Wystwood

14. Cold veil of night

The nettle soup tasted almost medicinal, but that didn't help to soothe away its burn as Ada's spoon scalded her tongue.

"So it's true, then. You're human." Florentin spoke softly through the rising steam.

Ada simply nodded in reply and blew across her bowl of soup. The longer she had spent at their small dining table, the closer she had studied Min and her father. They both had the lithe muscles and sharp features that Ada had noticed before in the city folk, with the man's cheeks carving down from his subtly pointed ears. He was unlike Min, whose face was more difficult to deconstruct and would have probably fit in amongst any other group of children running around the fountain in Little Crestbury. But her tangled hair drew attention to her thin face, and the delicate slope of her jaw met acutely at the tip of her chin.

"No one would've noticed, Papa. The Hound in the street didn't look closely, and I veiled her from Ms Armestrong," said Min.

"You saw Armestrong this morning?"

Min nodded. "She gave me the powder as always, and didn't notice the magic at all."

"It was too risky to perform such things in the marketplace," her father said, his spoon clattering down as he rubbed calloused palms into his eye sockets. "Casting veils will tire you too quickly."

"No, it didn't! In fact, it felt wonderful to finally perform something. I've got to let it out somehow, Papa! I can feel it bursting from my skin every second."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Ada's curiosity got the better of her unease. "What's a veil?"

"It's a magic I can do!" said Min with a grin, although she lowered her voice as she continued to speak. "I was born able to do it, like listening to the wind, even though magic's not very common anymore. I'm not supposed to perform anything, 'least not out of our caravan. The Hounds are meant to be able to sense it, but they don't seem to be very good at their jobs."

"You're tempting fate, Min," her father cut in. "You say that now but what about this morning? If Hounds are following you through the streets, then what're we to do?"

"They've been suspicious of the plants for weeks, Papa. But after we move to the Este Lyceum we won't have to go down to the canal to collect the flowers anymore. They won't think to follow us further."

Florentin didn't look convinced, and his face had a waxy pallor as he picked up his spoon to draw circles in his soup.

"Your plants are magic?" Ada couldn't help but ask again.

"No, not the plants," said Min. "Not when we collect them, at least."

Her father shot her a deathly glance, his eyes dark against his ashen skin.

"It's said that every plant in the old city was grown with magic, every single one imbued with a power that our days no longer know," Min continued, as if reciting a passage from a book. "Papa won't tell me much of the old city, but I've heard stories. Florentin the Floristeur they used to call him, because Papa could grow any plant you asked for, magical or not. He would roam the lands with nothing more than the clothes he was wearing, a few coins, and a packet of seeds. Once settled he would grow them, sell them, and then use the money to buy more seeds, never the same as the ones he'd grown before. But after he met my mama he stayed in Wysthaven with her, choosing a life of love over constant journeying."

"That's enough," snapped her father. But at the sight of her fallen face, his voice mellowed and he cast his eyes to the shadows. "You could stay in one city your entire life and still have cause for a journey. You know that better than anyone, Min."