by J A Armitage
“Will you submit your Gilded Lily to a review by independent parties?” asked a heavyset man with spectacles too small for his face.
I glanced over at Lord Agave, who gave me the tiniest of nods.
“I would be happy to submit my flower for review,” I said. “I have nothing to hide. My only request is that the flower is treated with care; I have very few of them, and, given our current situation, I’m concerned about losing the breed to the blight.”
The man nodded, content, and sat back down.
The next man to stand glared at me. He shook strands of his blond hair off his face like he was about to get into a fight. “A lot of people find it suspicious that you prioritized the health of your competition lily over the hundreds of other rare and valuable flowers that could have used your attention. You claim you used enchanted glass to protect it. Where was your enchanted glass when it came to the birdcage gladiolus or the silver-threaded passion iris?”
I opened my mouth, but he wasn’t done.
“I don’t know if you know this, but leading botanists confirmed two days ago that the sunspot tulip is extinct. It’s one of the only flowers in the world that changes color under sunlight, and its genetic code has been terrifically valuable to breeders throughout Floris. As I’m sure you know, as the head gardener of Floris, the sunspot tulip has not been permitted to leave our borders since its development, given its value to the flower breeders whose work supports the economy of our beautiful nation. That means the flowers were here and only here, and that means that since all the ones here are dead, that species is gone. Forever. The sunspot tulip is over.”
He breathed heavily and stared at me like he thought he might be able to burn a hole through my head with the power of his rage.
I swallowed, heat creeping up my neck. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
He barked a laugh like he couldn’t believe the idiot standing in front of him. “Where was your enchanted glass?” he demanded. “Why was your attention on your frankly unremarkable lily and not on any of the plants that keep Floris afloat?”
“I didn’t know.” My voice was small, and I hated myself for it. “If I’d known the sunspot tulip was at that kind of risk, I would have worked with them to save it.”
I cringed at my arrogance. As if I could have saved anything. My lily was alive due to a fluke in magic, nothing more.
“You should have known,” he said.
Lilian shot to her feet and spun around. “Mr. Gilding is our palace gardener,” she said, voice sharper than I’d ever heard. “He is not responsible for the wellbeing of every plant in Floris.”
The duke tugged on her arm, but she yanked it away and continued glaring at the reporter.
“Mr. Gilding has been working nonstop to learn about this blight,” she snapped. “It’s thanks to him and our previous Head Gardener that we know about the enchanted glass at all. He protected his lily because he determined that it was likely to be one of the most valuable plants on the palace grounds, and he showed good judgment in doing so. The loss of the sunspot tulip is tragic, but I would argue that, given the excellent response from Festival judges and attendees, the Gilded Lily is just as valuable to our nation and deserves our protection.”
The reporter might not have been convinced, but he was cowed. He inclined his head respectfully at the princess and sat back down. She watched, stone-faced until he had settled back into his chair, and then she turned back around and sat with absolute dignity.
She raised her chin and nodded at Lord Agave that he could proceed.
She didn’t look at me.
And I was glad because I wouldn’t have been able to wipe the grin off my face if she had. My Gilded Lily may have been beautiful enough to impress twelve kingdoms and inspire accusations of cheating, but this brilliant, fiery, terrifying, wonderful woman put it to shame.
Duke Remington leaned over to Lilian and muttered something at her. He looked furious, and she looked as if she could not have cared less.
Lord Agave pointed to the next person ready to launch a question or accusation at me. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and prepared to answer.
“Psst.”
I glanced up. The garden around me glimmered in the soft twilight. The days were getting longer, and I didn’t know how long I’d been out here, staring at the grass that had turned the same dull gray as the pebbles in the walkway.
“Psst,” the voice said again.
I spotted Reed, crouching behind a skeletal rosebush we hadn’t yet pulled up. A few remaining leaves hung, limp and dark, and a single rose dangled like a hanged corpse.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh,” he ordered. “Head to the servants’ entrance on this side of the palace. I’ll distract Remington’s stupid guards. You’re needed in the servants’ dining hall.”
“I don’t want to go in there,” I said.
“Remington won’t find out.”
“I don’t care if he does,” I said. “There’s just nothing for me in that palace. Why are you hiding behind a bush?”
“I don’t want anyone to see me talking to you.”
“Great,” I said. “Accused of cheating, and now, my very presence is enough to ruin other people’s reputations.”
I hated the words as soon as they came out. They were sulking and sullen, reminding me more of the teenager I’d been and less of the man I was supposed to be these days.
“Wow,” Reed said, his thoughts clearly mirroring mine. “Wow, Deon. You’re handling this great.”
“Shut up.” I couldn’t stop a slight laugh from bubbling up. It wasn’t amused, exactly, but it hadn’t crossed the line into hysterical, either. Thank the stars for small mercies.
“Hedley wants you inside,” Reed said. “So does everyone else.”
My neck and shoulders tensed. “Why, are they lying in wait to murder me?”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “Everyone’s going to murder you. It’s a surprise attack. Daisy’s waiting with a butcher knife and Petunia’s got the other maids all lined up to strangle you with twine. Of course, I wouldn’t send you in for something like that, you dolt.”
I sighed. Whatever was waiting for me inside couldn’t possibly be worse than the thoughts that had been running through my head.
Reed waited until I was moving toward the palace, and then his dark shadow darted ahead in the twilight toward the doors. He started shouting and pointing wildly, and the guards exchanged confused looks and then ran in the direction he was pointing.
Reed raised his thumbs at me and then took off after them, shouting something about a wild boar that had attacked one of the peacocks that roamed the grounds.
I slipped in through the servants’ entrance. The familiar scent of stone and fires burning hit me, reminding me of a time when I’d been allowed within these walls--when they’d provided me with a home.
It hadn’t been that long ago. Even so, it felt like a lifetime.
I cracked open the dining room door, then stopped. The room was packed, as if every servant in the palace and gardens was here, squeezed into every corner.
I poked my head in, scanning the faces for Hedley. “Someone needed me?”
Linden clenched his jaw. And then, stone-faced, he began clapping.
The others joined in.
I flinched. Today had been bad enough. I didn’t need the sarcasm of everyone I worked with piled on top of it.
But it wasn’t sarcasm. Linden wasn’t scowling at me, not exactly. And the maids were outright beaming. One of the kitchen hands raised his fist in support, and the cook pursed her lips and applauded, nodding at me like I’d done something to merit her approval. Alongside one wall, Chervil clapped slowly and angrily, a veritable storm on his face, and Myrtle set her chin as if she was ready for someone to punch her. Even Jonquil was applauding, his claps, a stark contrast with his expression of disgust.
Slowly, I stepped into the room and looked around at their faces.
Hedley was here, too, and Hyacinth, both staunchly clapping like someone had dared them not to.
“What’s…?” I hesitated, searching their expressions for more clues, but I couldn’t make sense of the applause or the widely varying looks on everyone’s faces. “What’s going on?”
“You won the Spring Flower Festival on behalf of the palace, and that self-important cocklebur upstairs won’t give you a shred of credit for it,” Jonquil said.
I stared at him. Out of everyone in the kingdom, Jonquil was the last person I would have expected to support me.
Well, second to last.
“We’re none too pleased with what happened today,” the cook said. “We know you didn’t cheat. And we thought you ought to know that we know.”
Myrtle nodded, jaw still set in a square line.
“You’d never do something like that,” Daisy said with absolute conviction. “The duke’s only acting like that because the princess likes you, and he’s jealous.”
Another of the maids elbowed her in the ribs, and she stumbled to the side and hissed “What?” at the girl who’d nudged her.
I gaped around the crowded room. A lump rose up in my throat, but there was confusion there, too. I looked from Jonquil to Chervil to Linden and shook my head a little.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “You guys hate me.”
Linden pressed his thin lips together. “That might be,” he said. “You and I don’t always see eye to eye.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Jonquil muttered.
Linden spoke over the interruption. “Even if we don’t agree with the way things have been run lately, we know you’re doing your best. You wouldn’t cheat, not at something like this.”
“An insult to you is an insult to us all,” Jonquil said.
“Basically, they’re saying that they’re the only ones that can call you names,” Reed said.
I jumped. I hadn’t heard him come in behind me.
“You represent Floris,” said the head housekeeper, Mrs. Almond, “and Floris does not cheat in flower competitions.” She smoothed the front of her skirt. “We don’t have to.”
I blinked around at all of them. “Thank you. All of you.”
That didn’t seem like enough, those little words. I opened my mouth, searching for more that would convey the sense of surprised warmth blooming in my torso, but Hedley, seeming to see I was in trouble, clapped his hands.
The cook waved at someone on the other side of the room, and the crowd parted to make way for a couple of kitchen hands bearing an enormous cake covered in white frosting and topped with an enormous marzipan recreation of my Gilded Lily.
I swallowed again, hard, and Hedley caught my eye. He winked, and Hyacinth took his arm and beamed at me.
“Don’t let anyone get you down, love,” she said. “All will come right in the end.”
I had no reason to believe her. But just now, in this moment, with this enormous cake and a room full of people who seemed willing to believe in my basic decency, whether they liked me or not--that felt like plenty for now. I’d have been selfish to ask for more.
13th April
Another polished wooden wagon traveled up the palace driveway, pulled by a team of black horses with manes and tails that bounced with every step. The words Cinnamon and Sons Event Services was written on the side in gleaming black letters adorned with silver flowers. It was the fourth in a string of identical wagons that had arrived this morning, and I had a feeling I’d see more before the day was out.
The palace events coordinator routed the wagon around to the side entrance closest to the throne room. The wheels dug into the ground and tore up the grass, but it didn’t matter. The grass was gray, the earth beneath it incapable of producing life. The grass around the castle would all be pulled up and replaced with artfully painted stones before the wedding, anyway. Most of my apprentices had been pulled away from their usual duties to help paint colorful flowers onto rocks the size of my palm, and I hadn’t been able to complain, given how little there was for them to do these days. We only had so many enchanted bell jars, and it would be weeks before the next shipment arrived from the magicians Hedley had hired to make more. Those of us who had years of gardening experience were more than capable of taking care of the few seedlings we’d managed to keep alive under glass.
Lilian’s wedding should have been a beautiful affair out in the gardens, not in some stuffy throne room that also played host to terrible events like press releases.
But there were a lot of ways Lilian’s wedding should have been different. Her mother was supposed to be healthy, for one. Her father was supposed to be here, watching his daughter’s joy at the preparations, instead of off in Urbis doing the gods knew what. And Lilian should have been happy because she should have been marrying the man of her dreams instead of a monster who held her hostage through some miserable combination of duty and the money that would feed the kingdom through the blight.
The duke’s parents, Duke Markus and Duchess Annemie, followed the wagon up the driveway. Now that the gardens were all but dead, they’d taken to taking their daily air by walking between the various pieces of architecture the gardens had to offer: a gazebo here, a lattice trellis walkway there, a few old ruins that had been brought to the grounds in the days of King Alder’s great-grandfather.
I couldn’t fathom why they chose to walk together every day. They clearly detested one another; Duke Markus talked to his wife like she was an idiot, and Duchess Annemie responded by sniping and moaning about everything that crossed her path.
I watched the duchess’s dull purple skirts shift as she walked up the drive. Had she been like Lilian once, beautiful and clever, and just been worn down by her awful husband? Or had she always been like this? I hoped it was the latter. I couldn’t bear the thought of Lilian being married to the duke, but imagining her as bitter and dried-up as this duchess--it made ice run up my spine.
Lilian wouldn’t lose herself like that. She was strong. She wouldn’t let it happen. I had to believe that.
The duchess seemed to sense me watching her. She looked up sharply, and her eyes met mine. I bowed in respect and returned to the flowerbed I was working in. I’d already removed the last gray stems and creeping roots, but it still needed to be tilled.
I couldn’t stop the blight from killing everything that grew in this soil, but I could try to, at least, keep it aerated and groomed until the day we could put seeds in the earth again.
When I next glanced up, the duke and duchess were much closer--and headed directly for me.
My stomach sank, and I staked my tiller in the soil.
“Duke Markus,” I said with another low bow. “Duchess Annemie.”
The elder duke stood erect, his hands behind his back. He looked down at me, and I could feel him trying to intimidate me. He straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest and stepped slightly closer to me than normal courtesy allowed.
It was almost funny, the retired Duke of Thornton trying to throw his weight about to impress a mere gardener.
“I suppose you’ve read the papers,” Duchess Annemie said, voice and expression both cool.
“I haven’t, Your Grace.” I inclined my head in what I hoped was a respectful gesture.
“Then I suppose you know what they’re saying about you.”
“Well enough, Your Grace.”
She waited for more, eyebrow arched, but I wasn’t about to get drawn into a conversation with Duke Remington’s mother.
“Everyone thinks you cheated.”
“I didn’t.”
“But everyone thinks it.”
I glanced at the duke as if he might provide some clues as to what she was getting after, but he only looked down at me with a smug half-smile.
“I’ve already made my statement,” I said. “My lily is being reviewed by the Horticulture Council and the Festival delegates. I await their decision.”
“You have more flowers, though, don
’t you?” The duchess’s eyes sharpened.
My skin prickled with warning.
“We’ve managed to grow several new seedlings under glass,” I said. “I’d be happy to have one of my gardeners give you a tour if you’d like.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not under glass. You have a private garden, don’t you?”
My spine stiffened. I fought to keep my expression calm.
“Yes, Your Grace. The Head Gardener always does.”
“And it’s got flowers in it.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The triumph was bright on her otherwise cold face.
“I heard Lilian talking to one of her ladies about it,” she said. “Apparently, you have quite the green thumb.”
I nodded as if acknowledging a compliment.
“You still have flowers.”
The idea of denying it flashed across my mind, but it faded just as quickly.
“I’ve managed to keep a few alive, yes.” I shoved my hands in my pockets to prevent their twitching from betraying my sudden nerves. “The enchanted glass has been promising, and we’ve been running other experimen--”
“Cut them,” she ordered.
I shut my mouth and stared at her.
“Your flowers,” she said impatiently. “The ones you’ve kept alive. Cut them, put them under your fancy glass, and bring them to the palace florists. We require them for the wedding.”
“They decided to paint rocks, Your Gr--”
“Bring them,” she said. She didn’t raise her volume or sound anything other than polite, but goosebumps prickled down my arms anyway. She narrowed her sharp eyes at me. “Either you can bring the flowers and attempt to save the root systems of your plants, or I’ll have other servants harvest them who might not be so careful.”
“It’s my garden,” I said. “Lilian wouldn’t--”
“Lilian is not the only one getting married,” the duchess snapped. “That girl is too soft to require her servants to do anything. It’s a wonder she bothers to keep them around at all. I, however, am not so easy to push around. Lilian and her maids need bouquets. The hall needs decoration. We are in Floris, Mr. Gilding, and a royal wedding in Floris requires flowers. You grow flowers. On royal grounds, may I remind you, and at the pleasure of the royal family. Bring them to the florists, and perhaps we won’t have to pull my Garritt into this.”
