*
Less than an hour later, Vrell stood on the embankment with the four Orthrop children, just below the stone walls of Walden’s Watch Manor.
Lord Orthrop had walked Lady Coraline and her serving woman onto the ship that would sail to Nesos. Vrell had heard Shoal, the Orthrops’ eldest son, refer to the wooden boat as a cog. Vrell didn’t think a cog looked at all safe. Lady Coraline and her serving woman would be riding with six men in a space no bigger than Lady Coraline’s bedchamber. And the cog was stacked with cargo that caused it to sit low in the gentle waves. What if there were a storm? There had to be a better way to travel.
The unfamiliar warmth of the sea breeze tousled Vrell’s short hair in and out of her eyes. Her skin felt damp with the abrasive smell of seaweed, fish guts, and paraffin oil from boat lamps. The smell stuck to her. With Lady Coraline gone, Vrell would not have a decent bath until her return.
The sea stretched out before her, calm and heavy. Gulls swarmed the rocky shore, nipping bites of whatever creature had died among the rocks. The beach rose sharply up the hill until sand gave way to green grass that ran all the way to the greystone manor walls.
Vrell always felt awkward at these family gatherings. Council law required strays to wear orange. But, as at Zerah Rock and Carmine, Walden’s Watch did not employ slaves or strays. That did not stop people from treating Vrell with contempt. The Orthrop children were kind to her, though. Eleven-year-old Gil more so than anyone.
Lord Orthrop walked up the dock and stood beside Shoal. At first glance, the two men looked like twins. Both had blond hair slicked back into a tail, brown eyes, tanned skin, and broad shoulders. But eighteen-year-old Shoal did not have the weathered face of his father.
A chorus of good-bye s rang out from the children, and Vrell joined in, blinking away her tears. Aljee ran down the dock, tossing blossoms in the boat’s wake and waving to her mother. Riif and Gil had already moved on. They were fighting with sticks on the grassy lawn behind the manor. Shoal and his father were discussing the tides.
Shoal was quite handsome. If he hadn’t smelled like fish at all hours of the day, Vrell might’ve been tempted to get to know him better.
It was probably for the best. For one thing, Shoal believed in the Er’Retian gods, which Vrell held to be mythical. For another, Shoal was in love with Keili, a fisherman’s daughter. It was a shame that Lord Orthrop would never approve the match. Such was life. But those two topics of conversation would certainly cause trouble. Vrell had a bad habit of setting people straight about the gods that usually ended in ridicule. Plus, her own thwarted love would prod her to romantic discussions no true boy would venture into willingly.
Best to steer clear.
Shoal, still engaged in conversation with his father, grinned at Vrell as she walked up the hill, practicing her springy boy walk. Unfortunately, after hearing his thoughts, she knew his smile was not for companionship, but at his memory of clobbering her with a sword. Her hand was still bruised. Vrell sighed and started for the apothecary, kicking pebbles on the dusty road as she went.
The village of Walden’s Watch was crammed into a small, flat space at the end of the NaharPeninsula. Cliffs edged the ocean on both sides of the town. The houses were narrow, two-level stone dwellings packed close beside one another.
Vrell kept her head down as she walked, glancing up only to keep from running into anything. Strays were not to make eye contact with people above their station, and that took a lot of training on Vrell’s part. A little boy chased a rolling leather ball into the road. She did not meet his eyes or try to hear his thoughts, but his sunburned face reminded her of Bran.
Seven months ago, Bran Rennan had asked for Vrell’s hand. She longed to be his bride. He was her dearest friend and her only love. But Bran was only a lesser noble, and Vrell was heir to a duchy. She would be marrying beneath her, at least in terms of social station. To Vrell’s delight, her mother had actually been considering the match when another suitor had come along.
The powerful and horrible Crown Prince of Er’Rets: Gidon Hadar.
Vrell had wanted nothing to do with him. Thankfully, Mother had agreed. But when the prince threatened to send guards to provoke a favorable answer, Mother sent Vrell into hiding.
The plan was simply to wait. As soon as Prince Gidon yielded and chose another woman to marry, Vrell would return home. At which point she would beg Mother to accept Bran’s offer.
For now, Vrell was homesick but safe. It was winter’s end, and if she were home she would still be wearing heavy woolen skirts and furs. Here she did not even need an overcoat. Walden’s Watch was almost tropical, although it was more swamp than rainforest. According to Lord Orthrop, however, the gods always cursed the NaharPeninsula in a winter drought.
She rolled her eyes at such foolish superstition.
The apothecary sat two streets from the manor house in a stone building with a large wooden shutter covering the window. When the shop opened, the shutter would serve as an awning to shade both customers and merchandise. Vrell approached the building and followed the path to the backyard.
The shop owner, Wayan Masen, served as the only apothecary for miles around. Lord Orthrop had arranged for Vrell to apprentice there. But Vrell found the work of Wayan’s wife, Mitt Masen, much more interesting. Mitt was a healer and midwife. Vrell would have loved to see babies born, but under this disguise it was impossible. A boy apprenticed to a midwife was unheard of. And as far as the Masens were concerned, Vrell was a boy.
Thankfully, Wayan found Vrell a bother — an opinion somewhat helped along by Vrell — and was therefore quick to send her away to assist his wife. Though Vrell couldn’t help her with the midwifery, she was learning a great deal about the healing arts. Mitt frequently spoke of her visits with patients, and Vrell soaked up all the information she could. Using plants to heal was fascinating.
She enjoyed the smells of herbs and blossoms, and learning the healing trade gave her a sense of home. She missed her private garden, her hybrid plant projects, and Mother’s library. Lord Orthrop did not keep books or scrolls of knowledge — not that Vrell’s boy persona would be able to read them even if he did.
Vrell entered the Masen’s backyard, a small medicinal garden filled with all kinds of herbs and spices. Lines of twine zigzagged between the apothecary and the Masen’s home next door.
Vrell found Mitt hanging sprigs of juniper and oregano on the lines. Mitt was short and round but very able. She always wore a charcoal grey dress with a white apron over it. Her face was as round as the rest of her, and her cheeks were always flushed.
“Morning, Vrell!”
“Good morning. May I help you with those?”
“You surely can.” Mitt motioned to a basket of fresh blossoms. “Hang the lavender over by the wall, will you?”
Vrell took a bunch of lavender and a length of pre-cut twine, and made her way to the wall. The lavender smelled heavenly, like Mother. Vrell’s eyes watered as she thought of the wonderful visit her mother and Lady Coraline would be having soon. She blinked the jealous thoughts away, tied the sprig to the line, and went for another.
“Kehta Grett’s twins come last night,” Mitt said.
Vrell gasped. “How did it go?”
“Terrifying. For a time I wondered if I’d been wrong and there was only one. But when the girl come out weighing so little, I knew there was another. The boy was a jackal, though. Gave me a time of it. Come feet first with the cord around his wee neck. Survived in spite of it, and I praised the gods.”