IN THE MORNING, THICK MIST CURLS THROUGH the trees and blankets the forest ground. I watch as Cohen rides away on Siron, wisps of white furling around the black beast’s legs like the clouds are carrying him away.
Cohen is leaving for the city to speak with Delmar again. Enat says he’s a trustworthy kinsman and is the one who will, in turn, contact Millner Barret and set up a meeting. Cohen argued to go alone because the guards are looking for both of us. Disguised and on his own, he could slip through town easier than if we were together.
Part of me is grateful for the time away from him. Last night I hardly slept. Every time Cohen shifted in his sleep, I was acutely aware of his movements and his slow and steady breaths, despite our being on opposite sides of the room. Hours passed. I tossed and turned and thought about the kiss in the rain. About Cohen. About what’ll happen next.
I fear I’ve made a terrible—?wonderful—?abysmal mistake.
After Cohen is pardoned, he’ll leave to help his brother in the war, or he’ll return to hunt for the king. I cannot fault him for his allegiance, but I fear he won’t want to be with me. After all, he left me once before. Losing him again will crush me.
Even if he stayed and wanted me, how could we ever be together? Cohen’s duty to his family comes first. Any ties to me will be a stain on his reputation, which could possibly have negative consequences for his mother and sister. When we were younger, he bloodied a few noses when boys teased him about being my friend. Now that we’re older, a fistfight won’t bridge the divide between our two stations in life.
When Cohen returns, I’ll explain that the kiss was a one-time incident, a lapse in judgment to satisfy my curiosity. It meant nothing.
The excuse rattles through my head as I sit beside Enat’s warm-springs well. The heat rising from the ring of stone contrasts with the cool clutches of mist, and I find myself shivering, despite the ridiculous dress pinching my skin.
I fold my arms tight to my body. I’m uneasy about talking to Cohen, but what vexes me the most is that Cohen will already realize he made a mistake.
“You have that look on your face again. What are you thinking?”
I jump to standing, startled by Enat’s comment. She breaks through the mist with two empty baskets in each hand.
I tug at my collar in a futile search of comfort. Blasted dress. “I was thinking about all that’s happened.” It’s not exactly a lie. I want to be honest with Enat, considering all she’s shared with me.
“Ah.” Her brilliant blue eyes soften into a sympathetic look. “You’ve been through a lot. Your father’s death. And now this trek through Shaerdan.”
I say nothing, letting her make her own judgments.
“Come, then.” She raises one basket. “I could use your help. I’m short on dried herbs. And the storm’s likely blown down seeds and bark gnarls. Wouldn’t mind gathering some of those; then I don’t have to climb for them later.”
“Do I need my bow?”
Her head tips to the left. “Not likely, but it’s always good to be prepared. Why?”
“The last time we were in the woods together, you used me for target practice.” I smirk. “Just wondering if I should be ready for that.”
She barks out a laugh. “Does that wit ever get you in trouble back home?”
“More than I’d like to admit.”
“Hmm . . . to keep you on your toes, I’ll grab my bow before we head out.”
This time I laugh. Enat is exactly what I need to take my mind off Cohen.
“Are the clouds often this low?” I ask as I follow her.
“This?” She points at the mist, parting around our knees. “This is the morning fog. It comes in and leaves again by noon.”
“I didn’t notice it the other day.”
“We don’t get fog every day, but enough to keep the trees happy. It keeps them strong. They are ancient, you know.”
I nod my head. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Some say they’re the first trees the gods planted for us. That’s why they are strong and resilient. Even fire has little effect on these beauties.”
It seems appropriate that Enat lives here. I don’t know much about her, but I think about how she’s able to protect herself and how she is the person Papa turned to for help. She’s like the trees, strong and resilient.
We spend a couple hours gathering herbs and seeds before returning to the cottage and laying them out to dry. Enat takes the two bark gnarls and breaks them in half. She whittles the centers with her blade until she has a pile of wood grindings.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“The inside of the gnarls can be used for many purposes, a pinch to sweeten tea or even to put out a fire, since the trees are resistant to flame.”
“Is that what you’re going to use it for?”
She pauses, looking at me reflectively. “No. The grindings of a bark gnarl along with a pinch of chiandra can also be used to slow a person’s heart.”