Duainfey by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Read Free Book Online

expecting to find the book floating in midair, or suspended from the drying rods that ran the length of the shed.
    "Ah!" Sonet rose and crossed the room, casually reaching up to the shelf over the sorting table. She groped for a moment, then grinned. " There you are!" she grunted, as if to a playful child, and turned with a flat parcel in her hand.
    "Feh! Quite a few seasons of dust on that ! Good thing I had the sense to wrap it in oilskin before I set it away." She pulled a trimming blade from its place and cut the cord holding the packet together while Becca slid to her feet and crossed to stand beside her.
    The book that emerged from its layers of protection was well-thumbed, its cover stained and edge-worn; a field herbalist's diary.
    "Made that myself when I was no older than Harin," Sonet said, naming her current apprentice, a plump and quiet girl from up-country. "Though with more sense."
    "Really?" Becca eyed her teacher fondly. "Now, I find Harin very sensible, indeed, which forces me to ask, Sonet—"
    "Eh?" The herb woman gave her a mock glare. "Out with it, Miss!"
    "I only wonder what happened," Becca concluded, making her eyes as round and as guileless as she might.
    "There's proper respect for an elder in lore," Sonet observed, shaking her head. "Well, I will own it a relief to have a serious 'prentice with me now. Makes quite a change from the last—light-minded to a fault, that girl!"
    "Tempery, too," Becca agreed placidly, "and of a nature to take risks."
    "Nothing so bad with risk taking," Sonet murmured, opening the cover to reveal a drawing of a leaf surrounded by dense notes. The paper was rough, the ink so vibrant a green that the letters seemed to leap from the page.
    "My cold country book." The herb lady's voice was so soft it seemed she must be speaking to herself. She looked up and gave Becca a nod. "This'll be what you want."
    "I—" Becca bit her lip. "Sonet?"
    "Now what, Miss?"
    "No—" She put her hand on the other's arm. "I just—the old Corlands lord. You were the herbalist he cast out off of his lands?"
    "Younger and hotter of head," the other said mildly. "You knew I was from the north."
    "I did," Becca said, "it—I just never realized . . ." She shook herself. "Well. When may I come by to copy out—"
    "No sense in wasting your time copying!" Sonet interrupted. " I'm not going back to the Corlands—not at my age! You'll take this very book with you, and glad I'll be to know it's finally seeing some use."
    " Take it? Sonet, I can't take—"
    "You can and you will," Sonet interrupted, thrusting the item into Becca's hand. "It's your master gift."
    Becca gaped. "I'm no master," she protested.
    The old woman cocked an eyebrow and gave her a gap-toothed grin. "Well, then, Miss Beauvelley, I'm forced to ask—"
    "Don't!" Becca laughed, and cradled the book against her breast, defeated. "Very well—and thank you, Sonet. For—For everything."
    "Pish and tosh. Now come back over and let me give you another cup."
    "Thank you," Becca said again, blinking back a sudden start of tears. "That would be very pleasant."
     
    "I plan," Becca said, reestablished on her stool, with her weak hand curled 'round a newly warmed cup. "I plan to have a busy summer, and take extra medicines, salves, tinctures and cordials with me. With luck, they will be sufficient for Sir Jennet's household and the village until I can plant . . ." She frowned slightly.
    "Sir Jennet said that there is a conservatory, though in need of work. I wonder if I might not cultivate some of our usual plants."
    Sonet looked thoughtful. "A conservatory . . . I'm not sure what sort of virtue would remain in the plants, removed from the land in such a way."
    Becca laughed. "Of course there's land in the conservatory!"
    "There is dirt in the conservatory," the herb woman snapped. "Have I wasted all my teaching?"
    Deliberately, Becca sipped tea. Sonet's tone had struck a spark from her own temper. There was a time when the spark