Page 51 of Homegrown Magic

Denby is wedged into the chair beside his father, looking broad and bored as ever, each of his biceps like a cask of wine. Even when he’s seated, the top of his plaited blond head is nearly level with his father’s.

“I should probably go over,” Yael concedes. “I might owe the Oreborns a steed, which I’m not giving back. But if you want to wait for me by the bar—”

“No,” Margot says, plastering on a smile that looks only a little strained at the corners. “Sweet Wind has carried me around too, remember? Where you ride, I ride.”

If Yael could peer through a porthole in their own chest to see their heart, they’re sure it’d be glowing opalescent as the hearth fire.

Oreborn grins as they approach. “Wonderful to see you well, Yael,” he roars, wrapping thick, freckled arms around them and pulling them close. “Such a nasty spill you took off one of my own horses. I was sick with guilt, just sick,” the man declares, loud even for Oreborn.

Yael doesn’t hesitate before playing their part. “The fault was none of yours and all of mine. Never ride a mechanical steed after finishing off a Copperhead or four at brunch.” They laugh just as loudly, shoring up the lie to anyone listening in; inevitably, someone will be.

“Ah, that’s kind of you to say. Your parents were equally gracious. Paid me well for the horse that was harmed in the fall.” From beneath monstrously bushy brows, his crystalline-blue eyes meet Yael’s, twinkling with shared, secret meaning. “There’s no debt between us two. None but the drinks I owe you now that you’re back home.” Pulling away, Oreborn winks theatrically and turns to Margot. “And this beautiful lass is…” His grin slips. “The Greenwillow girl, isn’t it? I’d know you by the hair, just like your mother’s. Haven’t thought of you since—”

“Since word reached Ashaway of Rastanaya’s triumphant showing on Margot’s family estate, starring Margot’s own botanical creations and arrangements?” Yael interrupts, threading their arm around her waist. “You really should see her work, Oreborn. It’s soon to be found in every estate and household of importance in the capital, I’m sure of it. Margot’s the brightest star rising on Harrow’s horizon, and she has been a dear friend to me during my recovery, with her incredible talent for remedies.”

Margot tenses against them; perhaps they’re laying the praise on a bit thick for her tastes?

After only a moment, Oreborn nods, eyes sparkling like gems. “Aye, that’s exactly it. That’s where I heard your name last. Well then, maybe we’ll send around for flower arrangements. Denby’s got an engagement party coming up this autumn, and that’s what the gentlefolk do, ey? To think, Yael, you two will soon be cousins!”

“I…excuse me?” For the first time, they stumble to catch the man’s meaning.

“Well, near enough to cousins, once Denby and Araphi tie the knot. Lucky you’ve recovered in time for the wedding.”

Yael looks to Denby, who scowls up at them from the chair, his only contribution.

It can’t be…

“Congratulations to you both,” Margot says, leaning in to save Yael.

“Yes…yes. Apologies, it’s the fall…from the horse. Sometimes I…forget.” They pat their head, a weak pretense.

Oreborn claps them on the shoulder, and the blow stings as always. “A drink will help with that. Fetch yourselves an ale and tell the barkeep to put them on my coin.”

Yael bows lightly and leads Margot away to the bar counter, built of polished wood planks enchanted to smell faintly—but never unpleasantly—of brine and sea vegetation, as though they’d been fished from a sunken ship the day before. Yael easily summons the barkeep with a raised finger and orders two overpriced ales on Oreborn’s tab. The man insisted, after all.

“Me and Denby Oreborn, soon to be family,” they mutter as the barkeep moves away. “Curious, Araphi never did mention the name of her fiancé at the fashion show.”

Margot shrugs. “Maybe she didn’t have the chance. If she’s marrying him, she must be happy about it.”

Yael’s lovely, flighty cousin, happy to hitch her carriage to that sour storm cloud? “Impossible.”

“Not everyone wants what you want, Yael,” she snaps back at them.

They’ve said something wrong, clearly, and must repair it. “Untrue,” they say smoothly, leaning against the counter and tilting their head to face her. “Everyone in this tavern right now wants you, unless they’re too drunk to see farther than the nose on their face.”

With a sigh, Margot yields. “You’re very charming, but—”

“How charming, Daisy?”

“Very. And I do appreciate your attempts to talk all of Ashaway into forgetting my family’s scandal, though I’m not sure that’s within even your powers of persuasion.”

“Oh, I assure you it is. I’ve heard I’m very charming.”

“But Yael…doesn’t it bother you, going along with your parents’ lie? Every person we’ve passed in the street who recognized you, it was like…like you were both performing in a play and had already memorized your lines.”

“I suppose we had. It’s just, well, it’s easier than telling the truth, isn’t it? Seeing as we’re only in Ashaway for a few days. Why complicate our lives?”

Margot looks at Yael with inscrutable eyes for long enough that they start to squirm. Then, reaching over to brush their cheek, she says, “Of course. I guess I’d just forgotten what this city is really like, that’s all.”