Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 6 of 59

The basket sat by Delia's door for three days. She could not offer a single leaf from it. When a boy came with a burned hand, she reached for the safe beds instead. But the basket haunted her. Nightshade hid inside, mixed with cures she needed. So at dawn she wrapped the plants in damp cloth and walked to the palace. If any book could name them, it was there. The royal library rose grey and tall, its arches carved with glowing marks. Delia had never stood inside a place so large. Shelves climbed past three floors. She set her basket on a wide table and began pulling books down, one by one, hunting for pictures of leaves and roots. "You'll be here a week alone." She turned. Nick stood between the shelves, still in his dark uniform, sleeves already pushed up. He was the prince who had given her the field, and the man she loved. He looked tired. She knew he was fighting his father over three villages the king meant to strip bare. Yet here he was. "You have bigger troubles," she said. "This one has a fix." He pulled a chair beside her. "Show me." She laid the dark-berried plant on the table. Nick opened a thick volume and turned pages until he found a match. "Nightshade," he read. "Black berries. Bell flowers." He pointed at her plant. The berries matched. Delia's stomach dropped. She had grown death in her rows. They worked through the morning. Nick read the descriptions aloud. Delia checked each leaf against the drawings. She set the poison to one side and the cures to the other. Comfrey. Foxglove, dangerous but useful in small doses. Yarrow she already knew. "Write it down," Nick said. "So you never lose it again." He found her a blank ledger and ink. Delia began a new book. She drew each plant by hand. Beside it she wrote its name, its use, its danger. Nick read; she wrote. By afternoon the basket was empty and the pages were full. "There." She closed the cover. "I can name them now. Every one." Nick leaned back. For a moment his face lost its worry. He slid something across the table—a slim silver bracelet, small pink hearts around it. "Found it at market. Made me think of you." Delia fastened it on her wrist. Then she looked at her new book and her heart sank a little. Three plants stayed nameless. No drawing in the library matched them. She had searched every shelf Nick reached. "These three," she said. "They're not in any book here." Nick frowned. "Then they came from somewhere the crown never catalogued." Delia thought of Bram Locket, the man who had traded her the meadow. He had known exactly what he was giving. Only he could name the last three. She would have to find him again—and bargain with a man who never gave anything for free.