Chapter 2: Of Heart and Home

The apothecary was packed with customers. People needed salves, protection charms, and talismans for the woods. Why they were venturing into the woods at all, Lissa was unsure, but then again, it wasn’t her place to ask. She was simply a delightful proprietor.

For the most part.

Rumors around Salindor cited the blood moon for the increased activity. Men hoping to become mages often practiced and traveled into the woods during celestial events. She understood the impulse—crystals and jars of water lined almost every surface in her home that saw moonlight during these times. 

But Lissa had vowed to keep her head down after her parents disappeared in order to run the shop and raise Ella. Every few months, almost as dependable as the phases of the moon, talk of the Book would filter back through town, bringing with it memories of parents who left her and Ella alone. 

Every few months Lissa struggled to sleep.  

Even the canaries were noisier these days. With all the doors and windows perpetually open at the apothecary, the little yellow birds had free reign of the shop. They settled in the rafters, atop shelves, on her workstation. All of them singing sweet songs until they had something to warn her about, then all they did was pester her. The crows, thankfully, stuck to the rooftops of her front porch.

An old male canary watched her from his perch on the open case of tinctures to her right. His tiny head twisted back and forth with her movements. Lissa did her best to ignore him and his incessant song—it was the same one he had been singing for three days. 

“The wastes grow west.” 

“I know,” she hissed at him, having had enough of his brooding. 

He snapped his beak at her and flew away. 

Lissa let out a heavy sigh—old birds were so moody. 

As were the customers. The blood moon was days away and it had the witches on high alert, the mages too. Just this morning, Lissa had to kick out a mage who was trying to fight another man for the last of the black salt. It was irritating. All she wanted to do was go home and oversee Ella’s lessons that she was certainly not completing while Lissa was working. 

But someone had to run the shop. 

“I don’t have all day, bird girl,” snarled a man who was waiting on her to finish corking his sleeping draught. If he hadn’t already paid, she would have gladly asked him to leave. Lissa scowled at the man, stoppering his bottle with a forceful smack of her palm and handed it over. 

He left without another word, leaving her to organize the table that had never been clear a day in her life. She steadied herself and breathed in the deep smell of the shop. The burning remnants of lavender and sage steadied her. 

“Lissy!” a high-pitched voice yelled as its owner rushed through the shelves. 

Mariella expertly dodged everyone in the shop to climb on top of Lissa’s work bench. Her golden hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days, despite Lissa herself running a brush through it that morning. She could only watch in defeat as bottles toppled, salts spilled, and herbs flew across the table. 

“Oh, sorry,” Ella muttered with a wave of her hand. The motion was meant to right the mess she’d made, but the glass of the bottles shattered, and the salts caught fire. Quickly, Lissa doused the flames and repaired the bottles with a short, unspoken incantation. Her little sister frowned as the cracks healed themselves and the flames snuffed out. 

“You are supposed to be at home, Ella,” Lissa scolded as best she could, though reprimanding her little sister was about as effective as telling a squirrel to fetch a pot of tea. 

Ella groaned, “I hate being home all day with nothing to do.” 

“You have lessons,” she said, to which Ella rolled her eyes “and Isa is there with you.” 

“We are taking a break,” interrupted a smooth voice, appearing from a row of shelves to the right. “Little miss set fire to her spell sheets.” 

“Mariella,” Lissa groaned. 

“On accident!” Ella defended, but she didn’t look the least bit innocent. 

Lissa’s best friend bit back a smile as she leaned against the other side of the bench, toying with a loose ginger root. 

Isa Øttsen was a perfect blend of the east and the south—strong, long limbs and posture to rival the gods’ with her copper skin and deep brown hair. She was built every bit like the hunter her Navoyan father was, but everything soft and good about Isa came from her Argadeshi mother, as well as her jeweled green irises. 

Ella let out an exaggerated sigh. “Plus, it’s getting late and you are going to close the shop soon and I wanted shepherd’s pie, which you don’t know how to make—”

“I absolutely can make—” Lissa interrupted.

Ella continued without breathing, “So I thought we could go get Elias—” 

“We do not need to bother—”

“And go to the Stoney Inn for dinner—”

“Ella—” Lissa tried. 

“Then we can go to that bookshop you love because I know you just finished one last night—” 

Isa took Ella’s face in her hands and gently turned her head to face her. “Breathe little one, you will run out of words.” 

“I know a lot more words, Isa.” Ella frowned. 

“No one is discounting your brilliance,” Isa sang. 

Lissa sighed. Each day was like this, but she wouldn’t want it any other way. There were certainly not enough words in the world to thank Isa for her help with Ella. During the day, Ella went to school where Isa taught history, then they walked to the house together to wait until Lissa got home from the shop. 

“How about this,” Lissa started, smoothing one of Ella’s hands in her own, “we do all of what you said, but we have to finish at least one lesson when we get home.” 

Ella’s face lit up, a toothy grin spread across her face. 

“Thank you!” she screeched, nearly slipping off the table to throw her arms around Lissa’s shoulders. “But if anything breaks, it’s not my fault.” 

Her little sister jumped to the ground and disappeared through the shelves. Lissa watched her go and tried to fight the guilt that came with Ella’s words. Her lack of control on her magic was largely due to Lissa’s inability to teach. Though teaching something she was terrified of using herself was rather difficult.

“It’s not your fault either,” Isa warned, earning Lissa’s attention. 

Lissa pressed her lips together; she didn’t have the energy to have this argument with Isa. “Thank you for watching her today.” 

“None of it is your fault,” Isa started again.

“Magda!” Lissa called to the back of the shop where she knew the old woman was hiding. Isa watched as Lissa cleaned the work bench, packing up the supplies that had become unorderly from the day’s work.  

“Yes, honey?” 

The old woman sauntered up behind her at long last and sat in Lissa’s vacant chair. Magda was drowning in hand-knit sweaters with her white hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head, glasses slipping down her wide ebony nose. 

“Would you mind terribly if I got out of here early? Ella wants dinner that I can’t make from the Stoney Inn.” 

“I don’t mind at all,” Magda replied. “It is good for you to enjoy yourself,” 

Isa snatched a pair of shears from Lissa’s hand. “Magda, will you please tell her that Ella’s training is not her fault. She isn’t listening to me.” She aimed the point of the shears at Lissa in the most unthreatening way possible that Lissa was tempted to tease her.

Magda pulled Lissa into her and wrapped her arms tight around her shoulders, mildly smothering her in the mass of knitted fabric. 

“She’s right my girl—it’s not your fault. That sister of yours has great power, and it never should’ve been your job to train her.”

“But it is my job now,” Lissa challenged, pulling back from Magda’s shoulder to get some air.  

The old woman shook her head. “Your mother had a hard time too. She was just like that little girl. Hard to train with too much power. Just like you too, only you listened a little better.” 

Lissa forgot, too often, that Magda taught her mother magic and even helped teach Lissa on occasion. Elara had always said Magda was the best teacher—that she knew everything. 

Some days Lissa believed that Ella’s lack of progress was not her fault. 

Most days she was too angry to blame anyone but herself. Especially when the people her ire wanted to blame were long gone. 

Isa interjected, “You haven’t been yourself lately, Liss, and I know all this talk about the Book—” 

“I am not talking about the Book.” Lissa pushed fully away from Magda and her warmth. 

The old woman said, “Maybe you should, honey. That blasted thing took your parents. Maybe it would help Ella to know what happened.” 

“I love you both, but for the last time,”—Lissa pressed her shaking fingers to her temples— “I will not be telling Mariella about the Book. I will not put that on her.” 

The spike in her anger forced the mage lights around the room to burn a little brighter—the Tawney girls certainly shared an affinity for fire. Anger had always been the hardest for her to control. 

“Lissa,” Isa murmured. 

“No,” she fumed. “It is one thing for her to believe that witch hunters killed them in some cruel act. It is another entirely for her to know they were killed in a senseless pursuit of a Book wars have been fought over. That they chose it over her.” Lissa’s shaking had spread to her voice. She could deal with her parents abandoning her, but she refused to let Ella believe they abandoned her too. “I will not do it.”

“That Book could put an end to wastes,” Magda offered softly. 

Lissa leaned against the work bench and let out a heavy sigh. “Could, but the king will get the damned thing, using whatever unsuspecting witch he can find to do it, and he won’t change anything. He won’t battle the Wastes, and he definitely won’t outlaw violence against witches.”  

“The prince seems to have some more progressive ideas,” Isa chimed in. 

“That boy prince concerns himself more with revelry than politics.” Magda shook her head. 

“I’m not telling Ella about the Book,” she said, looking between her best friend and her old teacher. Both, thankfully, nodded their understanding. 

As if summoned by the use of her name, Ella bounded around the corner, brandishing a feathered quill. 

“Can we please eat now?” she groaned, with a healthy show of discontent, letting her limbs go slack and forcing Lissa to hold her upright. 

“Of course we can,” Lissa laughed, smoothing out her hair again. “Let’s go get Elias.”

“Yay!” Ella squealed and fled once more. “Bye Magda!”

Lissa smiled at Magda. “Thank you.” 

The old woman patted Lissa’s cheek. Isa followed Lissa out of the shop, looped her arm in Lissa’s and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The two of them watched, laughing, as Ella skipped ahead of them. Her curly hair bouncing from side to side, boots splashing in the lingering puddles. 

Talk of the Book was getting closer and closer by the day. Lissa wasn’t lying about trying to protect Ella, but she was protecting herself too. Openly discussing it meant she would have to talk about her parents—think about her parents—and that was still too much for her to bear after all these years. 

She would do what she always did: she would get Ella dinner and attempt to teach her magic.