her name, glancing up only for a second before shrinking back into herself. Please not this again.

“Coriander isn’t going anywhere.” her mother said. “She’s not made for the road.”

Waites wasn’t having it. “You can’t sit at home and pray forever. Fate has sent a physician our way, and if you do nothing, you have only yourself to blame if things get worse.”

“What if something happens to her? How could I forgive myself then?”

“What will happen to her, Bes? It’s less than a day away. They have a single constable there. What do you think is going to happen? Are the roadweeds are going to grow legs and try to trip us so we skin our knees? Will she get too excited and spill her drink at the community theater? What?”

Bestina scowled. A long silence spread out between them.

Coriander took another step back, feeling a lump rise in her throat despite herself. This was her fault. She shouldn’t have accepted the extra money from Waites. Shouldn’t have told her mother about the physician in the first place. She didn’t need to see the clocktower. Didn’t need to go anywhere. She’d pick extra mint today, boil it into a tea, maybe make a stew out of it. And then everything would be all right. Jasper and Waites would leave for Mowry, and life would go back to normal.

Right ?

“Fine.”

Coriander’s head snapped up to see Bestina still scowling, feet planted. Had she heard correctly? She glanced over to Waites.

He looked almost smug, arms crossed, chin raised. Smirking. He was smirking. “I’m sorry, what was that?”  

“Fine.” It was almost a hiss. One that made Coriander flinch, Jasper’s hand stiffen though he kept his composure well enough. And one that made Waites grin grow just that much wider. “Coriander can go bother the physician with something that doesn’t matter.”

“You can never be too safe with your health.”

“Just keep an eye on her. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Graces, Bes. What trouble do you think a girl like her can get into?” He grinned, first at Bestina, then at Coriander, who shrank into herself further. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Sitting still was agony. She fidgeted, moved to her knees, shifted her legs, and sat down again as the traveling party moved at Mum’s agonizing pace. Mowry grew ever closer, the moorlands coming more alive, with farms and people and trees and livestock grazing.

People dressed quite the same as they did in Knittelnau -- which somehow caught Coriander by surprise, and disappointing enough that she had to scold herself for expecting anything different. The houses were built with the same architecture, if a bit larger than the ones she was used to, and the sun still set in the west. Why would anything have changed in such a short distance?

A few patches of wildflowers dotted the fields surrounding the little town, but nothing to the extent of Knittelnau’s. Children chased each other and dogs chased their tails. Waites pointed out a singular figure sitting beneath a tree. “That’s an old friend of mine over there.”

The man wore shockingly colorful clothes and read a few loose pages of writing over and over to himself as he pulled flowers and grass up mindlessly. He had to have been one of the most handsome people Coriander had ever seen. Reading spectacles were perched on his large, aquiline nose and further magnified his black, doe-like eyes His hands were wrinkled, but nimble, skin darker even than Jaspers, though the redness of his cheeks hinted of rouge and she was sure he had a bit of kohl around his eyes as well.

Waites raised a hand and waved. “Satish! Good evening!”

The man looked up, and handsome face broke into  a wide, welcoming grin. “Annie!”

Annie? Coriander looked between them. She’d never in all her life refer to the banker as Annie, and it struck her almost as awkwardly as the sameness of everything.

Satish grunted, pushing himself to his feet slowly with the help of an ornate cane. Large golden rings hung from his ears, glittering in the afternoon light. His thick hair, nearly as black as his eyes save for the silver streaks hinting at his true age, had been plaited neatly over one shoulder, and tinkled with the ringing of tiny bells.

Jasper stepped forward, hesitating, half wondering if he ought to help, but Waites held a hand up. “He doesn’t like it when people help him. Makes him feel old.”

The man walked with a distinct, almost effeminate sway despite his clear reliance on the cane for balance, and all the confidence of an actor on stage. Coriander had never seen someone so colorful, who seemed to take up so much space and emit so much light, though he was only average size. He smiled, and fidgeted with the papers in hand, and reached up to embrace Waites in an awkward half hug. “Anny! Peace to you, Fate keep you, you’re back early and all that. Who are these children you’ve brought me? Did you adopt?”

Waites laughed, and introduced them both. Jasper preened, and Coriander shrunk into herself, even as the man lauded them both with praise.

“And of course,” he said then, stepping back with a flourish and a twirl of his cain, “I am Satish Runwell, at your service.” Satish took a deep bow.

Jasper nearly swooned.  

Bells tolled, and she forgot everything else. She looked towards the town, too close to the buildings now to easily see the clock tower, but it was there, with its brass and copper gears, less than an hour’s walk away.

Waites’ voice came to her. “Coriander?”

She started, looking back to the men, and bowed her head. “I-I’m sorry, ah…” She was too easily distracted. They ought to put her on a lead, like a misbehaving sheep.

“Bestina’s daughter,” Waites said, gesturing at her. “It’s her first official outing into the world.”

And she was making a proper mess of it already. She bowed politely, and stammered out, “How do you do, Sir?”

“Bestina’s girl? I’ve heard plenty about your ma, Miss Coriander. How’s she doing?”

“Um. Well enough, sir.” It sounded more like a question than anything.

Satish smiled, the warmest look she’d ever been given by a stranger. It left Coriander flushing, and staring down at her feet, uncomfortable with such familiarity. “That’s good to hear,” he said, and meant it. “We’ve a brand new physician in the city, you know. You should speak with her, see if she can call on you soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Waites and Satish chatted amongst themselves, and Jasper inched closer to Coriander, moving conspicuously so he wouldn’t scare her. “Have you ever seen such a handsome man,” he all but crooned, trying to whisper best he could. His dark skin was tinged pink, and he seemed all aflutter.

Coriander glanced up momentarily, unable to help the hint of amusement. Had Jasper’s fancy grown that quickly? Was this normal for him? Although, she had to admit Satish was incredibly charismatic, and every movement was astoundingly graceful. It perhaps wouldn’t be hard to fancy a man like that, if he were maybe thirty years younger.

But Satish suddenly grew bashful, looking down at the papers in his hand, and folded them in thirds. “ Do you think, Annie -- well, can I impose upon you, just for one small favor?”

Waites grinned wide, knowing and amused. “That depends on the favor, of course.”

“It’s nothing terribly important. I’ve written a letter, you see, for a man I’ve fancied for quite a while. It’s rather embarrassing -- I’m a flop at poetry, you see, and it’s, well, a poem. For him. And he’s on your way, of course. Old Randallin, he runs the inn you ought to stay at. Best rabbit stew in town. Do you think you might be able to…?”

Waites’ grin didn’t fade, and he nodded gallantly. “I think I could do that for you. But only if you’ve signed your name this time. I don’t think Randallin can last much longer wondering who his secret admirer is.”

Satish held the letter out stiffly, eyes on the ground. “Must I?”

Waites refused the letter. Satish gave in, and turned to Jasper instead. “Young man, would you have mercy on an old, lovestruck man like me?”

Jasper relented all too quickly, taking the letter even as he said, “So long as you promise to do it next time.

Satish brightened immediately, and placed a hand over his heart. “You have my word.” It was a surprisingly solemn vow, ruined when he had to take the letter back and tie it with string, followed by a short argument with Mum, who was all too complete to wander a little ways away to snack on some wildflowers.

Once they were piled back into the cart, Waites bade goodbye to Satish and promised to meet up with him for dinner at least once before leaving, and they went on their way. Jasper held the letter like prized goods, but his gaze swiveled back and forth, never landing on one place for very long. It was as if he was looking for something, Coriander thought. But it made sense, certainly. He had to have come through Mowry to get to Knittelnau, so perhaps he was looking for a familiar face in the crowd, or maybe a landmark he knew.

The houses were some distance apart at first, with a few small farms here and there, but the further in they went, the closer together the buildings became, until some buildings were only separated by a small alleyway, where only two people could walk shoulder-to-shoulder. A seamstress sat outside with their embroidery, chatting easily with the carpenter just across the way, putting the finishing touches on a rocking horse. Candles and hearths lit up countless glass windows, or peeked through the slats in closed shutters.

The river broke off into a few small streams, running parallel to the main road. Wood and stone bridges crossed over it in multiple places, with one particularly large house straddling the river itself. Stairs on both sides lead up to a wooden platform that supported tables and a few important looking members of society chatting very seriously over an open book.

Coriander looked on with wide eyes, awestruck at how closely some people lived, and to see that there were dedicated shop fronts, rather than stalls set up outside peoples’ homes to display their wares. She wondered if everyone knew each other here, or if there were some people who went their entire lives without seeing someone else who might even live just down the street, and never having a clue.

Mowry was so large, and it was only a village, barely a drop of ink on a map. There was so much out there she didn’t even know about. It was terrifying. Coriander shrunk further into the cart, clutching her small bag, even as a little piece of her heart found the very idea exhilarating. She could get lost here in minutes, and while it was terrifying, a tiny part of her was thrilled to know it.

“Where are we going anyway?” Jasper asked. “Mister Runwell seemed to know already.”

“To the inn. We have to sleep somewhere, don’t we?”

“They have an entire inn here?”

Coriander frowned, confused -- both at the idea of a village having an inn, and at the fact that Jasper didn’t seem to know. He had come through Mowry to Knittlenau, hadn’t he?

“Well. Something of an inn. It started out just as a house. Randallin kept expanding it over the years, for better or for worse.”

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Coriander sat at a simple, borrowed table, spices out on display for shoppers to stop by and pick and choose what they wanted. It was never crowded as the other tables. Knittelnau was too small for merchants to set up entire stalls, only to break them down again, but they displayed their latest works or newest designs outside their homes or shops, and friends and neighbors came to see.

A few amateur musicians practised with the professionals. It wasn’t hard to pick out who had more than a few month’s experience, but the music was largely drowned out by the small crowd, talking and gossiping and shouting across the street at what they had found, and do you want a chicken for dinner and do you like green or yellow better?

She did business without saying much. Customers tried to make conversation, but Coriander stuttered and stammered too much to be of much company, so they simply said what they wanted, dropped a few coins off, and left. A few cloves of garlic to a young man learning how to cook. Peppermint for an old woman whose head hadn’t stopped aching since her wife died. Rosemary for a mother whose memory wasn’t what she wanted it to be, and fennel for her daughter’s nausea. An old notebook served as a ledger, tracking what was sold, and how they paid. Most exchanges weren’t in coin, and while the banker could be relied on to mediate financial disagreements, Bestina didn’t trust Coriander enough not to undersell anything, nor a few townsfolk from taking advantage of it.

The banker, Anthony Waites, stopped by the stall himself, handing over three silver marks for some rosemary.

Coriander hesitated. The amount he took was only worth a single mark, if she remembered correctly, if not less, and she looked up helplessly.

He raised his eyebrows, confused, but there was a knowing gleam in his eye. “Is something wrong?”

Waites was a clever man, able to do sums in his head that Coriander could hardly do on paper and recall exact dates of when loans were paid without blinking. He regularly purchased rosemary, though usually it was while meeting with her mother for tea. Surely he knew the costs. So she looked down, unable to answer the question.

“I heard a rumor that a physician has moved into Mowry. One especially skilled with chronic pain.”  His smile was genuine. He cared for her mother. Most people did. Bestina was a beloved hostess, and provided most of the spices in Knittelnau. And if there was a physician -- someone more skilled in sciences than the inexact art of a hedgewitch’s magical healing -- they were going to need the coin.

Coriander mumbled her thanks and took the payment. Bestina wouldn’t approve of the charity, but she wasn’t around to argue over it now.

But by the time she had the rosemary placed in a small pouch, Waite’s attention had gone down the road. Coriander followed his gaze, where voices rose in excited curiosity. A crowd grew at the edge of the road, each individual craning their necks and standing on their toes to see what was going on.

She stood uncertainly, straining to get a look but loathe to leave the table unattended. With her luck, she’d knock the entire thing over before she made it three steps towards the crowd. Waites looked back long enough to take his rosemary and offer his prayers for Bestina’s health before joining the crowd himself.

So she waited patiently, until the crowd parted and the object of excitement moved in. A rider on a handsome dappled horse made his way carefully through the crowd, down the road and up to her table. Both bore deep blues with gold lining, and the royal crest was emblazoned on the rider’s doublet. All eyes were on them both.

She wanted to sink into oblivion, prayed desperately the rider would pass her over and head on out to the other side of the village. He did no such thing.

His voice was a deep bass, and reverberated in her ears as he spoke: “I have a missive for Jasper, who has no family name.”

Sylph’s graces.

“I was told you know this man?”

She was going to faint.

The rider looked down at her imperiously, too tall and widely built. He had the bearing of a soldier, and his deep set eyes bore into her. But before she could stammer an answer out, another man’s voice -- one far more familiar this time -- rang out over the crowd.

“Here! Hey -- hello! Excuse me!” Jasper pushed his way through the crowd, nearly tripping over himself in his haste, and sprinted the distance between them. He stopped, hands on his hips, a wide grin on his face. “Sir Erron, you’re late.”

Sir Erron did not smile.

“Oh, enough of that. Come down and say hello.”

He did not.

Jasper pouted. “Please?”

“I’ve two missives for Jasper, no family name. Is this you?”

“Two? I must be popular this time of year. My handmade flower chain business is taking off already.” Jasper winked at Coriander before nodding. “That’s me, Jasper no-name. Have you tried the local spice-provider’s peppermint, sir? They’re heavenly on headaches and taste richer than any spice I’ve had before.”

Coriander blushed. Sir Erron handed over two papers without a word, but she caught a glimpse of a playful smirk flash across his stoic expression.

Jasper handed the rider a mark and bowed deeply, adopting an over-exaggerated Berall accent  “My thanks, Sir Erron. Always a pleasure. And do say hello to your wife for me, would you? It’s been far too long.”

“Sylph keep you,” Sir Erron said, and rode off back the way he came.

Jasper waited until he reached the crowd. Most townsfolk stepped back, but a few crowded closer, curious about where he’d been, about the queen, about Berall and so on. Coriander looked back to Jasper, hoping to glean some information about what just happened.

Jasper leaned on the table with a lazy grin, running a thumb over one of the wax seals -- neither of which bore the royal crest. “Erron hasn’t been to Berall in months,” he said. “Other messengers hand their letters off to him, and he takes them west as is needed. I think he’s jealous.”

“Oh. That’s horrible.”

“No, it’s all right. He always goes back for a little while in the summer. It’s possible this is his last delivery before he goes back.”

“Oh. It’s an awful long way back, isn’t it?”

“He delivered my last invitations to Berall to me. I think he meant to find me in Mowry, and didn’t get the notice that I’d left until he’d already gotten comfortable in the inn.”

“But you said you’d met his wife.”

“Ah, he doesn’t have one. Wishes he did, poor man. But he won’t get anyone’s attention scowling like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jasper looked to the letters now, pulling the first open carefully as he talked. “No, don’t be. I told him that conversation is half the part of making friends -- and he’d have to make friends before he could make romances. But does he listen?” Jasper blew a raspberry and shook his head. “Nor does he deliver missives. These are far too short. I’d sooner call them notices.”

Coriander glanced up, but fought the urge to read over his shoulder, though his smile faded as he read.

After a moment, Jasper folded the letter up and read the second. His brow furrowed, and he frowned.“Is everything all right?”

Business was returning to normal around them. Merchants and shoppers made their way back to their tables and shops, chatting and exclaiming and relaying details of what just happened.

“Miss Tippit,” Jasper began. “How would you like to go to Mowry with me?”

After the initial shock of the question wore off, Coriander shook her head, stammering out an insistent no. “I couldn’t possibly leave Knittelnau, not with my mother so ill. And there’s work to be done. It’s almost summer, s-so there’s herbs that need to be harvested, and -- and besides, I’ve never even ridden a horse before, and -- and … and … well, you’ve seen my mother. Some days she can’t even get out of bed. I couldn’t possibly leave her alone, and, they might need help with setting up for May Day, and...” The more she talked, the more it seemed she was trying to convince herself, rather than anyone else.

Jasper waited until she seemed to have run out of reasons not to go, and shrugged. “Well, that makes sense, but it’s not the question I asked.”

She frowned, confused.

“I asked if you’d like to go.” Jasper’s feline smile softened into something bordering on hopeful, something hard to say no to. He had to have been doing it on purpose.

Coriander hesitated again, lips pressed together. She thought she’d told him already. “I couldn’t.”

“You said so already, of course. I wouldn’t dare take you away from your duties, but let us assume for a moment that you could be spared. Just pretend.”

But she couldn’t. There was no use in pretending, or dreaming of the possible. Better to keep herself useful. Better not to think too hard on it all. Coriander’s gaze fell again, and she set her jaw, shaking her head in a way she hoped looked definitive. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t. Her duties were much more important to her than anything beyond the horizon she’d grown up watching.

Jasper’s smile faltered, but he nodded. “That’s all right. You shouldn’t do something you don’t want to do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No -- no, you’ve nothing to apologize for, Miss Tippit.” He made himself smile more brightly again, stowing the missives in a pocket. “Some people like to stay home and live quiet lives. It’s a very nice life for those who want it.”

But with the way her gaze would linger on the horizon, the way she talked about things beyond the borders of her small home, he’d assumed she wasn’t one of them. Still thought so, really. It was all too easy to lie and say you wanted to do something, when the guilt or fear of doing anything else weighed heavily enough. Better not to make it worse right now. Guilting someone into changing their answer wasn’t the way to go either, and he could have been wrong about her wanderlust in the first place.

He shrugged. “I only thought I’d extend the invitation to my trusty guide. Nothing more.”

She had seen the hope in his eyes, though. That he’d wanted her to go with her. Well -- maybe not her specifically. But an adventurer’s life could get lonely, she supposed, and maybe any companion was better than none. Still… “I’m sorry.”

He waved her off, refusing a battle of apologies, and turned his attention to the table. “What have you got to sell, Miss Tippit? I’ll need something for hares on my travels.”

Jasper wouldn’t stop grinning. He walked besides the little wooden cart, humming a travelling song and constantly looking up at Coriander with a beaming smile. She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing, nor could she quite bring herself to return the gesture herself. Bestina might have agreed that it was ultimately a good idea to see the physician, but it was clear she wasn’t happy about the means. Coriander had never left town before, and an uneasiness weighed her stomach down, even as she looked out as the farmland and flower fields passing by. Waites sat at the front of the cart quietly, humming occasionally when Jasper reached a part he remembered, but ultimately kept his eyes on the road as he drove.

His cart was an old thing, rickety and wobbling on its wheels, but it hadn’t needed a proper repair in almost five years now. His nag pulled it along at an easy pace, stopping all too often to sniff and snack on bits of grass. Mum was an old thing who’d carried the name Chrysanthemum once upon a time, but years of affectionate nicknames and baby-talk had shortened it years ago. She was deaf in one ear, just like Waites himself, but didn’t spook easily, unlike Coriander, who seemed to jump at every bump or rattle in the road.

She’d been no less nervous just an hour before. Her hands had been shaking as she went inside to pack for the short trip, Bestina at her heels critiquing every move she made. Not that dress, not those shoes, do you want to embarrass yourself the first time you ever leave town? How was she supposed to know what to pack? Well -- perhaps she should have. Fate knew she read enough stories about grand adventures anyway. They had never gone into detail about what these heroes and travellers had brought, but perhaps she ought to have intuited it anyway.

Their good-bye had been long and tearful, though Bestina didn’t hesitate to let everyone know what an inconvenience this was, leaving her alone in her house with no-one to care for her for three entire days. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. Was downright cruel. More than once, Coriander had started to say that maybe she ought to just stay behind, but never quite found her voice in time before something else came up and had to be commented on.

So she hugged her mother tightly, hung a bell up in the doorway for good luck, and held back her tears and hid any hint of excitement at the idea of leaving. It was much easier to be anxious, to be fearful of the world outside her front door, and avoid any scrutiny instead.

It wasn’t hard, after all, to be afraid. Coriander had never gone to the edge of the flower fields. It wasn’t terribly noteworthy and far from dangerous, but it was outside of everything she’d ever known. It was the very beginning of the world beyond her small life, everything she’d read about and nothing she dared to dream of seeing. Green moorland rolled all the way to the horizon, with a few copses of trees, and across a small offshoot of the Rhoeing River running by the road that would eventually join the main branch of the river up by Mowry, just barely too far away to see.

Coriander felt ill. Probably looked it, too. She fiddled with the strings of her pack, small and plain, with just a little box of tea leaves and spices as a gift for the physician, and an extra shift and pair of stockings for herself.

“Mint?” Jasper asked. The scent of it filled her nose and tore her attention away from the road just enough to see him holding a few leaves out to her.

“Oh -- n-no, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

She was absolutely unsure. Inexperienced and anxious, her stomach in knots and her heart in her throat. “I-I’m all right.” She was not.

Jasper’s grin fell for a moment, and he moved in closer to the cart to cast a furtive glance towards Waites before whispering, “Do you think you could pretend for me? You see, I always feel a little green when I first set off anywhere, and I don’t want our helpful guide thinking I’m a bad traveller.”

He was lying. He was singing and laughing no less than he always was. She looked to Waites as well, who seemed determined to look like he wasn’t paying attention, but Coriander relented and took a few leaves to chew on. Jasper thanked her, popped a leaf into his mouth as well, and began his song again.

An old oak tree stood guard at the edge of the fields, looking over the moorland beyond. Three young adults sat in the tree, pulling acorns, from the branches and throwing them at the two on the ground, who dodged them with shrieks of laughter as the oldest among them, stronger built and surlier, looked over a small flock of sheep -- a burgeoning shepherd practising their trade among friends. Mum plodded on, oblivious to everything but the grass in her mouth, but even Jasper seemed to fall quiet as the oak tree drew near.

The youths waved as they passed. Jasper waved back.

Coriander held her breath.

The cart rolled on.

She looked back as they went, watching the oak and the village beyond slowly begin to slip away.

She had left her home.

“It’s a strange sight, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?” Coriander turned to face the front of the cart again.

Waites smiled back at her, easy and comforting. “Knittelnau. You never really realize just how small it is until you’re outside of it.” She turned her head -- and stopped, as Waites spoke again: “I find it’s easier not to look.”

He admired the view for a bit anyway, glancing back to the road but trusting Mum to walk in a straight line. Jasper turned around entirely to walk backwards. She couldn’t resist the urge to turn herself -- but the sight still made her nervous.

“How old were you when you first left?”

“Oh, not much older than ten, I think. My father didn’t like to sit still for long.” Waites told the story as they went on, Jasper asking questions, but Coriander only half listened as she saw the town recede from view. It was slow going, would take nearly an hour until the last buildings moved beyond view.

Jasper broke into a fantastical tale of his own, gesticulating wildly as he went on about sea-faring vessels, three-masted ships with sails so large and white they looked like clouds. He talked about sirens and dangerous things that lurked under blue waters, one he’d managed to harpoon and pull up himself.

The conversation continued on without her. It always did. She wanted to see the hill she’d grown up on as long as she could. The house her father had built as a young man, not much older then than Coriander was now. She wanted to see her home, and she wanted to see it until it was just a speck on the horizon, and gone.

When she finally turned around to face the road again, Coriander gasped.

It was still tiny, barely visible from where they were, but the Rhoeing River that had always lived on the horizon, a distant idea of moving water, had become a clear and blue ribbon, shimmering in the midmorning sun. She could just barely make out a bride running over it, low and grey. Stone, most likely. She’d never seen a stone bridge before. Little wooden ones maybe, crossing creeks or dips in the road, but not stone, not over a river with a name. Something in her was desperate to walk on it.

“And the catch I’d reeled in -- with help of course.” Jasper held up an arm, flexing underneath his shirt in a most unimpressive way. “Do these look like the arms of a strong man to you?” He shook his head and laughed, not waiting for an answer. “I reeled it in and -- would you believe it? A baby water drake had gotten caught in our nets. He was slimy, with stubby little whiskers, and just enough teeth to do this to me.” Jasper turned his arm over, exposing a bite mark that looked like it might have come from a dog as much as it might have come from a water drake.

“Um--” she tried. All eyes were on her instantly, save for Mum, who didn’t care much for anyone unless they were waving a carrot or salt lick in front of her nose. She swallowed, shrank into herself for a moment. Why had she said anything? Stopping would do nothing but cause trouble, and hadn’t she promised to be good a thousand times over?

“Yes?” Waites prompted, almost overly benign in a way that somehow just made her feel worse for speaking up at all.

She mumbled, spoke too quietly, eyes on her hands. “I-I’d like, to, um…” She cleared her throat. “I’d like to walk. If that’s all right.”

It took a bit of negotiating to convince Mum to stop. Jasper had to run to the side of the road and pick some roadweed to wave under her nose. Slowly, she came to a stop and chewed thoughtfully while Waites helped her out of the cart. She stumbled, but righted herself quickly. And suddenly, she was a little larger. A little more important. Or perhaps just a little more foolish. A silly, hopeless girl thinking she was some sort of an adventurer just because she was walking the easy road to the next settlement over for the first time.

She stayed close to the cart, careful to stay on Waites’ right side so he could hear her when she talked, and glanced up every now and then for reassurance.

Jasper stood on her other side, a sort of buffer between her and the moorland beyond. “It seems the princess has come down from her carriage,” he said with a grin. “I tell you, the world is much better seen on foot. You can feel the ground beneath you, and it feels just that much more interesting. Even when you step on a pebble and feel it through your shoe.”

Didn’t that mean he needed new shoes? Coriander glanced down, wondered if he ought to have spoken to Olive before they left. But it was probably too late for that now, and he could meet with someone else in any number of the cities he was going to visit.

Another round of traveling songs picked up. Waites joined in now and then while Jasper led, glancing over to Coriander every now and then. She avoided looking back, but every now and then, she managed to squeak out a few lyrics alongside him, and Jasper’s grin only grew wider when she did.

Tag List: @madammuffins @aurisadventure @purpleshadows1989@fearlings-lament

Her mind wandered through into the evening. Jasper had promised to meet with her before he set off the next day, and she very nearly laughed at one of his jokes before coming home to her mother’s warm hearth to talk about the excitement of Ser Erron’s visit. Bestina couldn’t decide if it was enough to forgive Jasper for disturbing Kinttelnau’s peace, and refused dinner when the indecision upset her stomach.

Coriander’s own stomach was in knots as well. Even as they sat together by the hearth in the evening, mind kept wandering off to Jasper and Mowry and what the world was like beyond the flower fields. She’d heard plenty of tales of rolling green hills, towering mountains, deserts and oceans and rivers. She’d seen ponds and puddles of course, but they could hardly be used for swimming, much less for rafts and ferries one would see in Mowry. It wasn’t a large town by any means, but it was still considerably larger than Knittelnau and boasted cobbled roads and a clocktower with five bells that sounded out the hours all day long.

It had a community theater. And imports and exports. Painters. And a hedgewitch who made house calls, and...

“A physician.”

“What’s that, dear?”

Coriander sat up, tearing her eyes from the window. Had she said that out loud?

“Ehm -- in the market today, Mister Waites said…” She hesitated, not out of nerves of saying it again, but because the plan was forming in her head whether she wanted it to or not. She could go with Jasper to Mowry, and meet with the physician herself. Ask them personally to make a house call, and see if there was anything they could prescribe for Bestina’s illnesses. Maybe even something that could be grown in the spice garden.

But it would still mean leaving for at least three days. A day there, a day to find the physician, a day back. Anything could happen while she was gone, and Coriander would have no way of knowing. And there could be a pickpocket in Mowry, or she could get lost, or end up taking the wrong road home, or…

“He said what?” Bestina prompted when the silence grew too long.

Coriander swallowed. Shook her head. “He said he wanted to send his prayers for your health.”

“How kind of him.”

Guilt settled too heavily on Coriander’s shoulders. Lies had never come naturally to her, and though she kept silent for another moment, her composure fell apart quickly. “And that there’s a physician in Mowry.”

Bestina looked up from her reading.

“Could you say that again?”

“He said…” She coughed. “He said there’s a physician in Mowry who can help with chronic pain.”

Bestina looked at Coriander for a moment, brow furrowed. For a moment, she looked almost angry, but ultimately smiled. “Wonderful. We’ll send a letter tomorrow asking about their availability. What’s wrong, Coriander?”

She flinched. Had she been making a face? “I-it’s, ah…” It was a foolish, selfish idea. “I was thinking, maybe…” She shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

“Maybe?”

“M-maybe I could g-go meet with them in p-person.” It was barely a squeak.

Bestina’s smile faltered again. “Go in person?”

Coriander nodded.

“You’d leave Knittelnau? On your own? Coriander, please. Mowry’s an entire day away. What if something happens to you? I wouldn’t have any way of knowing until it was too late.”

Coriander shrugged again, any hint of confidence she once had disappearing further. “I-I wouldn’t have to g-go alone.”

“Oh, thank goodness, Sweetling. For a moment there, you know, I worried that … well anyway, who would accompany you?”

Silence. Coriander knew who Bestina would want her to go with. Anthony Waites regularly took trips to Mowry and knew the road there as well as he knew his own ledgers. But he didn’t talk nonsense about grand adventures, and he’d never gone more than fifty miles from Knittelnau, and he didn’t sit and ask to learn how to make flower chains just because someone gave him a slice of cake. And, most importantly, he wouldn’t be going there for another two weeks, which would make plenty of times for plans to change.

“Mister Waites could,” she said, too quiet.

“What’s that dear?”

“Mister Waites? He … He might know where I can find the physician while he’s there. A-and he’s never gone to Mowry for long, really.”

Bestina smiled more sweetly, putting a hand against her cheek. “Oh, he’s such a lovely man, isn’t he? He works so hard for us. I couldn’t possibly ask him to go so far for something so small.”

Coriander hesitated, looking at Bestina’s pale hands, and the dark circles under her eyes.

“What are you thinking, dear?”

“Oh, it’s…” She struggled for the words. “Your health, Ma. Mister Waites knows it, too. He …” Coriander swallowed. “H-he gave me extra for the rosemary today, and I think he meant for it to go to the physician's treatment.”

Bestina’s expression grew darker, and Coriander shrank back, but she rushed to correct herself before her mother could say anything. “A-and I’m sorry. I know you don’t like charity, and I wanted to tell him, but then the messenger arrived, and he left before I could say anything, a-and I don’t think he’ll take them back now. I think he did it on purpose, and … a-and I’m sorry. She finished quietly.

Bestina said nothing for a minute before sighing. “Well I suppose I’ll have to send him my thanks, at least. But I can’t ask him to leave town just to look after you.”

Coriander said nothing for a moment. Her mother was right -- she couldn’t properly care for herself, least of all on the road. Even if it was a short journey, just barely eight hours from Knittelnau to Mowry, and the road was easy and straight, she likely would trip and scrape her knee, or break something, or find some way to get lost. Maybe they could wait for the next time he took the taxes out to Mowry, before they were sent further to their liege lord.

But the idea of waiting three and a half weeks at least made her uneasy. Something could happen by then. Or by the time Coriander reached the Hedgewitch there’d be at least a three month wait -- which would just increase the time before her mother could receive any help.

Bestina had gone back to her work by the time Coriander managed to look up again, frowning, fidgeting with herself. I want to see the clocktower, said a tiny voice in her head. My mother could get sicker, the rest of her insisted. Bestina always worried about being left alone. But Coriander had never truly been on her own herself. She wasn’t sure she knew how to be.

And it would only be a few days. Right? One day to get there, one to see the physician, and one to return home. She’d be back before the week was out. Something might go wrong, but … but wasn’t it better if they waited as little time as possible? Wasn’t it better to take the smallest risk?

“What if…” she began, but her voice failed her.

Bestina looked up, the start of a frown beginning at the corners of her mouth. “I thought I’d told you no.”

Coriander’s courage disappeared quickly, and she looked down, shrinking into herself, hands beginning to shake. It was a bad idea to argue -- always was. Her mother’s headaches got worse, and she would just end up causing undue trouble.

But what if something happened?

What if something happened tonight? Or tomorrow? What if something happened next week? Coriander wouldn’t have anyone to blame but herself for not trying to help her mother. For letting things get bad without more of a fight.

She opens her mouth again -- only for Bestina to say something first.

“What’s gotten into you, Coriander?” Bestina set her work aside, staring Coriander down with a hard look, that only sent her shrinking further into herself in shame. “You never talk back this much. You’re not starting to hate me, are you?”

Again she tried to speak -- only to be cut off too quickly to say anything.

“It’s that man you’ve been talking to, isn’t it. What’s his name? Jeweler or Juniper or something?”

“Jasper,” she said, too quietly to make a difference.

“I don’t like him, you know. He shows up out of nowhere, claiming to be a pilgrim, and begins putting all these ideas into innocent young girl’s heads. He must want you to hate me. He doesn’t have his own mother, so he wants you to hate yours, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?”

Coriander didn’t even try to speak this time. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

“But you’re a good girl, aren’t you, sweetling? You love me. You love me, and you’d never want to make me fend for myself. I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know. I don’t think I’d survive, not even for a day. And you’d never let anything happen to me, never. Isn’t that right, Coriander?”

She flinched at the use of her name but ultimately nodding. It was true. Coriander didn’t want anything to happen to her mother, would sooner die than cause her pain. Wouldn’t it be better to see to the pain already there? the small voice asked, but she set it aside. Maybe they could discuss it again in a week or two, once the memory of Jasper was starting to fade from her Mother’s mind and there was no more excitement to be had.

“That’s right. We love each other. I love you, sweetling, so dearly. I only want you to be happy. Sometimes I worry that I’m only making things worse for you. That maybe you’d be better off without me. I’m such a handful. I know I am.”

The sorrow in Bestina’s voice tugged at Coriander’s heart and she rushed to answer. “I am happy, Ma,” she insisted, reaching out to take her mother’s hand. “I do love you. I want to stay with you.”

Bestina squeezed back, glassy-eyed and red-cheeked. “But don’t you want to marry one day?”

Coriander shook her head. “I’ll never love anyone more than you.” And she meant it, surely. She always did.

Bestina’s smile was weak, but very much there. She kissed Coriander’s knuckles and  nodded. “I won’t either. I promise.”

That’s right. It would always be the both of them, together no matter what. Coriander would never be truly alone. Right?

“I think it’s been too much excitement for one day,” Bestina said, putting a hand to her temple. “I think it’s time for bed.”

She only met Jasper in town after that, bringing spices around to her neighbors and collecting their dues. Abigail and her family had asked for double their usual amount of thyme, and returned the favor with just as much seeds for the chickens. Coriander struggled to lift the bag, and Jasper scooped it right up himself. The weight took him by surprise, and he stumbled forward, nearly tipping it over in the process. She frowned, even as he laughed.

Everyone was curious about the stranger, of course. They had never paid Coriander so much attention before, but she spent so much time with him now that surely she knew something about him. But she stuttered and stammered enough to let them know she knew as much as they did. Jasper talked plenty, and she picked up a few things here and there, but it couldn’t have been any more than what he was telling anyone else, right?

Bestina hosted friends again a few days after Jasper had visited, and Coriander was allowed to join in the card games, though she lost nearly every time. Still, she was praised and congratulated whenever she played a move that wasn’t absolutely foolish, and given cake. Coriander saved her slice, however, and took it with her the next morning.

Jasper wasn’t there, however, and she didn’t have the courage to ask around. Coriander wandered the streets, feeling foolish as she carried  a piece of cake on a plate, attracting more attention than she’d have wanted, though few people took notice for long. A cold dread settled in her stomach, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He had to have moved on, she thought. He’s a traveller, on his way to Gaelgallah to see the elves, and they were far more exciting than a quiet village in the south of Cresce.

She just wished he’d said goodbye before he left.

By midday, she gave up looking for him. Coriander fought back tears, cursing herself for crying at something so small, and avoided going home as long as possible that day. She made her way to far out in the flower fields under the shade of a tree, convincing herself that she wasn’t out here watching the road.

A man gasped above her, and she glanced up.

Jasper was sitting in the tree, eyes on the cake. He looked like he’d spent the night there, still half-asleep, twigs and leaves in his hair. “Good morning, Miss Tippit,” he said blearily.

Joy and relief swelled in her chest, and she found herself at a loss for words. She held the cake up instead.

His eyes went wide as dinnerplates, and he sat up straight. With a jump and a flash of magic, he landed elegantly beside her. “For me?”

She nodded.

“Well --” He stopped, brows furrowing. “Miss Tippit, are those tears in your eyes?”

She sniffled and looked down, shrinking into hreself instantly.

“No, no, we can’t have that. What happened?” He ducked to look her in the eye, hands on her arms for comfort. “Was it the baker again? I spoke to him a second time, you know. Wretched man, temperamental and rude. You’d think he doesn’t like customers.”

She shook her head, half wishing to turn invisible, half wishing Jasper wouldn’t let her go. Of course he hadn’t left without saying goodbye. It might have been selfish of her, but she wanted to believe he’d remember her, at least.

“Someone else? Your mother?”

She said nothing.

Jasper sighed, but smiled, and stood up again. “Let’s sit, Miss Tippit. It’s a particularly comfortable bit of ground right here, and we can look out at the road.”

She let him direct her to the shade, grateful for his patience though ashamed he had to wait while she gathered herself again. Unable to bear the idea of having him wait for long, though, Coriander held the cake out without looking up at him.

“Is that for me?” There was no hiding his delight.

She nodded, and glanced up with another sniff.

“I haven’t had cake in years,” he admitted, taking the offered slice delicately.

“I’m sorry.”

“No -- no, don’t be.” He grinned openly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “The life of an adventurer can have its downsides, you know, but I always think it’s worth the wait. You get spoiled if you have too much cake. It’s always good to have something bitter or bland and tasteless in between. It makes it feel like the first time all over again, whenever you have sweets.”

She frowned, wondering what metaphorical bitters had come his way, but the worry lessened when she finally found the strength to glance up and look at him. There was no mistaking the joy in his face, even as he tried to look worried for her. She lifted her head more fully and nodded.

Taking it as permission to try the cake, he took a bite and lit up completely. She’d never seen someone so happy. Jasper’s thanks were nearly excessive and unabashedly genuine, and he insisted on doing something for her in return. “I can’t in good faith leave you with nothing, not with how incredible this is.”

She hesitated. “It’s...i-it’s really all right, you know. I-I just thought it might make you happy.”

He pushed all the same, though he settled for asking Coriander to teach him how to make flower chains instead.

They sat comfortably together, and once Jasper was able to make a chain that didn’t fall apart the second he moved it, he placed it around Coriander’s wrist, insisting she deserved the first successful project from a future artist.

“After all, by this time next month, my bracelets will be in such high demand, I’ll hardly have time to make gifts anymore. Or at least, I’ll say so, but I’ll always make time, of course. Just don’t go around telling everyone my trade secrets.”

He accepted her silent bemusement as response enough, and went back to his sloppy work.

At week’s end, most of the the denizens of Knittelnau followed tradition and stopped by the local shrine at dawn to leave offerings and bundles of herbs, flowers, fresh baked bread, and knitted squares, thanking the spirits for their good fortune, or asking for strength. It was a small thing under the shade of an ancient willow tree. It boasted a single granite sculpture of the Sylph in the center of an old fountain, with inscriptions on the low walls of the other deities and spirits.

Most families had come and gone by the time Coriander and Bestina arrived. Bestina’s joints complained with every movement, and she leaned heavily on Coriander as they walked, reminiscing about a particularly interesting novel she’d read, or a new recipe one of her friends had passed on. They carried two heavily laden baskets of spices, ready to be sold at market later that day.

Their offering was a handful of spices, specially picked and arranged, and wrapped in a small, perfumed cloth. Bestina knelt down carefully to lay it at the inscription of the Gentle Wind, asking them for good health at always. They said their prayers, and Coriander helped Bestina to her feet.

“I like the colors you picked out this week,” she said with a smile.

Coriander swelled with pride, cheeks turning red at the unexpected praise. “I just chose a few, is all.” She’d agonized over the exact arrangement for hours.

“And you chose well enough. You might pick a lavender next time, instead of irises, but I’m sure they’ll do just fine.” But no sooner had she finished speaking that Bestina grimaced and strained.

“My head,” she explained, pulling back to nurse her aching temples.

“Is it bad?” Coriander asked. It had come on suddenly, but didn’t seem any worse than the usual headaches, thank the Sylph.

“Not so bad, dear. I think I might go to bed early. I’ll see you at home.”

She frowned, but nodded. “Should I go with you?”

“I’m quite sure I can make it home on my own. It’s a kind day for a walk.” The sun shone. A gentle breeze blew. “Old Sir Wind will guide me home.”

Coriander let her go reluctantly, waiting until Bestina turned a corner before she looked back to the shrine, to say another prayer for her mother before making her way to market.

A few locals still mulled about, praying or chatting. Rumor had it, a new physician was in Mowry. While the Mowrish hedgewitch and her apprentice were skilled healers and midwives, there was a limit to what their magic could do, just as there were limits to mundane healing. It was invaluable to have both on hand, should something happen. But the crowd thinned, and the shrine was empty by late morning.

Jasper dropped out of one of the trees, silent if a bit unsteady on his feet, and knelt to examine the Sylph’s offerings. They were smaller than the ones he was used to in larger towns and cities, less impressive or artistically arranged. But they were also more personal. None of that penny-a-bundle offering that were popular with working folk in cities. They had faster-moving lives, other things to do, while those in Knittelnau had time to sit and hand make their offerings.

He knelt down to look closer at a knitted scarf -- something soft and made with love. A bit dusty now that it had been placed before the fountain, but … Jasper lifted it up and sniffed. He couldn’t tell which flowers had been used in the perfume, but the fact that they had been used at all tugged at his heartstrings. Furrowed his brow, stung his eyes.

He wrapped the scarf around his neck and held it close. And then hesitated.

This wasn’t a piece of merchandise. Nobody had purchased this in a shop front on one of countless market streets, and tossed it at one of the big, artistically built shrines and sanctuaries, there to impress and nothing more.

This scarf had been made with love. It wasn’t impersonal. He couldn’t take it from the Sylph, even if she never came to take it herself.

Jasper unwrapped the scarf and folded it neatly as he could with his rough hands that hadn’t done enough good in this life. He sighed and stood up.

A small of honey bread caught his eye before he could leave. It was just the one, unmistakable as Hayes’ work. He couldn’t take a homemade scarf, but a rude, temperamental baker didn’t deserve the same sort of respect in his eyes. And he had been told it was delicious, after all.

Jasper turned on his heel, bread in hand, and made his way to the flower fields. His flower chains were hopeless, but he’d made worse offerings before.

He half hoped to find Coriander in the fields, though they were emptier than he had grown accustomed to. A few children running around, a young boy braiding flowers into his friend’s hair, but most of the residents were likely in town still, shopping or selling their wares. He’d stop by later on.

But first, the flowers. He found a patch of especially vibrant foxgloves and plucked one -- only for a little girl to all but shriek at him.

“Put those down!” She sprinted over to swat it out of his hand with more violence than necessary. A few children followed in her wake, each one wide-eyed at his strange clothes and colorful tattoos.

He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. These aren’t your flowers, are they?”

“No! They’re poison. You’re not allowed to touch them.”

“No, you’re not allowed to eat them,” one of the other children chimed in.

But the girl seemed to be the leader and shook her head. “It’s touch. You can’t touch them or you’ll get sick and die.”

Jasper hesitated, looking at the flowers surrounding him. “I’m afraid, miss, I’m half-submerged in them already.”

She stepped carefully through the flowers to latch onto his arm and pull. “Then get out! They’re dangerous.”

He laughed and obliged, half stumbling out of the patch. He’d nearly eaten one a few days back, but they weren’t poison to the touch, from what he could tell. At least, he hadn’t died yet. But he didn’t have the heart to contradict.

Once the girl had pulled him to what she considered safety, Jasper looked around. “Do you think, miss, you could direct me to some flowers that aren’t poison? I’m making a chain for my offering for the Sylph.”

“You’re supposed to give at dawn.”

Jasper grimaced. “I overslept?”

She made a face.

“What are you doing here?” a boy said, short and round-faced with a big gap in the front of his teeth.

“I’m a traveller. I go places.”

“Nobody comes to Knittelnau.”

“Then I suppose I’m nobody.”

With that, a flood of questions burst forth, each child curious about something or other. Where he’d been, what his tattoos meant, how did his hair get so dark, why did he smell like dirt. Jasper did his best to answer all of them, unable to keep from grinning.

The girl stepped forward again, determined to be heard. She would have been intimidating were she not just over three feet tall, and still had no shortage of baby fat. Jasper likened her to a particularly frustrated doll. She spoke with all the authority a six year old could muster: “Why did you oversleep?”

“All right, you caught me.” Jasper knelt down, glanced around to check no-one besides the children were listening, and leaned in conspiratorially. They all followed suit, trying to be the closest to him when he spoke: “You see, I’m a traveller, on my way to see the queen herself in Berall. Can you guess why?”

“Knittelnau isn’t on the way to Berall from anywyere.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the nearest kingsroad is back that way.” She pointed east, where a day’s ride would take a traveller to Mowry, a town larger than Knittelnau but still far too small to put on national maps.

Jasper laughed and nodded in submission. “Well -- you caught me. I’m not going to Berall -- yet. I have to finish my study before her Majesty can send me my invitation.”

“Study on what?”

“Well … I don’t know. It’s top secret business. Can I trust you?”

“Yes.” She seemed overproud. A good sign for what Jasper hoped was a budding gossip.

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Jana Hatlee. And that’s Sorrel, and Tulip, and Lonnie, and Marko, and Rosie.”

“Are you all related?”

Jana looked at them with a scowl and shook her head. “I have a baby brother. He’s useless.”

Jasper laughed. “Well, Miss Hatlee, and everyone else. You must swear to secrecy. Repeat these motions, and promise you won’t tell a soul, all right?”

They all nodded, and copied Jasper’s nonsense gesturing with varying success.

“Now repeat after me.” He placed his hand on his heart. They followed suit as he said, “I promise to keep Mister Jasper’s secrets from any sneaky adults.”

They echoed him in an almost sing-song chorus, and he grinned.

“Thank you. It’s so good to know there’s someone here I can trust. Well then, let me tell you -- I’m studying nightdrakes.”

“Nightdrakes?” Her little eyes went wide. Someone behind her gasped.

“Nightdrakes!”

“What are those?” Lonnie asked.

Jana scowled. Lonnie stuck his tongue out, and Jana returned the gesture before looking to Jasper and asking, self-importantly. “What are nightdrakes?”

“Well -- don’t tell anyone this, but they’re an incredibly rare breed of firedrake. But instead of breathing fire they breathe starlight. It’s pure white, cool to the touch, but bright enough to blind anyone! And they only wake up at night.”

A few gasps of understanding went around the crowd.

“Exactly. I had to feed them last night, you see, so by the time the little things curled up to sleep in my hearth, it was too late to prepare anything for the Sylph. I’ll just have a little nap, I told myself. Then go make my offering. But lo and behold I woke up --”

“And it was past dawn?”

“Exactly.” He winked. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

A chorus of promises  rang out, though Jasper had a feeling less than half of them would be kept.

But before he could thank the children, a shout rang out. They both looked to see someone pointing to the road, where a rider trotted along with ease. His horse was a handsome dapple, decked in the same color as the rider’s doublet and cap. Sapphire blue with gold trim, just like the rooftops in Berall.

IF ONE THING MUST BE SAID ABOUT CORIANDER TIPPIT, it was that she was absolutely and most certainly not stuck in a tree. It was an old think, a gnarled old oak that had stood since before her grandfather’s time. She could come down whenever and however she chose to. But That Cat, a one-eyed, ragged old thing was still down there, sniffing through her groceries as if it was his weekly trip to market, and as if he was the one who was bringing home fruits and cured meats for her mother, and the garlic clothes she hadn’t managed to sell — which was most of them, of course. Her mother rarely expected much more than that, with how shy and clumsy she was. It was almost impossible for Coriander to properly sell anything at the market, but with the spring pollen worsening her mother’s headaches, she had no choice but to help out even more than usual.

But if That Cat did not leave, Coriander would never make it home in time. He was the village cat, owned by no one but himself and far too old to become a pet now. A massive thing, nearly three feet in length and almost tall as her knees, he was thought to be a descendant of the mountain cats said to be ridden by elves a thousand years ago, before the Sylph left this world for good. His fur puffed out everywhere, and his snaggletooth grin never failed to frighten her away whenever he crossed her path. The poor creature had one yellow eye and one raggedy ear, but he got along just fine. And though Coriander loved animals very much, she was more cowardly than she was friendly. He ran up to her, and she ran up a tree.

But she wasn’t stuck.

Coriander could absolutely and most definitely get down from the tree whenever and however she wanted to. She just – didn’t want to come down. Not quite yet. Nobody took much notice of her anyway, whether she was up in a tree or down on the ground like a sensible girl. She was very happy, right up here, her short brown hair falling crooked over her round face, her ribbons coming undone and she’s her skirts wrinkled or torn or otherwise mussed.

And mother would be very, very disappointed at the sheer number of leaves and twigs tangled up in her curls, and at how many rips and tears now graced her stockings. And that was just another reason she wasn’t stuck. She just didn’t want to come down at all.

“Are you stuck?” someone asked.

Coriander looked down. At the very sight of the someone, her worries increased tenfold. He was a tall man. A half-elf, by the looks of his short, pointed ears. Very handsome and very dark-skinned, save for the green stripes on his face that paled in comparison to the greenness of his eyes -- wright’s eyes. Were those stripes tattoos or paint? Did it matter? He looked like a traveler – heavy boots, heavy cloak, long and unbrushed black hair. He looked like someone who either was very important, or would be soon. He looked like…

He looked like…

He coughed.

Coriander flushed.

How long had she been staring at him?

“I said, are you stuck?”

She fought hard to find her voice after thoroughly embarrassing herself. “Um, no! I-in fact, this is exactly where I want to be. It’s my favorite tree in all of Cresce.”

“In all of Cresce?”

It gave her pause. Reluctantly, she said, “Yes,” though it sounded more a question than an answer.

The man raised a brow. “You don’t look like you’ve seen all of Cresce.”

“Well…it’s…my favorite in Knittelnau, anyway.”

The man lowered his brows and turned away to consult a map drawn from his bag. He muttered about. Coriander couldn’t help herself – she leaned out as far as she dared to peer over his shoulder. From her vantage point it looked like a map of the entire continent – not just Cresce, but the countries of Iveya, Ninoom, and Gaelgallah as well. A moment later, however, she found herself looking not at the map, but at the man’s eyes instead, bright green glimmering in the sunlight. Coriander’s temporary courage fled at the sight of them. Unable to properly flee, she simply went back to her perch, clinging to the tree branch and eyeing That Cat once more.

He was still milling about, as cats are wont to do.

“I can get you down, you know,” said the man.

Coriander looked back to him, and then to the cat once more.  “No. Thank you, but I’m all right. I think.” Her pride was small, but it was still there. She would run up a tree in fear of a cat, but she would never admit she couldn’t come back down. The people of Knittelnau had enough reasons to laugh at her already.

Coriander glanced down again. The ground seemed very far below, even if it was only a good ten feet, and That Cat was still too close to comfort.

The man had found the cause of her fear. He was already halfway to That Cat when he spoke. “Is this what you’re afraid of? A cat?”

Her ears burned, but Coriander wasn’t able to stand up to his teasing as he went on: “Quite a fearsome thing, isn’t he? Oh, the Sylph herself would tremble in fear.”

The cat rubbed his face against his leg, and purred so loud it could be heard from up in Coriander’s tree. She did not want to hate anyone, but it was difficult to like someone who so easily made fun of her cowardice. It was far from her fault, after all. The world was a large place, full of…people and…things that were bigger things than her.

And foreign men who talked to cats. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it looked like – well, it looked like the cat understood. Coriander blinked hard, but her eyes told the truth. The cat chirruped and trotted away without a fight, off to do whatever cats did with their time.

“The fearsome beast has been defeated. Now all that’s left is to rescue the princess from the tower.” He grinned. “You may call me Jasper, your humble rescuer.”

Humble? Coriander thought. “Haven’t you got a family name?”

“Never had one in my life. Perhaps I might borrow yours.”

There was something in his words that struck her oddly. She didn’t like it. Coriander pressed herself closer to the tree, knowing it was only polite to offer her name now. Especially when he – when Jasper just admitted to his own lack of family. She hesitated, but managed, “Coriander Tippit.”

“Miss Tippit,” Jasper said, and there was something in his smile that felt like sunlight. And then something mischievous. “You may want to let go of your tree.”

She only manages a stammer. There was no time to get a proper word out as Coriander’s weight left her and she lifted from the tree, scared silent and stiff. Something carried her through the air and gently down into the Jasper’s waiting arms. He held her like a bride, and smiled like a groom.

Her weight returned slowly, elegantly. Coriander found no thoughts in her head. “Sylph’s graces,” she gasped. “You’re a wright.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He seemed proud of it.

Coriander, however, gaped with a slack jaw. A wright – here. A magic user in Knittelnau. Words still danced away from her as she grasped for them, and she settled for a simple, star-struck question: “Why?”

Jesper laughed again as he put her back on her feet. “Why am I a wright?”

“No—No, no, uh. Why are you here?” She clutched her basket close and looked around, at the dirt roads and horse-pulled carts, at the farms barely a hundred feet from the market, at the sleepy town that Knittelnau was. It wasn’t the place for a travelling wright. He shouldn’t be here at all.

Another laugh. Another sunshine smile. “Just passing through. I’ve got business in Gaelgallah.”

…So he was lost? Coriander considered Jasper’s clothing, and how worn it looked. He should have just taken a ship than travel over land. It would be far easier than wandering the countryside visiting towns he didn’t know the name of.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Jasper scowled just long enough for Coriander to flinch and bumble about.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to think…”

“To think I’m lost?”

She looked up with guilty eyes, her expression giving Jasper all the answer he needed.

He shook his head petulantly with a tsk, tsk. “I’m a pilgrim, Miss Tippit. If I were lost, I’d be a wanderer.”

That…didn’t make sense. Coriander pressed her lips together, searching for Jasper’s meaning. A pilgrim could get lost…couldn’t he? Just like a wanderer could know exactly where he was. It’s just that one had a specific destination and the other didn’t…right?

“May I ask you a question, Miss Tippit?”

“Um – yes.”

“You don’t laugh very often, do you?”

She opened her mouth but said nothing, lost for words yet again. Her mind was reeling with a mix of shame and indignation. Pretending to be insulted was one thing, but making jokes at someone else’s expense – laughing at her sincerity? Mocking her for her seriousness?

Coriander vowed to hate Jasper with every inch of her soul.

She must have scowled, because Jasper took a step back with his hands raised. “All right, how about I make it up to you. It’s unwise make enemies on my way to fame and fortune after all, even someone as small as you.” Her ears burned. She wasn’t short enough to be considered small, was she? “I think I smelled a bakery not too long ago – would you be averse to sweets?”

Her resolve faded reluctantly, but it faded all the same. She did like sweets. And as her expression softened to match her thoughts, Jasper’s smile returned. His eyes sparkled, and Coriander let the corners of her mouth tilt upwards. It wasn’t much of a smile, but it was something nonetheless.

“Miss Tippit.” Jasper offered an arm like a gentleman, which Coriander had a hard time believing he was. Still, he waited there patiently as she deliberated whether or not to actually take his arm – and ultimately chose not to. She shook her head and offered a small nod in both thanks and apologies. Jasper grinned.

He moved forward, waving about and prattling on and on with Coriander in tow. “Ah, of course. Wouldn’t want rumors spreading around already. Just imagine, Miss Coriander Tippit having found a handsome young paramour already. Does her mother know? And if so, what does she think of this young man? Where did he come from? Where is he going? Is he staying for long? Does he even know how to wield a sword, as all proper future husbands must?”

“Um,” she announced herself.

Bestina broke the quiet first. “He won’t sit down.”

“It’s not that i won’t sit, Missus Tippit, but that you told me to find myself a seat.”

“I don’t see the problem there.”

Coriander was inclined to agree.

“Well.” He frowned. “I was too ashamed to admit this ahead of time, but you see -- I don’t think I could find myself a seat. I may be a great adventurer, but I am a pitiful navigator. I’d almost certainly get lost on the way to the table if I didn’t have a guide getting there.”

Bestina laughed lightly, and Coriander did her best to smile at the joke, but she didn’t miss the distinct furrow in Bestina’s forehead. A headache was coming on. Her mother’s temper would get shorter with the pain. Best to get everything done quickly.

Coriander set the plates down and poured the tea while Bestina served them each small slices of cake, though Coriander herself had no stomach for it. Not with the unspoken discomfort in both her mother and her guest. She shouldn’t have invited Jasper over. Should have given more warning, or at least asked permission. Coriander couldn’t quite shake the tightness in her chest, unable to figure out any way to diffuse the situation.

“So you’re a wright, Mister Jasper?” Bestina asked.

“With an affinity for the wind. I suspect that’s the reason I talk so much.”

“Hm.”

“Because you use the air in your lungs to speak.”

“I understand the joke.”

Bestina took a sip of tea, and scowled. “This is horrible cold.”

Jasper hid a laugh behind his hand before tasting it himself. He fought hard to keep his grin up, but disgust twisted it into a grimace against his will. “I have to say I agree with you.” Jasper laughed. “This is dreadful.” He drank more.

Coriander fought back a grin herself, seeing the disapproval in her mother’s eyes as she watched him. She shouldn’t have found it even a little funny, not when he was insulting the tea himself. Tea her mother had made. “Should I go warm it up, Ma?”

Bestina waved her off.

“Have you always been a spice merchant, Missus Tippit?”

“No. My father was a tanner, and ended up travelling to a larger town for better business with my mother. I chose to stay behind. My Coriander and I, we’re home bodies. We don’t like straying far from our roots.”

Coriander caught the way Jasper glanced at her, and nodded. What did she need to travel for? She had plenty of books and maps to look at whenever she got curious, and the flower fields were more beautiful than any stuffy old city you needed an invitation to get into.

“When did you arrive here?” he asked.

Bestina shrugged. “I was much younger then.”

“But a proper lady never reveals her age, right?” He winked.

Bestina wasn’t swayed. The conversation continued pleasantly, if not stiffly. Jasper asked more than he shared, mostly about mundane life. How often Bestina entertained, where she got her recipes for cooking, how she started the garden -- but strayed any moment she mentioned her husband. Jasper didn’t need to look hard to see the sadness that shone through her stiff smile at the mention if him, or the more obvious discomfort in Coriander whenever he did.

Coriander contributed little herself, unsure of when to insert herself except when directly addressed, and only for a few short words at a time. She still hadn’t found her voice among the veiled distaste Jasper and her mother had for each other, and shrank under the attention.

“What about you, sir?” Bestina asked, still reluctantly nursing her teacup.

“What about me, ma’am?”

“Coriander says you’re a traveler. That’s not a trade.”

Jasper grinned. “Oh, no. But adventurer and hero of legend, now those are trades.”

“I’m sorry, I must have heard you wrong. Hero of what now?”

“Legend. Miss Tippit knows already -- I may not be a household name yet, but just you wait. Before the year’s out, I’ll be the first person to ride a dragon since … since…” He frowned, and turned to Coriander. “Miss Tippit, who’s the last person to have ridden a dragon?”

She hesitated, glancing to her mother as if looking for permission to speak, and answered: “Irial Ashgrip.”

“Ah, yes. Since Irial Ashgrip. And he …” Jasper frowned, and looked to her again. “He did something. Would you be kind enough to remind me how the story went?”

She nodded, looking at the table at first. “He was a royal guard to the Elven king and queen, but a dragon came to attack them. He leapt on its back and rode it out of the country before slaying it.”

“I think I’ve finished tolerating cold tea,” Bestina announced, and stood, taking the teapot with her. “It’s time to start dinner anyway.”

“Shall I help?” Jasper asked, making to stand himself.

“No, no. I’m quite capable of managing my own household.”

“If you’re sure…?”

“I am.”

Jasper sat reluctantly, before turning to Coriander again. “Well, then, I might ask you to tell me the story in full? How many years ago was this, Miss Tippit?”

“Nearly two hundred and fifty.” Irial had been young then, but loyal and brave.

“And tell me about the dragon.”

She felt a small flicker of excitement come to life in her, despite the anxiety, and she shrugged. “It was a fearsome firedrake, I think. Purple scales with gold eyes, and a wingspan wide enough to blot out the sun. They called her--”

A clatter sounded from the doorway. They whirled around to see tea splattered across the floor, the pot lying on its side. Bestina leaned against the wall with a hand clapped to her forehead, the other over her mouth.

“Ma!” Coriander rushed to her side guiding Bestina to a chair. She fell into it roughly, covering her face in shame, even as Coriander smoothed the hair from her face. Jasper hung back, silent.

“I’m so sorry, darling, I’ve ruined the tea entirely.”

“Don’t worry about that. Is it your head?”

Bestina nodded with a groan.

“Please let me call for a Hedgewitch. You can’t keep this up.”

“We can’t afford it.

“I’m sure I can find something. I’ll run errands for the Townsend boys, sell a few flowers on market days.”

“You already work yourself to the bone, dear. I won’t have you making things worse on yourself.”

“Please, Ma. I hate to see you suffer. I could sell a few of my own things. I don’t need that extra cloak, not until the end of summer—”

“That’s enough, Coriander.”

“Ma.”

Bestina slammed her hand down. “I said enough.”

Coriander finched, wide-eyed and afraid. Her mother’s hand had just barely missed hers, and the rings on it would surely have left a few bruises. She’d never been struck intentionally before, and she certainly wouldn’t blame her mother for such a small accident, but the fear of pain remained nevertheless. She had no right to it, really, when her mother was suffering right in front of her.

A long, painful silence passed before Bestina finally looked up. “You’d sell your cloak for me?” Her voice was so quiet that it tore Coriander’s heart in two. ‘It’s such a lovely thing…and it was your birthday gift.”

“I would. I won’t need it until August anyway.”

Bestina gave a sorrowful smile, and Coriander couldn’t help the few tears that escaped as she was scooped up into a warm embrace. “What did I do to deserve such a perfect daughter?” Bestina looked up from the hug, eyes landing on Jasper with a sharpness he hadn’t been prepared for, one that was too familiar for his liking.

A cold dread settled into his stomach, and he looked down, clearing his throat. “Perhaps I should come back some other time.” Or not at all. A certain nausea rose up in him, a certain fear he’d left far behind. Jasper had no wish to be around Coriander’s mother any more than possible.

Coriander herself looked up, still teary-eyed. “Oh -- no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Your mother’s health matters very much to you, Miss Tippit. I don’t want to be an added burden on you tonight. Sylph keep you in her graces.” He bowed his head before she could protest and made his way out.

Coriander hesitated until Bestina let out another groan. She stood up reluctantly then. “Let me go make you some tea.”