Throne of Enchantment

by J A Armitage

  Then I turned back to him and quickly related everything Lilian had told me. Hedley listened, taking in each word. When I was done, he sat for a moment, allowing the information to churn and process at its own pace.

  When he finally spoke, his question surprised me.

  “They’re still going ahead with the wedding, then?”

  I frowned. Of everything I’d told him, I hadn’t expected that to be the most interesting bit of information.

  “She doesn’t see a way around it,” I said. “That might change now that King Alder is home, assuming she gets a chance to see him, but I don’t think she’ll push too hard. The province of Thornton has money. Floris needs money right now.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  He didn’t need to tell me. The euphoria of learning I’d won faded quickly, like a flower cut and left on the grass, and Hedley noticed it going.

  He clapped a hand on my knee.

  “There’s still time for a miracle or two,” he said brightly. “In the meantime, I suggest you put on some clothes and take that trophy and your lily for a stroll. There are some people gathering at the front of the palace who might want to see them.”

  By the time I had dressed in the nicest clothes I owned--a shirt with only a single discreet grass stain on the sleeve and trousers with relatively un-worn knees--Hedley had returned to my shed with a mirror in hand. I brushed my hair as the sun crept over the horizon, and he fixed the back for me when a few dark strands refused to lie down.

  When he pronounced me presentable, I picked up the heavy tulip trophy and my enclosed lily, and we walked to the front of the palace. I had expected a few supporters and perhaps a member of the Horticulture Council.

  Instead, I heard the crowd before I saw them.

  The driveway in front of the palace was crowded with visitors. It was like the time journalists had invaded the grounds to ask about the blight, except this time, almost all my gardening staff was on hand to usher them away from the flowerbeds.

  Not that it mattered. The palace grounds were utterly barren by this point. Every surviving flower had been whisked away to the festival or quarantined in a greenhouse under an enchanted glass jar.

  Still, seeing them all work together to corral the crowd warmed my heart. It meant they were on the same page as me about something, for probably the first time since I’d taken over this job.

  “Mr. Gilding!” someone exclaimed, and in an instant, hundreds of eyes and half as many cameras were trained on me. My heart skipped a beat; I’d never had so much attention in my life.

  I glanced up at Hedley, and he smiled and gave me an encouraging nod.

  “Go tell them all about your lily,” he said. “You’ve earned this.” He dropped his voice to a murmur. “But maybe don’t mention the magic. Not yet.”

  I nodded and stepped forward toward the crowd.

  “How long have you been working on the Gilded Lily?” one journalist demanded. A child rushed forward with a newspaper clipping and enchanted quill in her hand, begging me to sign it. A group of ladies holding a sign reading TULIS TARTS: WOMEN’S FLOWER CLUB jumped up and down and waved at me, while a few other reporters interrupted one another with questions to the point that I couldn’t form their scrambled words into sentences.

  My head spun a little, and I took a deep breath and forced myself further into the crowd. People grabbed at me and reached in to brush their fingers against my trophy and the lily case, but I pressed forward to the palace steps where I might have half a chance of seeing them all and hearing what they had to say.

  One of the guards--a man I recognized, who had served the palace long before Duke Remington had arrived--jumped in to shield me as I made my way to the stairs. Once I was safely out of the reach of the crowd, he clapped me on the arm and stepped back.

  “How did you protect your lily from the blight?” someone called out.

  I cleared my throat. "We've been working with Florian magicians to…"

  But my words were drowned out by the ocean of questions and exclamations. Everyone, it seemed, had something to say, and I couldn't shout over them all.

  "What did the king and queen think about your entry?"

  "Will you be selling the lilies anytime soon?"

  "How similar is your variety to the sunglow lily created by Lark Aspenwood a few years ago?"

  I blinked out at the crowd. There was a reason press conferences were usually held with microphones. I needed a moderator, and something to amplify my voice, or at least a way to shout louder than the rest of them. I glanced out at Hedley, who was held back by the sheer volume of the crowd, and he shrugged.

  I was on my own, then.

  The guard who’d ushered me through the audience stepped forward and leaned in so I could hear him.

  “Perhaps this would be better conducted in the throne room?”

  “I’m not allowed in there.”

  “I daresay this might be an excellent opportunity to push the duke on that particular boundary, Mr. Gilding, sir.”

  I glanced sharply at him. His expression hadn’t changed, but a muscle in his jaw twitched.

  I wasn’t the only one unhappy with the way things were being run, then.

  “Let’s give it a try.” I gave him a quick nod of thanks, and he returned it. He gestured at the guards standing on either side of the front doors to open them. One moved immediately, but the other shook his head at first. He and the guard who’d been speaking with me exchanged glances, and some kind of conversation or argument seemed to take place between them in the space of a moment.

  Then, as if something had been decided, the guards opened the front doors.

  “Members with press permits, please proceed in an orderly manner to the throne room,” the guard barked in a loud voice I envied in this moment. “Anyone not following standard procedure will be escorted from the premises. Those of you without press permits may remain here, and Mr. Gilding will return in the course of half an hour to visit with you.”

  He glanced at me, and I nodded my agreement. Some in the crowd groaned or sighed, and the journalists and photographers pressed forward, but with a touch more organization than they’d shown a moment before.

  I turned to go inside the palace, but before I could take more than a few steps, the duke was standing in front of me with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Mr. Gilding is not permitted inside the palace,” he said.

  The guards again looked among themselves. The one who’d been helping me seemed to hold his breath for a moment, then he straightened his shoulders.

  “The throne room is traditionally the space used for palace statements to the press, Your Grace,” he said, with utmost politeness in his tone and bearing. “As a security matter, I advise we stick to established protocol.”

  “Mr. Gilding is not a member of the royal family, and therefore, not qualified to give statements on behalf of the palace.”

  The duke narrowed his eyes at me. It was everything I could do to not swing my heavy trophy right at his head, but I’d already gotten in trouble for whaling on him once. Instead, I took a hint from my guard and stayed calm.

  Someone came up behind the duke, and the air around us shifted subtly.

  “I think this might be a fine time for an exception,” a familiar voice said.

  I bowed deeply before I caught a glimpse of his face. “Your Majesty,” I said. “Allow me to welcome you home from your travels.”

  “Thank you, Deon.” The king’s face was lined; he looked years older than last time I’d seen him. But he also wore a warm smile, and he held out a hand to me. I shook it, and he clasped both his hands over mine. “You’ve honored us all,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

  “My privilege, sir.”

  “Please show Mr. Gilding to the throne room,” King Alder said loudly. “Ensure a broadcasting system is set up. My secretary will be there shortly to facilitate questions.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” I took a sm
all step toward him. “Sir, if I may, I’d like to speak with you--”

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving. “I’ll find you. After.”

  He offered the assembled crowd a broad smile and turned to leave. I watched him go, studying the lines of his shoulders and back for a hint of what he’d found--or not found--in Urbis.

  The press conference passed in a blur. I answered questions as well as I could with my lily and trophy sitting on either side of me atop the king’s polished wooden lectern and the duke glaring at me from the back of the room: Yes, the enchanted glass domes would be available to gardeners outside the palace as soon as we could manage. No, my plant wasn’t a stable hybrid, but I planned to get there eventually. Yes, the bulbs would eventually be for sale, but only after I’d ensured they would grow reliably. No, the king and queen hadn’t helped with the breeding process, although I gave all due credit to their support and encouragement over the years.

  I spent another hour talking to people outside, signing autographs, and posing for photographs with the handful of nobles who had brought their own cameras. I wondered if this was what things were always like for Lilian when she stepped outside the palace and experienced a flush of gratitude for the guards who often accompanied her into the city.

  And then, finally, when my hand hurt from signing my name over and over, and my face ached from all the smiles, I turned around to find the king waiting for me atop the palace steps. Quickly, I excused myself from the remaining stragglers, who took one look at the king and, awestruck at his nearness, let me go.

  “Walk with me,” the king said.

  I checked the corridor behind him, but the duke was nowhere to be seen. We fell into an easy step, passing through the entrance hall. I kept pace with the king and turned when he turned, and eventually, we found ourselves in a broad hallway full of landscapes and empty meeting rooms. This wing of the castle was rarely visited by palace residents unless the palace was holding a convention of some sort.

  “I’m glad to see you doing so well,” King Alder finally said. “It seems you’ve been blessed by some god.”

  I almost snorted. I hadn’t felt blessed over these past few weeks.

  Then again, he was right. The whole kingdom was suffering, but I had, at least, had a moment of brightness to lift my spirits. I suspected many in the nation hadn’t even experienced that. I hoped the news of my lily would spread if only to give the rest of the kingdom hope that we could still grow beautiful things.

  “I’m proud of you, Deon,” the king said.

  My face grew hot. The king wasn’t a father to me, not exactly, and he hadn’t raised me in the same way Hedley had. But he had always been kind, and his opinion of me was one of the most important in the world.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I wanted to represent Floris well.”

  “You did,” he said. “Better than well. The Horticulture Council tells me they’ve never seen such a promising entry from someone your age, and given the circumstances, that lily of yours is just what we need right now.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said again.

  The king kept walking slowly down the corridor, past paintings of rolling hills and colorful meadows. They showed Floris as it should have been. My heart hurt, looking at them.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much,” the king said.

  I glanced up, surprised. He realized he’d been absent, then.

  “The queen is still unwell.” He hesitated, looking over at me as if my face was a puzzle he wanted to solve. “I understand Lilian broke in to see her. I suppose she told you? She seems to tell you everything.”

  There was no point denying it. “She did,” I said. “It seems the blight affects more than just flowers.”

  “To my grief, yes.” His lips pressed into a thin line, and he blinked at the painting before us with more force than usual. “Rapunzel’s spirits remain high, but--well, you’ve seen what the blight’s done to the rest of the kingdom.”

  “Perhaps it will only affect her hair,” I said.

  The king smiled, but it was a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He was trying, for my sake and his wife’s, but I saw how heavily the queen’s condition weighed on him.

  “I feel I’ve been neglecting my duties,” he said.

  “I understand, sir. We all do. We all love the queen.”

  “And yet, I’m not just a husband,” he said. “I’m also a king. And as a king, I appear to be failing on many fronts. I missed most of the festival. I’ve barely seen my daughter this month. And I haven’t the faintest clue how I’m going to support all the people who are going to turn to the palace for help.” He touched his fingertips to his lips and looked over at me. “I’m sorry, Deon, I shouldn’t burden you with this.”

  “With respect, sir, it’s a burden we already share.” I nodded at the painting before us, which glowed with a wheat field rippling in a sunset breeze. “Mr. Hedley and I have been talking about how we might use enchanted glass greenhouses to grow food. And I’ve already sent a letter to the Horticulture Council advising them to discuss starting a seed bank with other kingdoms. If the blight is going to poison every plant in our kingdom, we should do what we can to avoid letting them go to extinction.”

  The king watched me carefully, his eyes trained on my face. He was listening--listening closely.

  It was my chance to bring up the other issue, the one that really mattered.

  I opened my mouth, searching my mind for the words to explain what had been happening with the duke and how Lilian really felt about him, in spite of all her gracious behavior.

  “Sir?”

  I jumped. A servant had appeared at the end of the hall. The king straightened his shoulders, the focus in his eyes gone.

  “Hill?”

  “The queen has asked to see you,” the servant said. “If you’re available.”

  The king glanced at me. He didn’t need my permission, but he had it anyway.

  “Queen comes first,” I said with a smile. “Give her my best. I’d like to talk with you later if you’re able?”

  “I’ll try.” He shook my hand. “Thank you, Deon. It’s good to know we have you on our side.”

  Light flute and harp music floated up from the corner, mingling with the clink of silverware against golden plates and the happy chatter of a hundred voices. It seemed the entire court had shown up to celebrate our festival win. The tables were laden with pastries and meats, as well as the jewel-like fruit salads that would become a precious rarity if the blight continued its march across the land.

  Tonight, everyone was pretending the blight didn’t exist, and I was glad to join in on the collective denial.

  “Mr. Gilding!” one of Queen Rapunzel’s ladies-in-waiting gushed. She leaned over the back of my seat at the high table and gave me a gentle, unexpected embrace.

  I set my fork down and turned to look up at her. I bowed my head as deeply as I could without standing. “Lady Jessamine.”

  “Congratulations,” she said, squeezing my shoulder with one of her gloved hands. “You did Floris proud.”

  “Thank you.”

  A few seats away, Duke Remington scowled at me. His mother, Duchess Annemie, prattled on as if she still had his full attention.

  “Princess Lilian is so delighted with your Gilded Lilies,” Lady Jessamine said. “She’s talking about having an entire enchanted greenhouse built just to house more of them.”

  “I hope we have the resources for that,” I said. “Of course, food should come first.”

  “What use is food without beauty?” she said.

  “Or beauty without food?” I countered.

  She gave me a bright smile. “I sincerely hope we’ll be able to keep growing both. If not, please know that you’ve given us all a good deal of optimism today. We’ve been sorely in need of some good news.”

  I was tempted for a moment to ask her if she’d seen Queen Rapunzel recently, or knew about the queen’s gr
aying hair and the witch who might be to blame. But the queen’s condition was to remain a secret for a while longer, it seemed, and anyway, this was neither the time nor the place.

  Lady Jessamine gave my shoulder another quick squeeze and made her way back to her seat. Across the room, Lady Calla beamed at me, and Lord Narcissus inclined his head in respect.

  It was strange to sit here at the high table with the royal family and their honored guests. I’d eaten with Lilian probably hundreds of times before, but never at her family’s table at a royal function. It was an honor to be here. If I were truthful with myself, though, I rather preferred our picnics in the gardens--and not just because those didn’t usually include the addition of Duke Remington, who now sat directly to Lilian’s left. The gentle curve of the head table gave him plenty of opportunity to glare at me whenever possible, and I wasn’t the only person to notice.

  “He doesn’t seem to like you much,” a young noblewoman from Atlantice observed. She was one of several visitors who sat between Lilian and me.

  I took a sip of my wine. “How did you guess?”

  “Everyone’s talking about it.” She adjusted the blue satin cuff of her sleeve and glanced sidelong at the duke. “A string of tens, and then he gives you a one? That’s not a horticultural judgment. That’s personal.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not that it’s any of my business, but what’s the situation?”

  I grimaced. “I’m friends with the princess. He doesn’t like it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Romantic intrigue!”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s romantic,” I lied. “Lilian and I are just friends. But he won’t be convinced.”

  “Well, if he makes it too unbearable for you, perhaps you’d be interested in coming to Atlantice,” she said brightly. “We’d be delighted to have you.”

  Warmth flooded through me--not because I had any intention of leaving Floris, but because it meant that when the duke did fire me and throw me from the palace grounds, I might not be a complete pariah.

  We fell into a pleasant conversation about Atlantice’s gardens and the abundance of unique sea plants in the waters surrounding the island. I’d only ever met a few merpeople before, but this woman spoke about them as if they were scarcely more remarkable than people with brilliant red hair or particularly blue eyes.