Page 39 of The Witch's Rite
Aurora handles the glass vial delicately, her long fingers coaxing morning dew gently from the lush green leaves of the summer plants. And as I watch her work, noting theconcentrated furrow in her brow, I suddenly want to tell her the truth.
I want to tell her my secret.
My chest squeezes, along with my stomach. The idea of telling her that I love her makes me feel slightly queasy. What if she doesn’t feel the same?
But what if she does?
I’m still a bit of a coward around her at times, like a boy who doesn’t know what to do with his feelings. In ways, though, it’s refreshing, like I’m young again. After Belinda, I didn’t think anyone could make me feel this way, let alone make me squirm nervously at the idea of telling them how I feel.
I’ve got to do this. Rowan isn’t around, we’re here alone in the forest, and there couldn’t be a better time.
“Aurora?” I say gently. My stomach tightens up even more.
“Hmm?” She doesn’t look over at me, instead focusing on collecting a few more dewdrops. Once they slip off the leaf and into the vial, she gently corks the bottle and turns to look at me. “What is it?”
I should have told herbeforeshe turned to look at me. Because now her green eyes make me freeze in place, and my tongue feels like it’s been twisted into knots. She tips her head curiously, eyes narrowing a bit, and a thin braided strand of hair slips over her shoulder.
I avert my eyes, choosing instead to look at the forest floor, and take a deep breath.
“I . . .”
Goddess, this is going to sound so cheesy.
Clenching my fist, I dig deep inside myself, trying to find some courage. Then I flick my gaze to hers and hold her stare. “I love you, Aurora.”
Her eyes widen, her pink lips opening into a look of surprise.
Then her face goes a bit white, and she scrambles to her feet in a flurry of skirts. The next thing I know, she’s sprinting to a nearby tree and doubling over, and I can hear her throwing up behind the wide trunk.
And that is perhaps theworstthing that could ever happen after telling someone you love them. I’ve played this scene in my head hundreds of times, but it never happened quite like this.
After that thought passes, it’s quickly replaced with one of concern. Something is wrong with her, and this time I won’t let her convince me otherwise.
Pushing to my feet, I head in her direction.
“Don’t come over here,” she says, then sniffles like she might be crying. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It’snot,” I say, voice stern. Joining her, I lean against the tree and rub her back softly. After a few moments of deep breathing, she stands to look at me. Her eyes are slightly red, and her cheeks are ghostly pale. “Come on,” I say, immediately returning to the wicker basket and picking it up. The clear vial of shimmering dewdrops is nestled amongst the sprigs of lavender, tucked into its own soft bed. Turning to look at Aurora, I narrow my eyes and hold out my hand. “We’re going to see Niamh.”
Chapter 24
Aurora
“WE NEED A HORSE,” ALDEN grumbles as we walk slowly down the dirt path into Faunwood. He holds my hand tight in his, our fingers twined together. He offered to carry me, then almost convinced me to ride in his cart, but I insisted I’m fine walking. The tripisfeeling longer than normal, though, and I had to stop once more to throw up in the bushes, but now we’re very nearly there, and perhaps one of the villagers will be kind enough to give me a ride back to Brookside.
My stomach is still turning, and I grip Alden’s hand a bit harder as another wave of nausea crashes over me. Thankfully, it subsides without me having to run into the tree line.
There’s only one thing I can think of that would cause these symptoms, but it shouldn’t be possible, not with how attentively I track my cycles.
I lift my free hand to my mouth and nibble on my thumbnail, lost in thought. Alden squeezes my hand reassuringly, and I glance up and offer him a warm smile.
Faunwood is alive with activity when we finally step foot onto the cobbled streets. People walk this way and that, drifting into and out of shops, getting on with their errands and work for the day. Rowan is around here somewhere, but I don’t see any flashes of his gleaming silver armor, though that’s probably a good thing. He has work to do, and if he saw me here with Alden, looking queasy and wobbly, he’d want to be right here beside me, holding my free hand. Best he not know until after we’ve had a chance to speak with Niamh.
Niamh’s apothecary is right across from the market square and little more than a stone’s throw from the mercantile and the guardhouse. I can already smell the warm aroma of frankincense and myrrh wafting from the tiny open windows on either side of the black door. Plants creep up the exterior of the building and curl around the doorway; one tendril even reaches out to touch my hair as Alden opens the door and ushers me through.
Inside, the air is balmy. The entire front room is packed with glass vials filled with herbs, tinctures, and powders. The vials crowd shelves along the walls and twinkle on displays throughout the shop. Seeing everything takes me back to my childhood, reminding me of Auntie and our trips into the village. She and Niamh would laugh and chat while I drifted through the shop, admiring the colorful bottles and wondering at the powers they possessed. Those memories make me smile now, though a deep ache lingers in my chest.
Only a few months until Samhain . . .
