Lavender for the Heart
Flash fiction, 900 words. For the Nov. 22 Iron Age prompt, “The Vista.” I told my mother I'd write a romance for once!
“Work for the palace, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.” Lena ripped at the clover stalks with a ferocity the gentle flowers didn’t deserve. “Your reputation as the king’s herbalist will open doors, they said.”
Lena had ambitions. But thanks to the sleep deprivation, she couldn’t remember what they were. The queen had given birth, and she’d helped with that. The baby ailed, she helped. The king had a sniffle. The prime minister had gout. The crown prince had night terrors. The soldiers had come down with what could only be described as a camp cooking failure – she’d seen to them, too. All two dozen.
And that was just the first week of the job.
The clover was for her tea. To relax. It wasn’t unlike what she’d given the crown prince. All were her grandmother’s old recipes, after a fashion. Lena had improved them, and her improvements worked.
That’s where dreams grew tricky. Herbalists could become household names. She might have a rose or a tincture named for her someday. If she could find the time to nurture a new variety.
“Clover for the eyes. Lavender for the nose. Mint for the throat. Orange peel for the mind.” She combined all in a cup and added hot water.
She let the steam invade every pore. The smell was potent and gorgeous. She took a sip and purred. The job might be demanding, but the king hadn’t hired a quack.
Just one patient had eluded her: the king’s brother, Prince Allium. They said he suffered a grievous malady, but he had not come to her. The man had many layers. Lena was in love with him. Not that they’d ever spoken. And she’d only seen him in passing.
But to suffer silently, nobly, attending to his duties amid an aura of mysterious agony – how intriguing. She longed to understand what ailed him.
The next week came and went in a blur. As went the king’s headcold, so went the kingdom.
She was glad that week to be invisible to Allium. Should he see her with a runny nose, sniffling in self-pity, surely he would evade her forever.
And so she cursed her luck when, with a boxful of vials under one arm and a bunch of experimental aromatic lavender tied up under the second, she happened to sneeze.
Down went the box with a thump, a tinkle, a roll, and a crash. The lavender she enlivened with snot.
Lena growled some uncomplimentary things about the castle and the gods. Too late she witnessed one of the cracked vials roll to the foot of Prince Allium, who promptly stepped on it and tripped.
“Your Highness!” Lena gasped, horrified and trying not to laugh.
Prince Allium said nothing. He grimaced and nodded curtly. She helped him to his feet. His eyes were the color of sky in winter. She was certain he must feel just as coldly about her now. His nose and cheeks were red with embarrassment – or was it anger?
“I’m so sorry! Are you injured?”
She used the accident as a pretext to look him over. All his limbs were intact, and his jaw held none of the stiff lines that form from chronic malaise. He looked like he got enough sleep. What caused him so much of the rumored suffering?
He touched his left knee gingerly, winced, and then, shyly, looked at her in a way that made her want to run out and pick the sprigs herself while singing in the sunshine.
“Oh goodness, a bruised knee? I know a delightful poultice that will fix that right up. I’ll use a bit of lavender … not this particular lavender, of course.”
She tossed the befouled bunch out an open window.
“Come,” she beckoned. He followed her like a limping puppy.
She led him to her treatment room. This wasn’t her workshop, so she couldn’t impress him with the full range of her capabilities, but perhaps a little lemon cookie and a nice knee wrap would be sufficient to get in his good graces.
He sat on a stool while she soaked some linen in a proprietary blend of soothing oils. With some difficulty, they hiked up his trouser leg and wrapped the poultice. His skin was healthy except for the bruised knees. She didn’t see bad veins or inflammation.
“I’m surprised it took this long to meet you,” she said with a smile. “I think I’ve had to help just about everyone else in the kingdom this week.”
He gave her that same sheepish grimace. She marveled at his reticence, for his kingly brother was a gabber. She offered him a cookie. He took it and finally sound escaped.
“Mm! De … de …” He colored suddenly and stuffed another one in his mouth, looking away.
Ah. The kind of ailment that didn’t show up on a physical check. That people were too polite to gossip about. This might not be an ailment she could cure with lavender – but maybe it could help. Help them both.
“Have as many as you like, Your Highness. Take your time and let the poultice do its work. I’ve got to refill some new vials, and I’d welcome the company.”
He sat beside her for a few hours. She did most of the talking, and he took his time.
Two days later, he came to see her again, having caught her cold. She gave him a bit of tea with lavender. After that, he came daily on all sorts of pretexts.
They married in the summer, in a field of especially pungent lavender called Lena Blue after the botanist who’d engineered it.
He spoke his vows without hesitation, as he always managed when there happened to be a bouquet of purple sprigs nearby.