Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 10 of 59

Nick read the letter twice. Then he folded it and looked at the field, not at Delia. "The king wants me back at the palace," he said. "Today." He did not say what for. He did not have to. He had crossed his father to sign her this land, and now the debt had come due. He gathered his coat. Delia caught his sleeve, but he only pressed her hand once and mounted the messenger's horse. She watched him ride the path until the trees took him. The benches sat empty. By noon they would not be. The crowd came every day now, thirty at a time, and Nick had carried water, moved the sick into shade, held the ones who shook. He was gone, and she was one healer with two hands. She needed medicine ready before they arrived, more than she could gather and grind alone. She took the flower-stitched satchel from its hook and walked into the field. The black fox slipped from the tall grass to meet her. It had come to her weeks ago and stayed, and it knew the plants better than she did some days. It trotted ahead, nose low, and stopped at a patch of feverfew. Delia knelt and cut. "You're all the help I've got," she told it. The fox flicked its ears and moved to the next row. They worked fast. The fox found yarrow, then the marsh cinquefoil, then stopped short of the wolfsbane and would not step closer. Delia marked that spot in her mind and left it. Her satchel filled. Her hands stung. She thought of Nick standing in his father's hall, alone, and cut faster, because grinding roots was the only thing she could do with her fear. Hooves again. Not the crowd. Delia turned and saw a black palace uniform. Rynn Evander swung down from his horse and crossed the field to her. He was the cadet who had once warned her of the inspection that could have ruined her, a friend inside those palace walls. His jaw was set hard. He did not waste words. "Nick's in the hall," Rynn said. "The king wants a punishment that sticks. Exile from the palace, or the land taken back." He looked at the rows of plants, at her raw hands. "I rode ahead of the ruling. Thought you'd want to know before it's done." Delia stood, satchel heavy on her hip. The fox pressed against her leg. "Which one is he choosing?" "The land," Rynn said. "He'll strip your grant to spare his son the exile. Nick won't let him. He'll take the exile first." The satchel slipped from her shoulder to the dirt. Nick would lose his family to save her field. Or she would lose the field that fed thirty sick people a day. Someone was choosing tonight, and neither choice was hers to soften from here. "Then I ride back with you," Delia said.