Cameron To Candy

The morning came bright and peach-scented. Dew clung to the edges of the carriage rails, and somewhere a rooster tried to outdo a kettle whistle. Candy stretched, tying her hair back in the only way she knew how. Marcus was already at the window, glancing over a map that looked just as ceremonial as useful.

“All right,” he said, folding it crisply. “We’ve got until one. That’s when our reservation at the main teahouse starts. So, experiment, explore, but be back by then.”

“Right,” Candy said, straightening her cherry dot sash. “How hard can it be?” Marcus gave her a look that suggested famous last words.

As they reached the garden gates, a breeze carried the scent of herbs, soil, and something faintly honeyed. Rows upon rows of greenery stretched out before them, each patch labeled with tiny wooden signs and ministerial glyphs. Men and women in simple sashes drifted between the aisles, plucking leaves into woven baskets.

Candy eyed the sprawl. “This place is enormous.”

Marcus grinned. “And organized. My kind of heaven.”

“Mm-hmm,” she muttered. “No gravitea ingredients, remember?”

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “I promise. No gravitea.”

“Tell me them.”

He sighed, ticking them off on his fingers. “Camellia disciplinis, ironleaf buds, steep-root bark, vine-sugar glaze, bitter-orange rind oil and amber-fern pollen”

“Right. None of those. Outside of that, anything’s fair game.”

“Got it.”

He nodded, already calculating, already in his element. Candy watched him stride toward a patch of sharp-smelling shrubs, humming like a man about to build a siege engine. She turned the other way.

Marcus had a simple plan. A low-grade cup of Obedient Earl tea. The ingredients were fairly simple, easily found. He didn’t have to reinvent the wheel here. Candy on the other hand, was aiming for something a bit more original. They appreciated that at this tea house, from what she’d heard the other day. It was a risk of course, pretty hit or miss, but she was going for it.

Candy crouched beside a row of chamomile, clipping the pale blossoms into her basket. The morning air was crisp, touched with the scent of soil and sap. She had a plan, simple, balanced, maybe even elegant. Well, to her mind at least. Chamomile for calm, lemongrass for brightness, a little barbecue chai for warmth, a dab of honey from the hives in the back of the gardens. That would do for the base, but she was keeping an eye out for something special,

“Easy,” she murmured, testing a leaf between her fingers. “Nothing fancy. Just a good flavor profile. But it needs something extra…”

“It does,” a voice said cheerfully.

Candy startled and looked up. A young woman stood close, a little too close, hands clasped behind her back as if she’d been waiting her turn to speak. She had the curliest brown hair Candy had ever seen and the sort of wide, open expression that made it difficult to believe she’d ever had an unkind thought.

“Sorry,” the girl added quickly. “I didn’t mean to sneak. I just heard you thinking out loud.”

Candy stared. “I was not thinking out loud.... was I?”

The girl considered that. “Oh. Then I must’ve imagined it. But your tea’s gunna to taste bad.”

Candy stared. “Excuse me?”

The girl stepped closer, stopping at a polite distance this time, and pointed at the basket. “Those two together taste like ash. People always think they’ll balance, but they don’t. They argue.”

“Lemongrass is tart and barbecue chai is sweet,” Candy protested. “It should work.”

The girl shook her head, curls bouncing. “Nope. You’ll make a face like this.” She demonstrated an exaggerated grimace.

Candy groaned. “Fantastic. Then what am I supposed to do?”

The girl tilted her head for a moment thinking, then brightened. “Keep the lemongrass and come with me.”

Candy hesitated, then sighed. “All right. You seem to know what you're doing. More than me anyway.”

The girl led her down a different path, humming off-key, until she stopped before a low patch of glossy leaves.

“This one,” she said proudly. “Wailing squash root.”

Candy squinted. “That doesn’t sound good. wailing?”

“Oh, it’s just the name,” the girl said cheerfully. “Some people start singing after they drink it, but most people just sigh happily.”

“That’s… reassuring,” Candy said dryly. “Thank you, um—?”

“Miribelle,” the girl said, twirling around. “Miribelle Tansy.”

“Candy Elwood,” Candy replied automatically.

“Candy!” Miribelle giggled. “You sound sweet.”

Candy smiled uncertainly. “Uh… I’m not, but thanks.” She glanced around. “Hey, by the way, do you know how to get back to the main teahouse? I’m supposed to meet someone there at one.”

“Yep!” Miribelle said, and immediately started skipping. “This way!”

Candy hurried to keep up. “So, Tansy. Isn’t that one of the founding families?”

“Yep! My cousin was in the Peach Queen Festival the other day! It was fun!”

“Oh, that’s nice. So, you live around here then?”

“Mm-hmm! Outskirts of town. With my Daddy and Mama. We’ve got a turtle. He wears a little top hat.”

Candy blinked. “I... what?”

“He’s a noble. You can tell from the hat,” Miribelle said proudly. “Anyway, I’m glad you listened. Your tea’s gonna taste like happiness and smiles.”

“Uh… good…”

“Are you from Paddlewick Prime?” Mirabell asked. “You sound like it.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“I want Daddy to take me to the zoo there again next month. Oh, and the museum, so I can see my friend Wondy. He’s a paddle, you see.”

“Wondy? Wait, do you mean… the Wanderwack?”

“Uh-huh!”

Candy slowly took mental stock of Miribelle, skipping, calling a turtle a nobleman, describing tea as tasting like happiness, thinking she’s friends with the famous sentient anthropomorphic paddle...

Then Miribelle glanced back over her shoulder, bright as a bell. “Hurry up, Candy!”

And that’s when Candy saw it. The sash. Paddlewick loved sashes the way other nations loved unnecessary winding staircases. Some were decorative only, but most were earned. They represented accomplishments, like the cherry dot for the first perfect maintenance spanking. Others told a status story. And this one was purple, but more importantly, the edge had a line of silver thread, stitched through with a hair-fine glint, embroidered in a specific repeating pattern that made something in Candy’s gut go cold.

She’d seen officers prowling the streets for wayward women pause when that pattern flashed. Not to scold. Not to drag a girl to a bench and make a lesson of her. They’d soften instead, faces rearranging into patient calm, then switch to that careful tone, as they'd been trained to do.

Slow. Loud. Short. Gentle, sometimes.

Hello there. Are you lost? Can you tell me your family name?

And then escorting her home, like a priceless vase that didn’t know it was fragile.

“Oh no,” she said under her breath. “Is Miribelle—“ a thunderous HONK cut her off.

She jumped, nearly dropping her basket. A massive goose stood to the side, just a few feet away, its beak crusted with what looked suspiciously like pie filling. It was staring at her like she’d just insulted its mother.

“Did... did that goose just give me the stink eye?” she asked, shocked. “And did it get into the meat pies?!”

Miribelle nodded. “Yep. They do that. Both those things.”

Then she skipped on ahead, curls bouncing, humming as if nothing in the world could possibly go wrong. Candy stared after her for a long moment, sighed, and muttered, “Well, here goes nothing.” She followed, basket in hand, half regretting letting this girl steer her tea ship, but she was too curious to stop. Plus, there were only a few minutes left before one o'clock, if the last sundial she’d passed was accurate, so no time to change anything now.

At the end of the path, the teahouse came into view, bright banners fluttering, steam rising from the kettles, the promise of competition and trouble ahead. Candy weekly thanked Miribelle for her help. The girl curtsied in reply, then skipped off humming to herself.

By the time Candy found their table, Marcus was already there, sleeves rolled, posture neat, a man who had been waiting precisely long enough to make a point. The air smelled of roasted leaves and sugar, the clink of cups soft beneath the murmur of the crowd.

“Well, look who made it,” he said, glancing up as she slipped through the door. “I was starting to think you were digging that grave to bury me in the peach orchard.”

Candy huffed, setting her basket on the counter. “It’s called dramatic timing. Builds suspense.”

He smiled faintly. “Ah, yes. Theatrical lateness. A wife’s privilege.”

“Yes… Wife....” Candy rolled her eyes. She was never going to get used to that.

Marcus nodded to the attendant, a woman in a crisp apron who had probably seen every kind of couple imaginable. “Two drying charms, please.”

Steam hissed as the runes glowed. In moments, both sets of leaves crisped perfectly. Marcus handed them over in neat portions, placing two strainers into matching porcelain pots. He gestured to her like a game show host. “Ladies first.”

“Oh no, yours. I want to know what I’m up against.”

Marcus poured his own brew first. The water turned a polite amber, the scent crisp and faintly floral. Candy lifted the cup, took a sip, and had to fight the impulse to whistle. Damn, that’s good. She swallowed, trying to sound unimpressed. “Yeah. It’s… fine.”

Marcus smirked. “I don’t want to brag, but I think it came out pretty well. Classic Earl of Obedience… steady, structured, and just a bit bold.”

“Look at you, trying to be a tea sommelier,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “Your turn.”

Candy poured her tea. The liquid shimmered faintly, gold with a peachy hue she hadn’t expected. Marcus leaned in, curious, and took his first sip. His eyes widened.

He smacked his lips, thought, and took another sip. “Huh. That’s… actually really good. I mean, really good. What is that note? Vibrant, kind of bright, but—” He frowned in confusion. “I can’t place it.”

The attendant leaned closer, intrigued. “If it leaves you wondering and wanting more,” she said, “that’s a mark of a proper brew.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “Well, I do want more. All right, Candy, you win. Your allowance is now at two silver, permanently.”

Candy grinned and threw a small fist into the air. “Yes!”

He laughed. “Seriously, good work. Didn’t think you had a palate for this.”

“Well, this will teach you not to doubt me. Ever.”

They lingered for lunch, sharing a sampler of house teas. Marcus ordered a sandwich stacked with cured meats and fresh greens. Candy went for a soup-and-salad combination, light but filling, followed by a delicate peach tart that almost melted on her tongue. A platter of sliced fruit and a few peach cookies rounded out their meal. And as promised extra dessert for Candy, some lemon cookies.

As Marcus settled the bill, Candy spotted a familiar figure outside, a bouncing silhouette framed by sunlight and peach blossoms.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

Miribelle was humming to herself near a row of tea planters, twirling a stray stem between her fingers.

“Hey,” Candy called, approaching with a smile. “Thank you so much. I won the bet because of you.”

Miribelle‘s whole face lit up. “Oh, good! I told you it would make people happy.”

“It did,” Candy said warmly. “Me in particular. Do you… work here?”

“Oh, no,” Miribelle said, shaking her curls. “They just let me trim the outer bushes and take the leaves. It’s something they do for everyone in the wives’ class.”

Candy nodded. “Well… Please have a cookie.”

Miribelle took the cookie, cheeks pinked with delight. “Oh my gosh, I have to tell my suitor you thought I work here!”

“Your… suitor?” Candy gapped.

“Carver!” Miribelle said brightly, fishing in her small purse. “Here, look!”

She produced a tiny painted portrait. The brushwork was simple, but the man in it was anything but: broad-shouldered, confident, clean-lined. The kind of Paddlewick man sculptors carved statues of just to practice jaw angles.

“He calls me his peach.” She giggled at that. “Isn’t he handsome?”

Candy’s brain scrambled. She was not attracted to men at all, in her mind she was still a straight man, but Carver was objectively attractive in a way that no one could deny.

“Uh… yeah. Very handsome.”

Miribelle beamed, clutching the portrait to her chest. “He’s the nicest, bestest suitor a girl could hope for.”

Candy smiled despite herself. “I don’t doubt it. Anyway, thank you again.”

Miribelle popped the little portrait back into her purse and, without warning, threw her arms around Candy in a quick, happy hug. Candy stiffened for a moment. She was still getting used to the way women hugged each other. Then she returned the gesture, putting her arms around Miribelle.

“You’re welcome!” Miribelle chirped, muffled in Candy’s dress, then she let go and skipped off, curls bouncing, vanishing into the garden rows.

Candy stood still for a moment, startled, not used to being held with that kind of pure, uncomplicated affection. Then she smiled, brushing a stray hair from her face.

Marcus was waiting by the counter when she returned, receipt in hand. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Everything’s fine.”

He nodded, pushing the door open for her. “Then let’s be off.”

Outside, Hearthwind pawed the dirt, snorting impatiently beside their small coach, then straining on the harness, lips smacking as she saw a bush she wanted to eat. Candy climbed in, looking back once toward the bright swirl of the tea garden, the smell of peaches, the laughter of strangers, the warmth of something fleeting but sweet.

***

The women had gone their separate ways, each heading an opposite direction. Miribelle turned south, curls bouncing in the sunlight, heading toward the quiet edge of the border forest where the Tansy home sat nestled on a small hill. Candy’s carriage rolled northeast, the orchards thinning into open road.

Her ride back was peaceful, just the creak of the wheels and the soft clop of Hearthwind’s hooves. A basket of peach cookies rested by her knee, a few trinkets from the festival tucked beside it. She had to hand it to Marcus; he’d chosen well. For once, she couldn’t complain. No gravitea, no disasters, and somehow, genuine fun. But then, a shadow glided past. When she turned her head upward, she caught sight of a single goose gliding past, wings wide and... gleaming? There was something metallic strapped to its leg.

Candy squinted. “Is that… a sword?” She thought.

The goose said nothing and flew on. She rubbed her eyes, looked again, and saw only white clouds floating by. “Right,” she muttered. “Tea’s gone to my head.”

“What was that?” Marcus asked.

“Nothing,” Candy replied hastily. She decided then and there never to mention it to anyone, ever again.

***

Meanwhile, at the Tansy residence, Miribelle twirled into the kitchen, still humming. “Mama! Daddy! Today a girl thought I worked at the tea gardens!”

Her father looked up from his stool, smiling easily. “Well, maybe you will someday. You know more about tea than most folk who do.”

Her mother nodded warmly. “Yes, Miri. It’s a wonderful idea.”

Miribelle beamed, her expression brightening as the thought took root. “You really think so?”

They both nodded, and that was all it took. As with many things in Miribelle Tansy’s life, a single question had opened a new door and set her, quite unknowingly, down a wonderful new path.