Page 34 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

“I already make house calls,” I said.

Cillian waved his hand. “For townspeople who are seriously injured. I’m talking about making house calls for everyone.” He paused. “Like Mr. Morgane.”

“Ceri’s father?”

“Yes,” Cillian said.

“And this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Ceri is your best friend?”

Ceri and Cillian had been best friends since we were children, and it was well-known that Ceri’s father didn’t like to leave their home for anything. Ceri ran all the errands for them and took care of him. He was physically fit, mentally sharp, and had no illnesses, but for the most part remained housebound, and no one knew why. Ceri didn’t like to talk about it, and I’d never thought it was my place to pry.

Cillian frowned. “No it doesn’t have to do with Ceri. The idea is inspired by her father, but I’m bringing it forward because I think it would improve things. Make the castle happy. Make the people happy.”

Cillian was desperate to make the castle happy since it hadn’t yet chosen a queen, something that was unprecedented. Fairwitch had always had a queen—until the castle chose Cillian as high prince. I wanted to tell him no, but his puffy eyes were concerning me, and I didn’t want to add to his stress.

I rubbed my temples. Making house calls to every patient in Fairwitch would be a nightmare.

Cillian clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We need you, Nevan. Everyone is already so stressed by this bog. We need to do something to make their lives easier, and I think this could be it. Surely you can understand that.”

My molars clenched hard, but he looked so, so tired, and I was struck by a memory of him looking exactly like this when the crown had first appeared over his head. He’d looked exhausted in the beginning. He’d slowly found his way and gotten back to his normal self, but now it was like he was regressing, and I didn’t want to add to his stress. “I guess . . . yeah, of course I understand.”

“Good man.” Cillian nodded and started backing out of the room, pointing a finger at me. “Let me know what you think about the house calls. We’ll talk about it when we meet for dinner at Mother’s cottage next month.”

I nodded, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. I was already stretched too thin, had too many responsibilities. I looked longingly at my alchemy journals, all stacked neatly in the corner, untouched, exactly how they’d remain for the foreseeable future.

CHAPTER 14

Enid

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” I said to Vine from my place on the couch. It lay next to me, head turned in my direction. “I’m trying to read.” I lifted the book higher to cover my face.

Vine pushed the book down.

“I’m not going,” I said. “So just drop it.” I raised the book back up.

Vine grabbed it and flipped it upside down. I tilted my head. Or right side up, because apparently I’d been reading upside down and hadn’t even noticed.

Probably because I hadn’t actually been reading. I’d been debating whether I should meet Nevan for our date and decided the answer was no.

Vine formed a question mark with its body.

“It’s over, Vine.” Or at least it would be when Nevan inevitably broke it off and told me I was being exiled for good this time.

Vine shook its head.

“Yes it is.” All because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I’d happened to be on my front porch this morning when the legulia rasmus shot its spindles at Mr. Porter. It was funny, so I laughed. And possibly told the blacksmith it wasn’t my problem. But in the aftermath, I’d realized my mistake.

Mr. Porter would go to the healer to be seen for his wounds, then he’d tell him the whole sordid tale. Nevan would realize what a mistake this whole thing had been and see me the same way everyone else did.

“I’m making it easy on him.” I finally put the book down. “I’ll miss our date and do him a favor. He won’t have to break up with me if I’m not there. We can just forget this ever happened.”

And hopefully I could figure out another way to avoid exile.

Vine poked me in the ribs.

“Ow! Quit that.” It faced me with the weight of a thousand words in its stiff posture. “Yes, we had a nice time on our walk yesterday. Yes, I had the most delicious apple cider. And yes, it was the first time I’ve ever walked through town and not been glared at by every single person. But it doesn’t matter, Vine. I ruined all that this morning.”

Mother always said I couldn’t help myself. There had been stretches of time I’d refused to use my magic, to grow anything that would be deemed dangerous or monstrous. But it always ended in failure.