The Wistful Petal
Chapter One Ylva Kvist, thirty-two years old and the daughter of the town’s apothecary, stood in the damp cellar of the Kvist manor, her hands buried in the mortar. The stone was cold, gritty against her palms, and the dried wisteria petals resisted the pestle, yielding only reluctantly to the force of her wrist. She needed to cure her father’s wasting cough by the winter solstice, a deadline...
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