She nodded, considering me, astute gaze landing quickly on my dirty fingernails. “I see. Well, you’ve stumbled upon the right place. The mastic tree sap is excellent for pain.” She gestured to the grove, and I nodded. I’d sensed something from the trees, yes, but not quite what I was looking for.
“Sap collection takes time I’m afraid we won’t have before we leave the island. Also, I wouldn’t presume to tap your trees without permission.”
“Good woman. But you’re in luck. If you don’t mind a bit more hiking, I’ve got some left from last season’s collection I’d be happy to part with.”
“Oh! Thank you. We don’t mind, right, Elodie?”
“Not at all. We appreciate you sharing with us.”
“Well, then, come along.” She turned and galloped off, not waiting for us to catch her.
We broke into a jog, trying not to be rude when she’d so kindly offered her help despite us wandering into her grove uninvited.
I was breathing hard by the time we crested the hill and got a closer look at the little cottage. It was tidy and cleanly kept, nestled into a small copse of scrubby trees. But most importantly-to me, at least-a vast, fenced garden surrounded it, having no trouble with the patchy shade cast by the trees. And my senses were pinging with the medicinal herbs tucked all around it.
The centaur waited at the gate, propping it open with her horse hip.
“Sorry for making you wait. I’m not quite as speedy as you are.”
She snorted. “I’d wager you’re not, in this form. Is it true that wolves lose their clothes if they shift?”
Elodie jumped in to answer her, holding the gate and waving me inside as she did so. “They don’t disappear, but we do bust a lot of seams. What’s your name, by the way?”
There was a pause.
“Flantiera. I hear you met my children today. The twins.” Her back was turned when she answered, and I was thankful, because I blanched at the news that our good Samaritan was, in fact, the mother of the two champions.
One of whom was battling my mate this evening.
Shit.
“We did. That’s pretty impressive that they’re the two champions, both from the same family. You must be proud.” Elodie kept the conversation going smoothly, giving me a much-needed moment to recover as we strolled down the garden path.
“Fighting is not the life I wanted for them. I named them after myself, but still they took after their father’s interests. Warring and whoring were the only two things that got that man out of bed.” She shook her head, whether from sadness or distaste, I couldn’t tell.
Between one step and the next, I froze, turning toward the garden. It was like falling into a trance, though there was no hypnotist swaying a pocket watch in front of me. Nothing but a garden and a plant singing to me like sirens in the stories of old.
I veered off the path without thought, following the plant’s song, willing to dash myself on the rocks of propriety if there was something in this garden that could help Lucien survive the night.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to go far to see a little crooked weed, protruding from the cracks of a block garden border. Merry yellow blooms, conical in shape, with reddish-orange tips, shone up at me like little suns, drawing me in without hesitation. I knelt down, letting my fingertips linger over the blooms.
Spilanthes acmella, AKA the electric daisy.
I didn’t know why, I didn’t know how, but I knew what it was and that I needed it. It took me blinking several times to clear the haze from my vision and realize I was no longer alone.
“Interesting choice. Were you planning on telling me you were m?gissa? That would have made things much simpler.” Flantiera stood less than a foot away, her large hooves leaving indents in the soft mulch walkway I knelt on.
She could crush me with one of those hooves, and I didn’t think it would be difficult. But instead, she observed, eyebrows arched and arms once again crossed.
“I have no idea what that means,” I finally said.
“Your people don’t know about m?gisses? Interesting. Well, grab that up-with the roots-and follow me. I’ll tell you while we work.”
My shoulders slumped with relief as she turned and wandered toward the front door of the cottage, not offended that I’d been on the verge of helping myself to her plants.
Though, admittedly, the way this one was sprouting helter-skelter didn’t appear to be intentional. Perhaps she considered it a weed. Elodie waited silently as I carefully dug out the whole plant, teasing as many roots as I could from between the block cracks.
When I straightened, carefully cradling the plant in my hands, she spoke. “So, care to tell me what just happened?”
There it was: the other shoe. How did I explain it without sounding crazy or pathetic? “I have… extra talents with plants.”
“Clearly. What is that?” She pointed skeptically to the sunny little weed.
“Spilanthes acmella. It’s been used for centuries for pain.”
She snorted, giving me side-eye. “Yeah, that was a mouthful I’m not going to remember.”
“Fair enough. It’s also called the electric daisy or a toothache plant. It’s not native to Greece, so I’m not really sure how it ended up here, growing through the cracks.”
“The intrigue deepens. But I’m sure Flantiera knows. It’s her garden, after all.”
“True,” I murmured, my mind already wandering from the conversation and on to how to prepare both mastic and electric daisy for pain in a way that was usable within a few hours.
Flantiera had left the front door open, waiting for us. After I stepped inside, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior, but as they did, lovely details began to fill in all around us. An enormous chair sat in a corner surrounded by bookshelves, and even from the door, I could see they were well loved and often used, a range of gardening manuals and herbalist tomes.
If I had any spare time, I’d love to spend it poking through those books. The overhead lighting was electric but simple, blending unobtrusively into the cottage’s woodsy, earthy feel. We walked through a dining room with a table clearly meant for centaurs to stand around, decorated only with wreaths and horseshoe art. After that, we found the kitchen, where Flantiera waited, various herbalists’ tools scattered over the clean countertop. Open shelves lined the wall above it, polished wood with neatly labeled glass jars full of various ingredients tidily arranged on top.
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