*Isla*
Mystica’s eyes are hollow as she ties a ribbon around a bundle of herbs–rosemary, lavender, and sage. The whole room smells like spice, and when I look up at the ceiling I see nothing but bundles of drying greenery and flowers. This is Mystica’s haven, a small room near the back of the castle connected to the kitchen garden. Most of the maids use this space to hang herbs and store vegetables. I look at the rows and rows of built-in shelving, cans of last summer’s tomatoes, apples, and peaches perfectly organized and shimmering in hazy gray light filtering through the windows.
I look down at the tea in front of me, which is supposed to be calming, but I can’t find the nerve to even lift it to my lips.
Not after what happened last night, and not now that we're facing a threat fro
