I added the spearmint and camomile, the same as Deacon's ague lifting stew. I turned back for Tristram, finding him now dozing, a gentle snore emitting from him. With deft fingers, I dove back into my pocket and grabbed a bunch of tied herbs, dropping it in the water. Casting a swift glance over my shoulder, I ensured Father wasn’t close at hand. He’d smell the unique notes of the herbs I was using. Powerful and potent, Foxglove was rarely used unless by a skilled hand. I’d seen father use it once on a wandering member of a neighbouring tribe; the man had been near senseless as he’d admitted he hadn’t been lost at all, but instead spying. I kicked at the remnants of the fire from the previous evening and snatched a clump of charcoal into my hand, dropping it into the water.
As I walked back to Tristram with my potion carefully balanced in my hands, I broke every Druid Lore code, but with a narrow stare at Tristram’s face, relaxed in the repose of sleep, I steeled myself for breaking the law.
I wanted to know the truth. If he’d given into Glynis’ considerable charms, then it would change everything. I placed the bowl seeping the truth-expanding Foxglove and Charcoal under his head and sat on my haunches waiting for him to come around once again. Settling back on my heels I watched and waited. It only took a few minutes for the tight rivet of pain settled between Tristram’s eyebrows to smooth away. In many ways, it was a shame; he should have suffered longer. I shook my head at my own spiteful thoughts and I waited.
He cranked an eyelid, the dark shimmer of his onyx pupils settling on where I sat. “Don’t sit there looking all virtuous, Mae,” he grumbled. “Gloating doesn’t suit you.”
I narrowed my eyes, making the corners of his lips hitch upwards before he closed his eyes again with a deep sigh. “Some of us have to be virtuous and abstain from the downfall of men, especially if they are to nurse the suffering the following day.”
He pulled a face which if my stomach hadn’t been twisted into knots of apprehension would have been on the border of adorable.
“Tell me.” He didn’t bother to open his eyes to converse with me. It was better that way, at least his soul appraising dark eyes couldn’t spear my heart from their brutal depths. “Don’t you just want to have fun once in a while? You’ve the rest of your life to be the bard, teacher, and healer you are destined to be.”
I swallowed hard. His words pinched at my chest, labouring my breath. Turning his head, he slowly blinked his eyes open and stared at me. Around us, the settlement evaporated into a fine mist. I breathed slowly, watching as his chest rose and fell in time with mine.
“Have I stumped you into silence, Mae?” He grinned and the magic around us broke into fractured pieces.
“Do you ever plan to be anything other than an aimless second son, with nothing more to do than be the life of the party?” I snapped, sending the hardest glare I could summon in his direction.
The smile on his face evaporated. “If that’s my destiny, then so be it.” His face shut off from mine and he turned away, his expression hardening.
I knelt forward, coming close to his side. Prone on his back, with his face to the sky, and his eyes shut, I was able to sweep my keen gaze along his features. The boy I’d grown up with had developed into a fine young man. At twenty, his still youthful body contained power and grace. He’d been blessed by the gods at birth. I studied the sweep of his golden eyebrows, the regal slope of his nose, and the wide plump lips I hoped hadn’t kissed Glynis. “Don’t you want to be more, something undeniable by anyone else, to be your own destiny?” I whispered, unsure if he was asleep again. His eyes met mine.
“Always.” His words were a low murmur.
“Then you will be the man I think you can be.”
“And you?” he asked, “don’t you want to be more than a bard? More than the path your father is encouraging you along?” He shifted onto his side, lying close to where I sat cross-legged. Again, that magical spell pulled away reality, absorbing the past and future until only the present remained.
“Always,” I whispered back.
His hand reached for mine, his fingers tangling loosely, and my heart pounded against the bones in my ribs. “My head feels much better, thank you, Mae.”
I offered him a wan smile. “I'm here to heal.”
In a surprising flash, he pushed my hand to his chest. My palm sat above his beating heart, the force of his existence in this life. “You make me live, Mae.” He squeezed my fingers and my own heart raced. “I will live every day being more than an aimless second son, if you would allow me. If you would take me for your own.”
My mouth dried. I pulled my hand away, shoving it within the folds of my dress. “Who did you sleep with last night?” The question blurted between us with no hope of me holding it back.
Leaning onto his elbows he frowned in consternation. “What do you mean?”
The mist of truth-giving steam swirled around us both. “Did you sleep alone?”
His features hardened into a bitter scowl. “You think so little of me?” He sat up, his muscles flexing as he stood from where he lay. He began to walk away, his head down, before coming to a standstill and casting a hooded gaze back in my direction. “And to think I’d give the world for you.”
“Tristram, wait, I didn’t—” there was no point calling. He was gone, storming
