“Herbs.” I point my chin toward the pouch I left on a rock. “From Kyanite land.”
She swipes her hand across her sweaty brow. “Magical ones?”
“Yes.”
A frown pulls at her lips as she eyes my herbs for a second time. “They will not take here.”
“Why not?”
“Magic. Gifts.” She shrugs. “Don’t work here. They haven’t since the high gods took our magic.”
I reach for a pouch and open it to find tiny black seeds inside. “What if they did?”
“I don’t mind trying. I only thought you should know.”
For several breaths, I stare down at the seeds in my hand, then meet her gaze. “These prevent infection.”
Sunlight flares across Kassandra’s face as she steps closer and smiles. “Let us plant them and see what Olah thinks.”
At her encouraging words, I bend down, making rows. She drops the enkantia seeds into the dirt. We bury them together, then move on to the next ones.
Dusk sets over Astarobane before we finish. The hems of our surcoats skim the ground as we walk to the stream and wash our hands.
“Shall you join me for dinner?” Kassandra asks after she finishes.
I lift my eyes to the sandstone street beyond my cottage. Nothing stirs. Not even the man I live with.
Kassandra smiles as if understanding what I didn’t say. “I’ll make sure Gabriel knows where to find his dinner.”
“He doesn’t...” I frown and brush dirt from my surcoat. “He doesn’t eat here with me.”
“Do you not cook?”
“I do. But after the second night, I stopped making enough dinner for him.”
Laughter skips in Kassandra’s eyes as she speaks. “I would have done the same.” She tugs on my hand. “Come. I’ll share the bread I made yesterday and Grandmother’s leek soup.”
The wind accompanies us as I follow Kassandra. It laps at our heels as we fall into a silent comradery. Only after we pass by numerous cottages, do I break the silence.
“Where’s Gabriel’s family? I thought they may visit us, but nobody has.”
Kassandra skirts around a wagon before answering. “He has nobody.”
“Nobody?” I ask. “No father? Mother?”
She shakes her head. “They’re all dead.”
Empathy tugs at my chest as I think of him all alone. He must feel so lonely when he returns from battle.
As we walk through the center of the town, people turn their faces away as we pass. After the fourth group of people turn away, I frown.
“Why do they not meet our eyes?”
“Because I’m an outsider,” she says, her words forthright and not tainted by bitterness.
Warmth scours my skin, anger for the way they reject her simply because they deem her beneath them.
“Has it always been this way?”
