by J A Armitage
“Floris has much to be grateful for,” Hedley said. “It would have still more if she wasn’t under the thumb of that incompetent blowhard.”
It was the strongest opinion I’d ever heard Hedley express, outside of his feelings about brown-backed root beetles. I bit back a grin.
“We can’t do a thing about the duke,” I said. “Not unless King Alder gets back before the wedding, and we somehow manage to catch him in time.” I didn’t have high hopes; getting the king’s attention was something even Lilian hadn’t been able to accomplish lately. “But if we can keep our kingdom’s reputation from falling apart and figure out what Lilian learned about the queen, I’ll consider that a good week in what has otherwise been a month of pure and unmitigated hell.”
“Hold onto that youthful optimism, Deon,” Hedley said dryly. “I’d hate to see you get jaded.”
I laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. Beside us, a patch of vivid green seaweed shimmied in the current, and I squinted as the light played tricks on my eyes and brushed the tip of one graceful frond with the faintest hint of gray.
10th April
Whatever cynicism Hedley had accused me of dropped away the moment I arrived at the festival grounds.
I had been to the festival every year since before I was old enough to form lasting memories. And every year, opening morning took my breath away. I’d seen the grounds a dozen times in the past week alone, but it was different this morning now that thousands of Florians and guests from around the world were clustered outside the wrought-iron festival gates. Women in bright floral dresses and men with hats piled high with precious flowers milled all around me. I caught a glimpse of a group from Enchantia, recognizable by their sleek white clothing and flawless posture. A younger woman stood with the group, but while her clothing shared the same sleek tailoring as the others, she was clad in jet black. She felt me staring and glanced over, and one side of her mouth quirked up in an amused smile.
I recognized her from the newspapers; this was Princess Kelis of Enchantia. Lilian had met her a couple of years back and taken an immediate liking to her. According to Lilian, she was “not at all like one of those stuffy princesses who’re too scared to make a joke lest she be accused of having a sense of humor.” Her eyes had the same gold ring around the iris as mine. It was unusual, to be sure, and that was probably why I felt drawn to her. But I didn’t have time for princesses, at least, not another princess.
I slipped forward through the crowd and took my place on the raised dais set to one side of the gates. Lilian was already sitting there, along with Duke Remington and several members of the Horticulture Council.
I didn’t dare look at Lilian for more than a second. The duke’s gaze fixed on me immediately, and I knew that if I so much as tried to wish her a good day, we’d both pay for it.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Gilding,” the duke said, in a voice that was even cooler than the morning breeze that ruffled our hair.
I’d been on the grounds since before the crack of dawn, making final arrangements, but I didn’t bother trying to explain that to him. I just gave him a deferential nod and turned to gaze resolutely out at the crowd.
The large bell set into the top of the iron gates rang out, marking eight o'clock. The bell was draped in rose garlands, and I silently prayed that no one would notice half the blooms were silk.
The crowd’s excited chattering settled to silence.
Lilian rose from her seat and stepped toward the microphone that amplified her voice with a clever combination of magic and technology from The Forge.
“Welcome, citizens of Floris and distinguished guests. We are honored to welcome you to the annual Spring Flower Festival.” She looked out over the crowd, her gaze catching here and there as she made contact with some lucky individual. Her pink dress softened her, but her back was straight, and she held her chin high.
Hedley was wrong; she wasn’t every bit a princess. She was a queen or, at least, had it in her to become one. My heart fluttered, feeling for all the world like just another flounce on her rosy dress trembling in the breeze.
Stars, I couldn’t lose this woman.
The backs of my eyes prickled, and I closed my eyes firmly and shoved down the sudden grief that threatened to engulf me.
It was a beautiful morning. The festival was here. Lilian was radiant. I had no right to fall apart now.
“As many of you know, Floris has faced challenges in the past month,” Lilian continued her voice strong and clear. “I am delighted to be able to show you today that we have met this challenge head-on. I am also inspired by the displays brought to us from around the world. The festival is a unique opportunity for the kingdoms to come together in a celebration of life and beauty, and I think you’ll be dazzled today by the astonishing creativity and hard work reflected in these gardens. Although I should caution you to please, keep your hands to yourself when you pass through The Forge’s birdcage garden. The signs warning you to keep your fingers away from the Cheshire flytraps are no joke.”
A laugh rippled through the assembled crowd.
“Thank you all for being here. Your support means more to Floris and to me personally than you can possibly know.” She placed a hand on her heart, and her face lit with a smile to rival the rising sun. “I now pronounce the Spring Flower Festival open!”
The bell pealed again, and a roar rose from the crowd. The Horticulture Council members placed on either side of the gate pushed the intricate doors open, and the thousands of visitors rushed forward like a meadow rippling in a sudden gust of wind.
I watched them push forward. An atmosphere of celebration filled the air, and I breathed it in. I hadn’t felt joy like this in a while, and I wasn’t sure when I’d get to experience it again.
Lilian caught my gaze and read my mind. She smiled, blue eyes sparkling.
And then the duke took her arm firmly in his and shielded her from my view.
I waited until the last few people trickled in through the gates and tried to fall in with them. But Duke Remington’s voice stopped me.
“It’s a shame the festival isn’t what it should be, Mr. Gilding,” he said.
Lilian hushed him, but he ignored her. The voices in my head shouted at me to ignore him, but I turned around anyway and gave him a polite nod.
“I agree.” I wouldn’t let him bait me. Not today. “Still, I hope my staff have done their best to do right by Floris.”
“I’m sure they have,” Lilian said. “I toured the grounds early this morning, and I think the displays are beautiful.”
“If only most of them weren’t from other kingdoms,” the duke said.
Lilian raised one eyebrow, her face otherwise the picture of neutrality. “On the contrary, I think it’s lovely that the festival represents such cooperation between nations. That is why the festival was started, after all, to give us a chance to mingle and share the things that make our lands beautiful.”
“Certainly.” Duke Remington acknowledged her with a polite nod.
To the side of him, Minister Saffron from the Horticulture Council eavesdropped with her eyes slightly narrowed.
The duke patted Lilian’s hand and continued, in the kind of polite voice I could only assume someone like Mace aspired to. “One just wishes Florian’s farmers had more to contribute, as a matter of national pride. As you know, my love, I can be patriotic to a fault when it comes to our great kingdom.”
“Of course,” I said. “Your opinions stem from patriotism.”
Lilian shot me a warning look, and I bit my tongue. I gave them both a bow and made as if to excuse myself, but the duke cut me off.
“My concerns should be nothing to yours, Mr. Gilding,” he said with a tense smile. “After all, this entire festival is a reflection of your abilities. I saw that you still intend to enter a flower in the competition. Let’s hope it’s enough to redeem you. After all, one never knows when you’ll need to rely on your reputation when it comes to finding wo
rk.”
He gloated down at me, his hand still firmly atop Lilian’s. Her expression remained pleasant, even neutral, but she couldn’t disguise the tension in her shoulders.
I bowed again. “Enjoy the festival, Your Grace,” I said. “Your Highness.”
“Her Highness will not be staying. She is to head back to the Palace while the judging takes place.”
I nodded my head to both of them, but my stomach roiled. He was keeping her from the judging. The judging was the main part of the festival.
“Then, enjoy the festival yourself.”
He opened his mouth to make some unpleasant retort, but I was halfway through the gate before he could get a word out.
Now that the festival was here and running smoothly, I almost didn’t know what to do with myself. Every tent and display hosted by Floris was already staffed and scheduled, and the displays being managed by other kingdoms didn’t need anything from me.
So I wandered. I felt as light as a dandelion seed on the wind, now that I had the freedom to drift around without the strain of the festival weighing me down. Even the duke couldn’t keep me down for long, and by the time I reached the potted forest hosted by the kingdom of Elder, the sense of wonder and excitement filling the festival grounds had recaptured me.
The displays felt different, now that these walkways were filled with people experiencing their beauty for the first time. A little girl in front of me babbled to her even littler brother about how she could probably climb these trees all the way to the top because she was so strong, and an elderly man leaned on his cane to one side of the walkway and stared dreamily up at the puffy white flowers adorning the branches of a wolfhair pine. The trees captured both the imagination and a sense of beauty, and it was a deep privilege to be allowed to witness them affecting the people all around me.
A man in a shabby but well-brushed three-piece suit bumped into me. He stopped in his tracks and put a gentle hand on my arm.
“My apologies, my good man,” he said. He bowed, and his top had slid ever so slightly down his forehead. He settled it back into place.
The hat’s shape put me in mind of fancy cameras and electric lights. I held out a hand. “That’s quite all right. Welcome to Floris. You’re from The Forge, right?”
“I certainly am.” His polite concern warmed into a smile. “Dr. Wit Lapin. Your servant, sir.”
His manners were so impeccable that I almost laughed; he was a sharp contrast against the duke’s insincerity.
“Mr. Deon Gilding,” I said. “Literally, a servant. I’m the Head Gardener at the palace of Floris. Thank you for coming all this way for the festival. I’m always honored by the number of people who show up for this event.”
Dr. Lapin touched his lapel, in what seemed like a tidy reflex. “In that case, I must admit that I didn’t come solely for the festival. I’ve been here for several weeks researching your medicinal plants. I’m fortunate that my timing coincided with this wonderful event.”
I cringed inwardly. “That’s generous of you to say,” I said. “If you’ve been here for a few weeks, you’ve had a front-row seat to all our problems.”
“We all have our challenges,” he said kindly. “It’s been a pleasure to see so many people rise to this one with grace. Yourself included, Mr. Gilding. These displays are astonishing, given the circumstances. I recognize your name from the event program. You still intend to enter this afternoon’s new breed flower competition, isn’t that right?”
A lump rose to my throat. Whether I won or lost today, his kindness gave me hope that the palace wouldn’t have reason to be shamed by my entry.
“I hope you’ll make it to the contest,” I said. “I expect to face stiff competition from The Forge. Your kingdom has developed some incredible plants in the past few years.”
We fell into an easy conversation about The Forge’s unique flowers and the medicinal plants he’d come to Floris to research. By the time we reached the end of the potted forest, I felt as if I’d made a new friend.
“Best of luck today, Mr. Gilding,” he said when we parted.
“Thanks.” I shook his hand, halfway feeling as if I ought to give this polite man a hug instead. “I’m glad to have met you.”
The confidence he’d given me only lasted another hour or two. Then it was time to collect my flowers and go to the competition tent.
I clung to the covered bell jar that held my entry. The atmosphere that pervaded the grounds seemed to shift from excitement to anxiety as I walked, although I knew better than to think my sudden nerves belonged to anyone but me.
By the time I arrived at the contestants’ seating area beneath the enormous tent, I was practically vibrating. It felt distinctly like the time Reed had dared me to consume several pots of coffee, back in our teens. I’d done it, on account of being a teenage boy with more bravado than sense. Lilian hadn’t let me live that choice down for months.
The white canvas tent diffused the afternoon sun, and tendrils of jasmine and wisteria that climbed up the tent poles filled the air with sweet perfume. People milled around behind me and slowly took their seats on the folding wooden chairs. Next to me, contestants on numbered seats shifted and exchanged nervous smiles. A beautiful woman whose clothes suggested she was from Badalah clutched her covered bell jar and tapped her toes. I offered her a smile, and she gave me one back, although neither of us could hold onto the expression for more than a few seconds. On my other side, a famous breeder from The Vale kept letting out long, steady breaths as if to calm himself. I’d met him last year, in passing, but couldn’t remember his name. He seemed to recognize me, but we didn’t do more than exchange pleasantries before we got back to our separate worrying.
Finally, when I was about ready to crawl out of my skin, Minister Balsam from the Horticulture Council stood.
Everyone fell quiet. The delicate sounds of skirts shifting and chairs squeaking hovered in the air, along with the occasional whisper.
From his seat behind the judges’ table, the duke met my gaze. He smiled. I clutched my bell jar.
Minister Balsam made the opening remarks. They didn’t mean much to me, just words that were hard to hear over the pounding of my heart. Then the first contestant was called up.
“Jinan Barakat of Badalah, gardener to the noble family of Asal.” The slender young man bowed as he introduced himself and approached the table. He removed the colorful embroidered fabric that had covered his jar, and I hissed in a sharp breath.
It was stunning, a succulent with a fat, vivid green body that looked like a pincushion and a single enormous flower rising from the center. The central flower was the color of polished white granite, iridescent and cool.
“This is the Star of the Sands,” Jinan said. “The flower blooms white during the day, and the internal central petals, which you can see are now curled, bloom again at night, creating a layered pattern.” He pointed at the center of the flower, where I assumed the second round of petals was visible. “I encourage you to savor the fragrance; its lightness is being explored by our physicians for its possible euphoria-inducing properties.”
I hoped my new friend, Dr. Lapin, was somewhere behind me so he could hear this.
Jinan passed the bell jar to the first of the judges, a delegate from Skyla. She examined it, made notes on the paper in front of her, and passed it down. The judges conferred for a moment when they’d all had the chance to examine the bloom, and then Minister Blackwood handed it back to Jinan.
The next three people went, displaying a vivid yellow flower that bloomed, budded, and bloomed again all within a minute; an enormous purple iris that was nearly as tall as me and smelled of sugar; and a dahlia with a delicate red-and-white honeycomb pattern all across its sturdy petals.
Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath and stood. My legs wobbled beneath me.
“Mr. Deon Gilding, Head Gardener at the palace of Floris.” I bowed, and a ripple of interest passed through the crowd behind me.
&nbs
p; Minister Blackwood gave me an encouraging smile and gestured me forward.
With trembling hands, I lifted the silk covering my jar and shoved it in my back pocket. Minister Balsam’s eyebrows rose in interest, and the visiting judge from Enchantia leaned forward to get a better look.
I had already named my flower, but with the duke glaring down at me, I thought it best to use one of the other names I’d considered, at least for now.
I cleared my throat. “The Gilded Lily,” I announced and held up the jar.
Inside, the petals of my creation winked and glinted as brightly as Lilian’s hair under the midday sun. The silver leaves and stem that supported it held nothing of the gray that had plagued our kingdom these past few weeks; instead, they shone with hints of moonlight, and stardust, and the twinkling scales of the fish in the Atlantice dome. The bloom itself shone. An impossible light emanated from the pistils at its center and cast translucent patterns of light onto the white canvas over our heads.
Minister Acacia put a hand to her mouth. The judge from Draconis narrowed his eyes in interest. A muscle in Duke Remington’s jaw twitched.
“This flower brings light in the darkness,” I said. “The golden luminescence at the center of the bloom grows throughout the day and becomes brightest at night when its glow is enough to serve as a gentle lantern. The flowers close up at dawn and open again during the course of the morning.” I pulled a series of small glass vials all chained together from my pocket. “When the flower blooms again, it holds a few tiny drops of dew. I think the dew tastes a bit like strawberries. I’ve collected some over the past week so that you can all have a taste and form your own opinion.”
Minister Blackwood smiled, and her piercing black eyes took on a twinkle. She tucked a strand of bright red hair behind her ear and gestured at me to hand the plant to the judges.
I gave it to the judge from Skyla, along with the chain of vials. The judges passed my lily between themselves and carefully tasted the dew.
