Signa whirled to find Charlotte, breath pluming the sky. She was dressed in a thick emerald cloak and carried a wicker basket in her hands.
“It’s called a poison sumac,” Charlotte told her, beckoning Signa away. “It’ll give you a nasty rash if you or your horse so much as graze it.” With a smile, she added, “I learned that the hard way a few years ago, when I was first discovering these woods.”
Of course the prints belonged to Charlotte. Signa remembered Blythe telling her that Charlotte lived on the opposite edge of the woods, though she couldn’t imagine why the girl might be out in this weather. Signa’s eyes wandered to the basket in her hands. When she squinted, her head pulsed and her vision created little shapes of light in the snow beneath her feet. Signa must have swayed, for Charlotte reached out to steady her.
“Are you ill? The last thing you need to be doing right now is riding alone,” Charlotte admonished her. “Go on and take a seat here on this rock.”
Signa shut her eyes for a moment against the spinning world, then allowed Charlotte to help her sit. “It’s only a headache. It’ll pass soon enough.”
When she opened her eyes, Charlotte was frowning. She flipped the lid of her basket open to reveal an assortment of foraged goods. Chestnuts, pinecones, tiny little mushrooms of strange colors, and a piece of bark she handed to Signa. “Willow bark,” she said by way of explanation. “Better as a tea, but if you chew on it, that should help ease your headache.”
Signa stuck the bark in her mouth without question and began to chew. She’d do anything to get rid of the pulsing aura that swam in her sight. “What are you doing out here?” Signa asked between chews, scrunching up her nose at the bark’s bitterness.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Charlotte said. “After the Christmas ball, I didn’t expect I’d see you or any of the Hawthornes around for some time. And certainly not here of all places.”
“You hardly see me anyway.” Signa surprised even herself with how bluntly she spoke. “I would have enjoyed seeing you that night. Or anytime, really. It feels as though a wall has been built between us.”
“It does feel that way,” Charlotte admitted. “Though it’s by no fault of yours. You’ve seen the vultures that surround us, Signa. If any of them ever knew my past—if they knew what happened between my mother and your uncle—I would never hear the end of it. We came this far to rid ourselves of the scandal, so imagine my surprise when you showed up, only months before my season.” She sat down on the rock, warm hazel eyes meeting Signa’s. “It’s been a long time, and I didn’t know what kind of person you had become. I just want to make a good match, and to take care of my father.”
Perhaps it was the bark, or perhaps it was the conversation, but Signa was already feeling a little better. Frustrating as it was, she was glad to know that she and Charlotte felt similarly. “I understand,” she said. And she meant it, for she’d felt similar worries upon seeing Charlotte at Thorn Grove.
“I would have thought you’d have given up foraging with your approaching debut,” Signa teased her, fingers curling around some moss. “Some would call you a witch for this wonderful remedy of yours.”
“It takes a witch to know one,” Charlotte scoffed. “You think I didn’t see you coming out of the apothecary? You’ve always enjoyed plants as much as I’ve enjoyed discovering what the woods have to offer on any given day.” She shut her basket tight and lifted her chin high. “It’s nice to have something to do that doesn’t require getting all dolled up or parading myself around, but mostly I continue because the willow bark helps my father with his arthritis.”
“That’s kind of you,” Signa said, hoping that if she softened her tone, Charlotte would realize she meant it.
In the end, Charlotte did relax a little. “What about you?” she asked. “I’m surprised you were allowed to ride alone. What are you doing out here?”
“I have an escort,” Signa told her, teeth aching from all the chewing. She delicately picked a sliver of bark from her tongue. “We ended up separated, though. Percy’s been coming out here lately, and I’ve been worried about him. Have you seen him?”
Charlotte was slow to choose her next words. “He and Blythe used to help me with foraging, and I’d tell them all about what was edible and what wasn’t. But as we grew older, it was improper for us to spend time alone with each other. I see him sometimes, like tonight, but only in passing. He seemed in a hurry. I think he was going to visit his mother.”
She said it so casually. Signa had never been aware of him visiting the garden, and Sylas had never mentioned Percy visiting the stables to request a horse until the past few days. “Does he do that often?”
“Well she was his mother,” Charlotte answered, speaking more freely in the woods. More like the old friend Signa had once known. “Of course he does. Blythe used to as well, before the garden was locked and she took ill.”
Signa spat out the rest of the bark as she mulled over those words. “Are there others who visit?” Signa wasn’t certain what she needed to know, but there was a curiosity to be quelled. She stood as Charlotte did and followed her in the direction to the garden.
“Lillian didn’t entertain guests there, no,” Charlotte admitted, scratching Mitra’s neck as they walked. “But Mr. Hawthorne did prefer to have someone escort her there. Usually, a servant, or a groom from the stables.”
Electricity shot through Signa’s spine. As much as she enjoyed Sylas’s company, curiosity ate at her, and she couldn’t shake the questions that piled on one after the other: How was it that a stable boy would have such nice boots and gloves? Why was it that the day he’d been meant to escort her to the garden, he’d chosen to ride the unruliest horse and get himself lost in the woods? Had he wanted to prevent her from getting inside?
He knew about the library, too. He knew how to get there despite being a stable boy. He’d also been the one to show her the secret passages.
And before that, after she’d found the garden, he’d been so quick to accept her offer of money and a position should he waver in his loyalty to the Hawthornes. He claimed it was to help someone he cared for, though Signa couldn’t for the life of her figure out who that might be.
She liked Sylas—more than she liked most people in fact. She was comfortable around him. She’d chosen him to be her confidant in her quest to solve the mystery of Lillian’s death.
But what if she’d chosen wrong?
“I should be getting back,” she decided aloud, the urgency in her voice enough to make Charlotte jump.
“Of course,” Charlotte said, looking a little uneasy upon sensing Signa’s panic. “Do you know the… Signa, do you see that?”
A plume of gray smoke filled the sky ahead of them.
Dread filled her. In the middle of winter, it could be no accident. “Hurry to Thorn Grove and get Elijah,” she directed Charlotte, then hurried Mitra toward the rock and used it to lever herself up and into the saddle. “Tell him to hurry.”
“Signa—”
“Percy could be in there!” Sylas, too, though Signa did not dare admit her suspicions aloud. Did not dare admit the possibility. “Please, just go!” She didn’t linger to see if Charlotte followed her command. Clutching Mitra tight, Signa rode straight toward the smoke. Toward the garden, and toward the answers that waited.