He had expected to wait in the same uncomfortable sort of silence with Ennadda while they waited for Grifulo. For one, he did not know much of plants, except for those used in dyes. He could smell them already in his mind, the sunflower petals, marigolds and dandelions for yellow. The berries of varying shades and sweetness for purples and pinks and reds. The peppermint and lilacs for green. The carefully strained dirt for shades of brown. None of these smells were present in Ennadda's shop so he could only stand awkwardly to the side and watch her. She had two dimples on her cheeks when she smiled, which was once when Nikolas asked if it was herbs she was carefully removing from the wooden pressed.

Her hair she had pinned up with a series of wooden pins decorated with little beads at the end. They, like her earrings, chimed merrily against each other every time she moved her head. She stood by a wooden table with several makeshift wooden pressers, used to preserve and dry flowers.

"Can I.. can I help you?"

There was a muffled noise from Jaufre and Nikolas turned to glare at him. Jaufre merely shrugged his shoulders, turning his back on Nikolas and wandering over to a corner where a chair stood. He made himself comfortable, pulling hat over his eyes and placing his feet on the small table next to him and rattling whatever contents was on it.

"Be careful!" Ennadda snapped, eyes wide and abandoning her herbs to rush over.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you had a game—"

"I thought you'd have the sense to move the board!"

"My apologies," said Jaufre tipping his hat in her direction. He made to reach for the board but she scoffed and took it into her hands.

"I think it would be much safer here, my good sir!"

Nikolas grinned. She walked back to where he stood in a huff, carefully placing the board on the table. Then she took the pieces of parchment that was wrapping the herbs and began carefully folding and tearing them into equal sized pieces.

"I could help you," Nikolas offered. "But I can't label—" Nikolas began, because she surely must be the type to label her things, what with her taking right affront to Jaufre putting his feet on tables.

Ennadda merely laughed, "What do you mean labelling?"

He cursed himself for blurting out his weakness but it was too late to deflect now, so he decided he would do the next best thing and ramble on. "My sister stores things in jars, I thought you'd want to label them. I can't help you I never really understood how she did it and it's confusing to me so—"

"I have a different way of sorting things," said Ennadda, leaning closer to him.

There was another very muffled choke from Jaufre.

"Do you need some air, my good sir?" said Ennadda, hands on her hips.

"No, no, I breathed in something funny is all," Jaufre coughed loudly, adjusted his hat and leaned back upon his chair.

She scoffed, but took up a small piece of charcoal and began making little marks on the paper. They were shapes like circles, triangles, and in one case she took the time to draw a flower with four petals. When she finished a particular drawing she would frown, hold it up to the light and then adjust the thickness of the lines. Then she took some twine to tie back the herbs in individual bundles. Very neat and tidy he thought, admiringly. To be fair, the entire shop aside from the corner where Jaufre was now surely snoring, was neat and clean.

"Why are they like so?" Nikolas said curiously, eyeing the bundles now lying "Do you have a method?"

Ennadda glanced at him, paused, her lips pursing and then said, "Some of my customers can't read, so it doesn't help them if I were to write letters now would it?" She smiled, and patted his hand. "Not everyone's got the schooling to do so. Especially not here."

Her hands were very warm, Nikolas thought, and returned her smile with what he hoped was a genuine one.

"That is very kind of you. I never thought of it."

"No?"

"I never went to the apothecary," said Nikolas with a shrug. "If there was anything we needed my sister would have asked an herb merchant for it."

"Your sister the kind of person that knows people?"

She drew out her r's in a sort of twang that would make any dignified dinner party squirm in their seats. It was very charming, perhaps this was how all Camairans spoke. No, he could be wrong, if Tino was Camairan then he didn't speak with the same accent. Though it could be Tino lived in the part of Camaira that was closest to Icfeld, if that was even possible. Camaira was a vast desert as far as Nikolas was concerned.

Almost all of the wooden presses were empty, and soon they would run out of things to say. Nikolas bit his lip, his heart beating. Then his eyes fell on the chess set, and what Jozin had said to him. Well, it wouldn't hurt to learn would it?

"Do you play?" he asked, gesturing to the board.

Her eyes widened, and when she smiled, it made the dimples on her cheeks all the more prominent. "Of course I do! Do you?"

"My," Nikolas coughed, "my brother used to play with my father. He doesn't like to teach us because—" he swallowed, and then spat out. "But I would like to learn. He liked it, so I am sure I would as well."

Usually when people heard those words, the words that signaled an end to something, they clench up, and gave one of those apologetic smiles. Depending on the person they would immediately excuse themselves, or switch the topic at such break neck speed it was more than a mere coincidence. He expected something in between, from his experience, there were only those two ranges of reactions.

"I am sure he would," said Ennadda, and Nikolas exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding. "What was his name?"

"His name?"

"Oh! I do apologize! If your family isn't the type to share, I didn't mean to ask!" She held both hands to her mouth, and if she was as pale as his sisters, no doubt Ennadda would be blushing.

"No, no, we're not that sort," said Nikolas, shaking his head. "It's just that our— my father never mentions his name. I think... well, I think it hurts him to think about my siblings." He shook his head again and tried to think back on her original question, which was difficult because all he could think of was Aldeim with his wine bottles and an empty fire. "It's Richan."

"It must have been difficult," said Ennadda solemnly, and she enunciated each word. "Everyone says it, but it's terribly horrible to bury a child."

"Children," Nikolas whispered under his breath.

"Children," Ennadda agreed. "Would you like to play? In Richan's honor?" She gestured to the board.

"I think he would have taught me," Nikolas mused aloud. Then he blinked, because while he expected that familiar sort of sinking feeling in his stomach, instead he felt a peculiar warmth. This was the same sort of jubilation he felt when he was about to leave for Icfeld. Or it could just be Ennadda, she might just be the only person he'd ever met that didn't seem to despair of him not being able to read.