“I confess that possibility has crossed my mind a few times,” Sidra replied. She glanced at David, who was staring down at the Aethyn bloom on the page.
The laird’s consort wasn’t what she had expected—he was handsome in a rugged, almost faded way, lean and graceful, soft-spoken and reserved—but then again, her mind had built up quite a few assumptions about the Breccans, their land, and their holding.
“What grows in the east that we don’t have here?” David asked.
Sidra gently turned the page. “I’m not sure yet. But your herbarium will cast some light on that question.”
And it was going to take some time. Eventually, David called for some tea and cherry biscuits, and he, Adaira, and Sidra sat at the table while Sidra continued to leaf through his collections. She had handed over her remedy recipes and all the tonics and salves from her attempts to heal the blight and she watched from the corner of her eye as David studied her recordings, his brow furrowed. She had noticed that he wore gloves on his hands. When she saw him at the clan line, she had thought they were riding gloves. He had failed to remove them after they arrived at the castle, however, and while it was none of her business, she suspected she knew why.
She had an easier time hiding the blight on her foot and leg, beneath boots and dresses and stockings. But if the blight had been on her hands, she too would have had no choice but to wear gloves. If the laird’s consort was blighted, it suddenly made sense why the Breccans were eager to have her visit.
“May I ask how many of your people are sick?” Sidra asked.
David hesitated a beat, as if he didn’t want to reveal this number to her. But he must have come to the same realization she had: if they were going to truly work together and solve this problem, they needed to be honest with each other.
“Thirty-four, last I counted,” he said. “Although there could always be more. I’ve found that people are ashamed to reveal it.”
Yes, Sidra thought. It seemed that some of the blight’s side effects couldn’t be seen but were felt. Fear, anxiety, shame. Denial and desperation.
“What of your clan?” David asked. “How many have fallen ill on your side?”
“Fifteen that I know of,” Sidra replied. How that number stuck in her throat. It was wild how easily people were becoming infected, even knowing of the dangers and avoiding them as best as they could. She thought back to when her own infection had begun. She had been so careful but still wound up stepping on rotten fruit.
“I see here that you’ve tried spindlefel, primrose, nettles, and periwinkle as a salve for pain in the infected area,” David said, pointing to one of her recipes. “I’ve attempted the very same, and I’ve found that adding a bit of juniper to the mix helps tremendously with easing the stiffness in joints.”
Sidra leaned forward, intrigued. She nearly flexed her ankle to feel how resistant the blight had made it, as if the muscles were pulling tauter by the day. “I’ve never thought of adding juniper. Thank you for the suggestion.”
“Here.” David stood, walking to his wall of shelves. His workroom was a small but cozy chamber, crowded with drying herbs and an eclectic mix of jars and bottles. Sidra would have liked to have such a room herself, rather than work in her kitchen.
He searched through his collection and eventually brought a wooden container to her, which opened to reveal a salve. By its sharp, cool smell alone, Sidra knew it was the recipe they had just spoken of.
“Yes, I’ll have to try the juniper,” Sidra echoed, but David surprised her.
“You can have this one,” he said.
She glanced up to meet his gaze. He knew then. He knew she was also sick. She had been careful to hide her limp, but perhaps it was still obvious to him.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting it.
Adaira was unusually quiet, but she was watching them closely. She sensed the two healers had something in common, although Sidra could tell she wasn’t certain of all the details. Or maybe Adaira had simply been prepared for her father and Sidra to butt heads and argue and hoard their knowledge, like two dragons with their gold. Their easy camaraderie was a bit of a shock, although Sidra felt like healers possessed a language no one else knew.
They remained in the workroom until the day began to draw to a close. A storm was brewing, and Sidra could hear the wind, whistling through cracks in the castle mortar. The windowpanes wept with rain, and as Adaira led Sidra through a web of corridors the afternoon light suddenly disappeared and the castle was plunged into darkness.
“I’ll show you to your room, so you can rest a moment before dinner,” Adaira was saying when they reached a long, winding staircase.
Sidra gazed at the endless steps, reluctant to approach them, until Blair appeared at her side, offering his arm. She gratefully accepted and held to the crook of his elbow. She let him take the brunt of the weight off her foot as they followed Adaira upwards, but Sidra couldn’t help but feel a stab of worry when Adaira glanced behind at her.
Adaira did indeed notice Sidra holding on to her guard. How attentive Blair was to her.
They followed Adaira down another corridor and at last reached the guest suite. The room was spacious, adorned with tapestries and rugs and a four-poster bed draped with sheepskin and sheltered by a canopy. A fire was burning in the hearth, and the mantel above it was green with fragrant juniper boughs. There was a chair and a table for washing, a wardrobe in one corner, and a view of the misty hills.
“May I have a moment alone with Adaira?” Sidra said to her guards, who were hovering.
Blair nodded, ushering the other three out to the corridor. As soon as the door closed, Sidra looked at Adaira, relief and worry both beating in her pulse.
This was the first time the two of them had been alone since meeting earlier in the day. They could both drop their guard and fall back into the comfortable bonds of their friendship. And yet so much had happened over the past month that it almost felt like they had been apart for years.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Sid,” Adaira said. “But I must ask . . . is everything well with you and Torin? I couldn’t help but notice your guard, and I honestly thought Torin would want to accompany you west. Jack also told me that Torin didn’t reply to his letter. You did.”
Sidra released a deep breath. It was time to inform Adaira, but she needed to sit for something like this.
“All is well between us. Don’t worry.” Sidra moved to the chair, easing down with a slight groan. “But Torin isn’t here, Adi.”
Adaira’s expression was lined with concern as she drew up a stool, facing Sidra. “Where is he then?”
“The spirits took him.”