Lillabelle looked around with much the same expression as she’d had when Evander had dragged them to a slum area of Starsong’s capital city as part of some scheme of his mother’s to improve the place. She placed a fine, lace edged handkerchief on the seat of one of the chairs and perched on it, clearly wishing to be elsewhere.

Mariah was made of sterner stuff. She pulled out a chair and plonked herself down on it, leaning her elbows on the table and saying. “If you have any of that brew you used to make up before exams, I’d love some. And a box to take with me.”

Evander, still standing, frowned at his fiancée and added. “If you have any you can spare, of course.”

Abigail had plenty of that tea in store, a simple blend she was still surprised the noble girls liked. She filled the kettle from the pump over the sink and put it on the stove, then hunted out her tea and four mugs.

As she wated for the water to boil, she opened the pantry door, making sure her visitors could all see it was nothing more than a generous and well-stocked food-store, and pulled out a pottery jar a little larger than her fist. Abigail put it on the table in front of Mariah. “Remember, one teaspoon per cup. If you want it stronger, then let it steep for longer.”

Lillabelle was still perched on her chair but did accept a mug of tea. She took a sip, then gave an exaggerated start. “Oh, but how rude of us. We didn’t bring any gift for you.”

Prince Evander looked smug. “You might not have been so considerate, but I brought our friend a small, housewarming present.”

Both the ladies glared at him. Mariah saying. “You could have said something. Or been gentleman enough to say whatever it is was from all of us.”

The prince’s smug smile widened to a grin. “But my dearest Riah, when have I ever been a gentleman?”

He had them there.

Under the continued glares of Lillabelle and Mariah, Evander produced a small, carved wooden box from some hidden pocket, and presented it to Abigail with a bow.

“A small something I hope will brighten your days as you create potions and tend to your patients and petitioners.”

The box had a hinged lid, and a small drawer, all but hidden in the intricate decoration. Evander had placed himself with his back to the other two, watching as Abigail examined the box. She went to open the drawer, and he pinched a frown at her, mouthing the word “Later”. She pretended not to notice anything and lifted the lid.

A pretty, lively tune tinkled out of the box. It was one of the tunes the musicians in the market square near the Academy had used to play. One she’d danced to with Evander that time, when the other two had been kept in over the weekend for some misdemeanour. He’d actually been quite pleasant company that day.

Mariah scoffed. “Could you not at least have had it play something a little more refined?”

Evander gave her his sweetest smile. “My beloved, your preferred style of music is so long, ponderous, and complicated, I would have needed a cart to carry the box.”

Abigail thought it time to speak. “It’s charming, thank you Your Highness. And Miss Lillabelle and Lady Mariah, I assure you, your presence is gift enough for me.”

Lillabelle preened, Mariah snorted.

Eventually, they left, but not before Abigail had to show them through the other rooms at the front of the cottage; the storage room, the treatment room, and the three patient bedrooms, one made up to look like she slept there.

Abigail waved them goodbye and shut the door, but hearing Lillabelle’s petulant, “Well that was a boring waste of time” through the open window.

She moved to the window, staying back so they couldn’t see her in the shadows of the hall, and watched Evander take Lillabelle’s hand to assist her into the carriage as he said. “Yes, Bellie, but we’ve now done our duty by our old school-friend and can get on with other things.”

Mariah climbed up by herself, pointedly ignoring Evander’s hand. “Good. If only you two were as easy to dismiss.”

Only after Abigail knew they were well away, their carriage disappearing along the wide, well-kept road to the capital, did she return to the kitchen, and Evander’s wooden box.

***

Inside the drawer was a note in Evander’s distinctive scrawl. Be in the palace portal room, 7 o’clock tonight.

Well that one wasn’t even pretending to be a request, and also implied the portal wasn’t as closed off as Abigail had been told.

She had a good mind to not go, to leave the portal room locked but that was childish, and besides, for all it was Evander’s writing, he may have just been passing on the message. The last thing she wanted was for the King or Prime Minister to arrive and find themselves locked in a dark, empty room.

So, as instructed, Abigail was in the portal chamber by 7 o’clock, the crystal refractor light in the ceiling glowing bright enough to chase shadows from all but the farthest corners of the room.

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