By Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson

village of Walden’s Watch was crammed into a small, flat space at the end of the NaharPeninsula. Cliffs edged the ocean on both sides of the town. The houses were narrow, two-level stone dwellings packed close beside one another.
    Vrell kept her head down as she walked, glancing up only to keep from running into anything. Strays were not to make eye contact with people above their station, and that took a lot of training on Vrell’s part. A little boy chased a rolling leather ball into the road. She did not meet his eyes or try to hear his thoughts, but his sunburned face reminded her of Bran.
    Seven months ago, Bran Rennan had asked for Vrell’s hand. She longed to be his bride. He was her dearest friend and her only love. But Bran was only a lesser noble, and Vrell was heir to a duchy. She would be marrying beneath her, at least in terms of social station. To Vrell’s delight, her mother had actually been considering the match when another suitor had come along.
    The powerful and horrible Crown Prince of Er’Rets: Gidon Hadar.
    Vrell had wanted nothing to do with him. Thankfully, Mother had agreed. But when the prince threatened to send guards to provoke a favorable answer, Mother sent Vrell into hiding.
    The plan was simply to wait. As soon as Prince Gidon yielded and chose another woman to marry, Vrell would return home. At which point she would beg Mother to accept Bran’s offer.
    For now, Vrell was homesick but safe. It was winter’s end, and if she were home she would still be wearing heavy woolen skirts and furs. Here she did not even need an overcoat. Walden’s Watch was almost tropical, although it was more swamp than rainforest. According to Lord Orthrop, however, the gods always cursed the NaharPeninsula in a winter drought.
    She rolled her eyes at such foolish superstition.
    The apothecary sat two streets from the manor house in a stone building with a large wooden shutter covering the window. When the shop opened, the shutter would serve as an awning to shade both customers and merchandise. Vrell approached the building and followed the path to the backyard.
    The shop owner, Wayan Masen, served as the only apothecary for miles around. Lord Orthrop had arranged for Vrell to apprentice there. But Vrell found the work of Wayan’s wife, Mitt Masen, much more interesting. Mitt was a healer and midwife. Vrell would have loved to see babies born, but under this disguise it was impossible. A boy apprenticed to a midwife was unheard of. And as far as the Masens were concerned, Vrell was a boy.
    Thankfully, Wayan found Vrell a bother—an opinion somewhat helped along by Vrell—and was therefore quick to send her away to assist his wife. Though Vrell couldn’t help her with the midwifery, she was learning a great deal about the healing arts. Mitt frequently spoke of her visits with patients, and Vrell soaked up all the information she could. Using plants to heal was fascinating.
    She enjoyed the smells of herbs and blossoms, and learning the healing trade gave her a sense of home. She missed her private garden, her hybrid plant projects, and Mother’s library. Lord Orthrop did not keep books or scrolls of knowledge—not that Vrell’s boy persona would be able to read them even if he did.
    Vrell entered the Masen’s backyard, a small medicinal garden filled with all kinds of herbs and spices. Lines of twine zigzagged between the apothecary and the Masen’s home next door.
    Vrell found Mitt hanging sprigs of juniper and oregano on the lines. Mitt was short and round but very able. She always wore a charcoal grey dress with a white apron over it. Her face was as round as the rest of her, and her cheeks were always flushed.
“Morning, Vrell!”
“Good morning. May I help you with those?”
“You surely can.” Mitt motioned to a basket of fresh blossoms. “Hang the lavender over by the wall, will you?”
    Vrell took a bunch of lavender and a length of pre-cut twine, and made her way to the wall. The