Decisions are being made.
Also, BIRTH CONTROL.
I walked down to the cottage where Anselm lives and he was at work in his kitchen, mixing something. I had brought him some herbs and things from the manor garden and greenhouse at his request.
“Glad you found time in your busy schedule,” he said, “I thought I might never see you.” I laughed. “Is everything there?”
“Yes,” I said softly. I poured myself a cup of tea. “Mastero,” I said.
“Lisette,” he answered not looking up.
“If, hypothetically, one didn’t want to get pregnant,” I muttered, “is there some sort of potion or charm that might, you know, help with that.”
“Low magic users swear by whip willow,” he said distractedly. “It’s never been tested in a university setting. One of Aaron’s ask you?”
“No,” I mumbled, “it doesn’t matter. In a tea?”
“Do you know of another way to administer a bark than a tea?” He said…
View original post 1,083 more words