Page 15 of Under the Lion Star

“Pullam does have an older brother,” she nudged my shoulder.

“Why tie myself down when I can be sold off to a king?”

As expected, Aunt Stella was already hard at work when I arrived. Her lavender hair was pulled back into a neat bun since even a single strand could throw off more delicate concoctions. Being a supplier to the various apothecary shops in Galvord suited her just fine, and she could provide a comfortable life for herself and Marcy despite the loss of her husband.

She’d always said she preferred it this way, not having to deal with the customers herself. It allowed her the flexibility to work from home and to stay closer to Grandma.

“That smells terrible,” I groaned as I looked into the pot she tossed herbs into. “Garoot tea?”

“Aye,” she nodded. “With all the returned soldiers, there’s a never-ending request for it.”

I smirked. Garoot tea was usually given to elderly elves who had difficulty staying erect. However, it could also be used to overcome that pesky refractory period some people experienced between dalliances. I imagined that after so many years away at war, the returned soldiers were making up for lost time.

We worked in tandem as my aunt dictated the quantities of each creation she needed. Aunt Stella had been training me and Nima since before my mother died but had taken an even more prominent role after her passing—something to keep us busy and keep our minds off the loss.

I liked the work but never wanted to pursue it as a career, even though it was the only thing I was good at. It seemed everyone around me had found their passion, yet I continued to wander aimlessly with no direction.

Yet, after my mother’s conversation the day of the parade, I was determined to seize the next opportunity that presented itself to me. I would take a risk for once. As long as it had the potential to make a positive impact on the realm, no matter how small, I would do it.

“Did you hear about the event at the castle?” I asked, slowing the drip as I titrated out another batch of potions.

“Yeah. Are the twins ravenous over it?”

“Of course. They’re already making all our gowns and concocting a list of other high society elves they want to dress.”

“I feel bad for King Leor,” my aunt shook her head. “Only a few months after he loses his parents and is forced into a role he likely isn’t prepared for. Now he has to find a wife.”

“You make him sound like a victim. He’s the one hosting a chattel auction of women.”

“I doubt very much that it was his idea,” she arched a brow. “Probably some political play to help citizens feel more confident in the change of leadership.”

“Maybe.”

“I met him a few times when he was young,” she continued. “They’d stop in the shop sometimes, the king and queen.”

“What were they like?”

“Always gracious,” she replied, staring off into space as she stripped leaves from a stalk. “The king was sort of goofy, honestly. Very light-hearted and genial. The queen was kind but stoic. Though I imagine to lead a country as a woman, you would have to be. Leor was a lot like his mom. I never met the younger two.”

“Atlas always called him the grumpy prince when Lina would pester him about his friend,” I smiled, remembering when we were all so much younger.

“Let us hope the Gods guide him well,” she said somberly. “That whole family.”

I nodded as Marcy came in from outside and helped me with bottling and labeling everything we had made. We meticulously sealed the wooden crates, ensuring none of the glassware was at risk of breaking before heaving the load out to the front yard.

The courier arrived with a horse-drawn cart and carefully loaded each crate as Aunt Stella watched him like a hawk. She counted the envelope of feldor he provided, ensuring the money was all there before dismissing the young elf with a curt nod.

I admired my aunt’s business acumen. While she always offered a cut of the profit for our work, Nima and I never accepted. The Helners weren’t the wealthiest family in Fjorn, but money wasn’t something we had to worry about.

After eating with the two of them, I set off toward Galvord. The skies had clouded over, a gray blanket obscuring the mountaintops. Overcast was when Mom would take us fishing as kids. She believed the fish preferred overcast skies so the sunlight didn’t hurt their eyes. I had no idea if it was true, but days like today always reminded me of her.

With my eyes gently closed, I held my face high and breathed in the scent of impending rain. I allowed myself to fall into the memory and the myriad of conflicting emotions that came with it.

Footsteps were a welcome distraction, and I slowly opened my eyes to give a nod and polite smile to whoever was sharing the roadway with me this afternoon.

Two soldiers approached; the few rays of sun that managed to seep through the cloud cover glinted off their armor. I wondered why they still wore it. Perhaps they found comfort in the weight of it, or maybe they just had no confidence that the war was truly over.

Their crimson cloaks fanned behind them in the slight breeze, and I wondered what reunions they had been able to have upon their return.

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