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“Sorry we couldn’t hang out at the cottage; Elias wasn’t expecting any visitors, but neighbors aren’t exactly, well…good at letting us know before they stop by.” The old wooden footbridge, made up of planks in various shades of dingy brown bordering on gray, protested under Chise’s sturdy boots. She stopped in the center, gingerly resting her left hand on the railing as she took in the sight of the bubbling stream rushing underneath.
Philomela saw several splinters of wood sticking up from the surface and instinctively tucked her hands into her pockets. Her skin wasn’t as impervious as a dragon’s cursed flesh, after all.
She felt her wooden fingertips rest heavy on her legs, cool even through the fabric. Sighing, Philomela placed her hands on the railing as well to peer over at the stream. “It’s fine, really; I’ve been wanting to get some fresh air lately. I think Rian’s father is finally taking his self-centered son’s declarations about leaving the house seriously. Ever since I came back on holiday, I keep finding a whole hodgepodge of tasks thrown at me like I’m the assistant to running the estate or something.”
Raising her eyebrows, Chise twiddled with a button on her jacket. “I guess we can say cheers to both being apprentices now?”
“And how much paperwork does Elias make you do?” Philomela said dryly.
Chise gave her an apologetic grin. “I made it a bit too clear that I know enough now to help the church out on the documentation he usually assists with, so no escape for me I’m afraid. I do read a lot too, but I enjoy it.” Her voice was just audible over the stream. The water ebbed and flowed around the posts holding up the bridge, dousing the moss clinging there until it had a slippery sheen.
It was a cheery late summer day, the thin clouds and brisk breeze enough to keep away the fading heat of summer without threatening an afternoon shower. A perfect day for a stroll through the countryside, winding around the outskirts of the bustling town near Chise and Elias’ cottage, past the dark smudge of the old woods beyond, and over lolling hills and cheerful brooks that sung like the birds flying above them.
Philomela savored the vast meadow vista the stream vanished into. She had memories of similar landscapes, surveyed from the top of a tree while Rian struggled to finish the climb beneath her, from a recording behind a slanted helmet. This was her first time taking it in and realizing that she could walk to the boundless horizon now, no one to hide from or obey any longer. That she had someone to walk with her to it.
She glanced at Chise and smiled at the wistful way she stared out, her eyes hazy as she drifted someplace else. Something in her chest constricted, and she studied the stream again. “What books do you read?” Philomela asked, breaking the silence.
Chise thought for a moment longer. “Hmm, mostly books on magic, neighbors and their realm and the like. History and lore of the country, the natural world in general. We focus on making remedies for the villagers most of the time, so I’ve read a lot of guides on native plants and wildlife. It took a really long time before my English was strong enough to fully understand everything though.” She laughed nervously, but her eyes lit up as she spoke, her hands slipping from the railing as she gestured animatedly, telling Philomela of an improvement to her usual potpourri recipe she’d recently came up with.
“It’s amazing that you’ve been able to learn so much since you came here,” Philomela said earnestly.
Chise blushed. “I mean, it’s for my apprenticeship, so I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“But you seem like you genuinely enjoy it too. Like when you made those Thurisaz runes back in school, or made potpourri…for me. That wasn’t specifically for ‘your apprenticeship’, was it?”
“True.” Chise appeared a little chastened.
Philomela smiled. “Say, I’m not too familiar with the flowers around here.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, though there was one set she was quite intimately attuned to. She pushed off the railing and headed down the bridge. “Why don’t you put your knowledge to use and teach me some?”
Lightening up again, Chise hurried after her. “Sure!” The two of them strode down a winding dirt path, Chise pausing every so often to point out a particular bush or flower and give a short description of its properties. Philomela would kneel down with her, listening attentively as she studied curling vines around a decaying fence, or bushels of golden grass swaying in the breeze. Occasionally, her knee would bump against Chise’s as she leaned in. One or the other would startle briefly, but they’d both become lost chatting in the meadow again before long.
When Chise crouched down for about the dozenth time, she pushed aside some longer reeds to cup several stems bustling with delicate purple blossoms. Each array of flowers was made up of minuscule blooms, sprouting upward in cylindrical shapes. The flowers swayed in the breeze, petals fluttering as if they would snap off, but held strong. Chise smiled at it, her cursed hand tenderly curved around the stems.
She’d really honed her control with it lately, Philomela couldn’t help but notice, and her own crafted fingers curled around a patch of clovers by the path. “That’s lavender, isn’t it?” she said, laughing as she sniffed the aromatic haze around the blooms. “You put it in the potpourri pouch you first gave me; I’d recognize it anywhere.”
Chise opened her mouth, and nothing came out. She let go of the flower and scratched the back of her neck, staring dumbly at Philomela as her response hit her. “Um. Yeah, I guess that one was obvious,” she finished, her cheeks reddening as she looked away.
“What is it that lavender does again?” Philomela prompted in an attempt to bolster Chise’s pride, and found herself patting her thigh reassuringly.
Chise flailed her arm as she tried and failed to respond. “A lot of things,” she finally said vaguely, biting her lip and looking down at Philomela’s hand on her leg.
“Oh.” Philomela withdrew her arms, wrapping them around herself. She was curious at the next-to-useless answer from someone who clearly knew her herbs, but she decided not to push it. “You’ve taught me a lot so far, so why don’t I teach you one?” she said instead.
Chise seemed surprised. “I thought you didn’t know many. Except lavender of course,” she added with a wry grin.
“Not many of the ones you know, no,” Philomela agreed, grinning back. She stood up and headed a bit off the path to a different shade of purple she’d seen before dropping down to the lavender with Chise. Chise followed her path, their brief journey silent apart from the rustling grasses curling around them, clasping their legs and torsos as if to remind them they were part of this landscape too. The sensation was comforting.
When Philomela stopped, the ground was rather damp, an indentation in the earth collecting more water to muddy it than the surrounding hills. She confirmed her finding and pointed at a series of tall green stalks with long rows of slipper-shaped purple blooms running up the sides at all angles.
“Good eyes, it’s really hidden back here!” Chise said. “What is it? I felt like I’ve seen it in my reading somewhere, but it’s not something I’ve ever used, so I can’t recall it.” Her uncursed fingers drifted to the plant.
Before she could think, Philomela wrapped her hand around Chise’s and pulled her back. “Don’t touch it,” she said, her fingertips digging into Chise’s warm skin. “It’s poisonous even with skin contact.”
“Ah.” Chise’s hand twitched in Philomela’s as she nodded solemnly at her. “I take it you know it because…”
Philomela nodded. “It’s called monkshood. It’s a well-known poison; you only need to ingest a small amount to induce respiratory and cardiovascular failure.” She chuckled. “For all the magical means we were taught to anticipate, it always ended up being something simple in the end.”
“That sounds terrible,” Chise said, squeezing her hand. “Did you ever have to…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about that.”
Philomela squeezed her hand back. “It’s fine.” The wind picked up, sending her loose hair blowing past her face, blocking the monkshood from view. Her hand remained wrapped around Chise’s. “Though it does seem like too nice a day to talk about such things, doesn’t it?” Through the strands, she watched a few of the blossoms, some of the dying ones at the bottom of the stalks, get blown away, purple vanishing into the green hills.
A calm emerald gaze met hers. “Can we go to the lavender?” Chise asked, and they headed back to the side of the path. It was only when Chise knelt by her chosen flower again, reaching to pick it and failing, that Philomela realized she was still holding her hand.
Chise gulped, and while Philomela didn’t have feeling like she used to in her fingers, she sensed the wooden joints felt damp with sweat. Which made sense, since they’d been holding hands for some time, of course. She remained silent, watching as Chise reached with her left hand instead, closed her eyes, and cleanly plucked a single blossom. She twisted back around, and Philomela found herself facing her directly, the two of them kneeling before each other in the crumbly dirt. The knees of their trousers would be dirty after this, which would earn them both a scolding from Silky when they headed back.
Philomela still wore the outfits she’d made her, after all.
“Um.” Chise spun the flower in her hands, twirling it over her thumbs again and again. “I didn’t really pick this flower to tell you about it,” she said, ducking her head again so her bangs fell over her eyes.
Reaching out, Philomela brushed them away. Chise’s mouth parted as Philomela withdrew her hand from her cheek.
“What was it then?” Philomela said softly. She wished she could feel the lingering warmth of Chise’s skin on her fingertips, but she’d have to suffice with the flushed expression on her face for now. She immediately scolded herself. It was one thing to enjoy the times she and Chise shared alone, but entirely another to assume, to start searching for things that weren’t…
“I just thought it would look pretty.” Chise nearly dropped the flower. “On you,” she mumbled so low Philomela could hardly hear her.
“On…me?” she parroted, her head swaying with the spinning flower.
“I mean, if you wanted it. To wear it.” Gesticulating again, Chise began to blabber, her words spilling on top of each other as she backtracked and stumbled and repeated herself. “I was thinking, I know you like purple, but you mostly wear your hair down now, so I thought it would, like if it was tucked in your hair, since it’s really beautiful and is silvery and all that it would – the flower – I mean that you would – um. You would look really cute with it.”
Philomela’s heart pounded in her ears, rushing through her veins until she felt like she was floating inside herself in a warm, flowing stream like the one they’d watched earlier. She reached for Chise’s remaining hand, steadying it so she didn’t accidentally crush the flower. “I think the only way for us to find out for sure,” Philomela whispered under her breath, terrified of her own power, of how far she’d come that she could encourage someone so easily as everyone once had to her, “is to put it there and see for yourself.”
Chise looked her in the eyes, and slowly, with gentle, faltering motions, like she was doing her utmost not to disturb a single blade of grass around them, leaned across to Philomela. Her hands pulled away to steady herself, finding purchase on the ground, then one on Philomela’s thigh, then her shoulder. Her nails lightly scratched Philomela’s ear as she tucked the sprig of lavender into her hair.
She was so close. Philomela could feel her breath on her chin, the sweet, herbal scent of her skin. Her cursed fingers threading through her hair, adjusting the flower, and her other hand gripping at the sleeve of her blouse, slipping a little when Philomela shifted, falling forwards.
When her lips touched Chise’s, she reached out to embrace her, pulling her close as they both sank into each other. The taste of morning dew, in spite of the lengthening shadows of an afternoon sky; the scent of orange blossom; the promise of a coiling, fiery brimstone tamed for now. The touch of smooth, sculpted wood and the hum of magic that powered it.
Salt on her tongue, the end of a trail that trickled down her cheeks and over her top lip.
Chise pulled back, her face paling. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to assume – ”
Philomela cracked a smile and wiped her cheeks, choking as her throat became thick. “No, that’s not why,” she said hoarsely. Reaching back for Chise’s hands, she twined them together again, and focused on the soft weight of the flower behind her ear. “When I was a kid,” she said, letting the tears fall as she spoke, “I picked a flower for Alcyone. Well, Alcyone’s records tell me that I picked a flower for her, really,” she amended. “I don’t know what type of flower it was, but anyways, she didn’t really understand the point, so I tucked it in her hair and told her it was pretty on her. She still didn’t understand afterwards, but she wore it until it dried up and fell out.”
She pressed a finger to Chise’s lips as she began what was likely another apology. “All I have left of her are her records,” Philomela continued. “Records that would be trampled on and marred by my grandmother. When I was finally able to cry for her, all I could think about was how everything had ended. How it was gone forever. But you giving me a flower, like I gave her…it’s like that memory can be happy again. Because now I can remember the joy I felt in a moment that was stolen from me.” She blushed again. “And I have a new kind of joy to keep beside it too.”
Chise silently hugged her, hands pressed tight on Philomela’s back as she cried into Chise’s shoulder, an overwhelming relief rushing through her as she made her own record, etched into her mind with all the emotions thrumming through the two of them, a precious thing she needed no permission but her own to remember. Eventually they pulled apart, Chise offering her jacket for Philomela to wipe her nose while she watched the sinking sun. “We should probably head back,” she said, effortlessly helping Philomela up with one hand.
She tried really hard not to think about what it would be like to be carried by Chise again and failed miserably. “I suppose so,” she said wistfully, not quite ready for them to head back to their lives, where their quiet escape was bound to become far more complicated.
Chise gave her a sympathetic grimace. “I don’t want to either, but it really isn’t safe to stay out too late in the wilderness here. Especially considering how they’re already…” she trailed off, looking rather embarrassed.
“Who?” Philomela asked, craning her neck. She saw nothing but grass and distant trees, and wondered if Chise had gotten a message from someone back home.
“Uh.” Chise spoke slowly. “So you know I can see neighbors, right?”
Philomela nodded. “You’re saying there’s one here?”
Chise stared at her feet. “I see…a lot more than one. Perks of being a sleih beggey and all.”
“Ah.” Philomela raised her eyebrows. “And they’ve been there…”
“Um. For about as long as we’ve been in this meadow.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and burst out laughing.
“You know what, the cottage doesn’t sound half bad at all,” Philomela agreed. Still giggling, they headed home, confidently twining their hands together without a shred of doubt.