Chapter 183: Not Replacable.
It had been late spring, just like now. She’d been younger then—barely sixteen—her hands clumsy, fingers stained green as she sat in the back garden of her mother’s house, sorting through herbs beneath a crooked old tree. The sunlight had dappled across the stone path, the wind carried the hum of bees and her mother’s humming from inside the cottage.
She’d been proud that day. Her mixtures were improving, and her tinctures no longer turned cloudy. She remembered lifting a perfect cluster of calendula petals and smiling to herself.
"You shouldn’t let people see you do that," a voice had warned from behind.
She’d turned, startled. It was Lord Regan, one of her father’s allies—or so she had thought at the time. His face was unreadable, eyes flicking to her stained hands and the little vials lined up beside her.
"You’re too good at it," he said, tone too casual. "Men don’t like women who know too much. Especially not about blood and sickness and what grows in the dark."
Olivia had frowned. "But I’m helping people."
He crouched, plucked a sprig of thyme from her basket, twirling it between his fingers. "Yes, but they would not remember your help. They would remember the power behind it and they would covet it. They would come for you, Olivia. You must hide it. Your pity would burn you." His eyes were so dark and his voice was so cold that it had left her trembling until her mother noticed and pulled her behind.
The man had smiled and left as if was just sharing an idle chat. But her mother’s eyes told her something was wrong.
Since then, they had never let her touch those herbs. Even Oriana refused to help. She had been worried but Oriana had been happy.