by J A Armitage
I hesitated, my pen above the paper. Outside, the dusk slipped quietly to darkness. Finally, I scribbled out the last sentence.
I’ll survive, as will you. We’ll continue to grow in our own ways. You will be the most perfect wife for your new husband, and I’ll be your gardener.
It doesn’t sound like much, does it, being a gardener instead of a husband? But it’s everything to me, Lils. If I can’t grow old alongside you, I’ll do my best to keep you young with all the irises and birds of paradise and fresh strawberries your heart could ever desire. I’ll ensure your palace grounds become more delightful with each passing year, and someday, when your children are playing on the lawns as we once did, I’ll teach them to plant their first row of tulips and weed their first bed of herbs. And I’ll make sure you always, always have roses on your table.
I wish you could choose me, Lils. But since you can’t marry your gardener, I’ll choose you over and over and over, with every flower I plant and every strawberry I harvest. The gardens will be a testament of my love and will surround you all of your days. How better to
The carriage door opened, and I jumped. A beautiful young woman in a pink gown stood in the doorway, her warm skin framed by glistening black curls. She glanced around the carriage, her gaze skimming over a sleepy elderly man and a teenage girl with her nose in a book.
She stepped lightly into the carriage and closed the door behind her. Reflexively, as if I’d been caught naked, I crumpled the sheet of paper into my fist.
It hurt, acting like everything was fine when I carried the weight of the blight and the festival and Lilian’s upcoming marriage on my shoulders. But I would rather carry all that weight alone than ever burden Lilian with it. Sticks and stones, I was a lovesick fool. I shoved the crumpled paper into my pocket and resolved to burn it at the next opportunity.
The woman sank into one of the empty seats opposite me and offered a dazzling smile. She was pretty enough to take my breath away, her cheeks flushed with youth and her dark eyes glittering like onyx.
“May I join you?” she asked politely, even though she’d already done so. “A fellow in the next carriage just lit up his pipe, and I couldn’t stand the smell. It seems much nicer in here.”
My pen rolled gently from side to side with the rocking of the carriage. I reached out and steadied it. “Of course, there’s plenty of room.”
Her bright smile widened, and she wrapped her hands delicately around her knees and leaned forward. I realized with a start that she intended to talk to me, perhaps for the whole ride. “Are you going all the way to the capital?”
I relaxed a little at the excitement in her voice. Whatever melancholy place my thoughts had been, this woman’s cheery disposition was leagues away.
“A little past it,” I said. “I work at the palace. How about you?”
“The capital for me,” she said. “I’m going to visit an aunt. I’ve never seen the city before. Do you really work at the palace?” Her sparkling eyes widened. “That’s so exciting! What do you do there? No, let me guess. You’re one of the king’s grooms.”
I ran a hand through my hair and immediately regretted it and wished I had a comb handy.
“Guess again.”
“A guard,” she said, eyes sparkling. “You protect the queen from hostile visitors.”
I laughed. “How dangerous do you think palace life is, exactly?”
“That’s for you to tell me! All right, not a guard.” She examined me, her gaze searching my face and traveling down to my hand, resting on the writing table. Her eyebrows flew up as if she’d just spotted something fascinating.
“A gardener!” she said. “You must be.”
I pulled my hand back. “There’s not that much dirt under my nails.”
“No, but there’s still enough that you couldn’t be anything else,” she said. “They’ve got traces of soil, and meanwhile, the rest of you is too tidy. I know a gardener’s hands when I see one. My brother grows geraniums, and his hands look just like yours.”
I laughed. “You’re a good detective. Yes, I’m a gardener.” I hesitated, but her wide eyes won out over any inclination I might have had toward modesty. “I’m the head of the palace gardens, as it happens.”
She peppered me with questions about what it was like to work at the palace, and I answered as best as I could. She was an enthusiastic listener, and I related stories of visiting royalty and told her what Queen Rapunzel was really like in person.
In a different world, where I’d never met Lilian, a moment like this would have been among the best the world had to offer. Here I sat, relating tales of my glamorous job to a beautiful woman who seemed enchanted by everything I had to say.
It was a perfect moment. I relaxed and tried to enjoy it.
30th March
I blinked at the guard, unsure if I’d heard him right.
“Her Majesty will not see you,” he repeated.
I drew myself up to my full height. He was taller than me, but not by much, and my years working the garden meant I could probably snap him over my knee.
I wasn’t going to, of course. But the palace guards were usually more brawn than brain, and a little intimidation could often change their tune.
This one continued to stare impassively down at me.
“Her Majesty has never refused to see me.”
“These are Her Majesty’s private quarters.”
“Her Majesty has never refused me access to her private quarters,” I said. Didn’t everyone at the palace already know that? Even if I hadn’t been Head Gardener, palace gossip had still ensured everyone knew I was the little orphan foundling the king and queen had taken in and educated alongside their own daughter. The other gardeners never let me forget my special treatment at the monarchs’ hands.
So why had I picked today to run into the one person on the palace grounds who didn’t recognize me? And why had all that special treatment failed on the one day I needed it?
It made no sense. Then again, nothing about my life did these days.
“Tell Her Majesty I’d like to see her at her earliest convenience,” I said, voice strained with politeness.
The guard inclined his head, more smug than acquiescent. “Of course.”
A dozen sharp retorts sprang to the tip of my tongue. I bit them all back.
Whether or not Hedley was right about the queen having answers for me, his advice about using hard work to get rid of unwanted emotions was decent enough. I marched out to the gardens, startling a few housemaids with the scowl I couldn’t seem to wipe from my face, and got to work pulling weeds like each one had personally called Lilian a rude name.
The conversation with the girl on the train had lightened my soul for as long as it had lasted. Coming back to the garden, full as it was with blight and Jonquil and stupid guards that wouldn’t let me get anywhere near the woman who might be able to solve it all—the reality of it all had hit me like a thorny branch to the face.
I worked until I didn’t feel like punching anyone. And then I worked until I didn’t feel like making biting comments to them, either. By the time Reed wandered by my bed, I was able to meet his concerned, “You all right there?” with something close to civility.
“I’ve got nearly all the horseweed out of this bed,” I said. Horseweed was invasive, and none of the gardeners liked dealing with it. Seeing the pile of shoots piled on the grass next to the bed satisfied me in a way nothing else had today.
“No blight here?”
His voice was too casual. I leaned back on my heels.
“None so far. But this bed isn’t close to the palace.”
“I think we’ve been able to keep it from spreading,” Reed said. “I’ve got a few apprentices doing nothing but wandering the gardens, pulling out anything that seems diseased and burning it in a little barrel on the spot.”
“That was a good idea,” I said. “Thank you.”
He crouched next to me and began pulling weeds, too.
This bed had been neglected longer than it probably should have, since nothing in it was destined for the festival. I could have chosen somewhere more important to work this morning, but no plant in the garden wrestled as hard as horseweed, and I’d needed to fight with something.
“Have you told the king and queen what’s going on?” Reed said his voice again too light.
The frustration from this morning flooded back. “I’ve tried to.”
He nodded. “They seem busy. I haven’t seen either of Their Majesties for a few days.”
So the queen’s illness was still under wraps. That had to be a good sign if neither an announcement from the king nor gossip about the court physician’s movements had trickled down to the gardens.
But if she wasn’t really that ill, why was Her Majesty avoiding me?
I couldn’t keep thinking about it, not unless I wanted to spend the entire day wrangling weeds from unimportant flowerbeds.
“Help me take these to the trash pile?” I nodded at the heap. “Then, we ought to go hunt down some lunch.”
“You go ahead,” Reed said. “I had a late breakfast. I’ll handle the weeds. You get some food.”
I stood and looked down at him. His face was bright with the warm smile that usually graced it. Of everyone who worked in the garden, he was one of the only ones I could honestly call a friend.
“You’re a good man, Reed,” I said. “Your support means a lot.”
Reed grinned. “Eh, I’m not that supportive, boss,” he said. “Mostly, I’m just glad I didn’t get stuck with your job.”
I snorted. “You’re a wiser man than me. If you ever get news that someone in The Forge has actually built a time machine, do me a favor, and let me know, all right?”
Reed shook his head and waved a dismissive hand at me. “You don’t mean that.”
I sighed ruefully. “No, I don’t.”
No matter the frustrations and no matter the challenges, I wouldn’t trade this job for the world. Lilian had grown up in this garden, and Hedley had raised it and me together with a love it would take me decades to match. Blight or not, queen’s help or none, I would do everything in my power to ensure the garden and the Spring Flower Festival were the best they could be.
I passed through the rose gardens near the palace and the tulip gardens that were even closer. The devastation from the blight was clear—so clear it seemed impossible that the king hadn’t summoned me to ask about it. Great gaps of soil were visible where flowers should have been, and young apprentices wandered the grounds like ghosts, carrying small metal barrels with smoke coiling from their tops.
Although, to an outsider’s eyes, perhaps it just looked like we were preparing for the festival, harvesting beautiful blooms and killing weeds while we were at it. I remembered the apparent devastation of festivals past when whole beds were torn up so their flowers could be sold or displayed at the event. The gardens always recovered beautifully, the new blossoms always more stunning than the ones we’d removed.
If only these missing flowers had gone on one of the festival carts. I didn’t know how long we’d be able to keep up the pretense that everything was all right, assuming we were keeping it up at all.
Before I made it to one of the servants’ entrances, someone called my name. I turned, and my heart sank like a rock.
Duke Remington was striding toward me, waving like we were old friends.
I took a deep breath and put a smile on.
“Your Grace.” I bowed as he approached.
He held out a hand as if we were equals. I hesitated before shaking it. Royal guests weren’t usually so polite, not to servants.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “Are you busy?”
It didn’t matter whether I was busy or not. Duke Remington was a palace guest and my future king. I inclined my head.
“What can I do for you, Your Grace?”
He adjusted his tunic, seeming almost nervous. He was boyishly handsome and charismatic to boot. I wasn’t sure if I was glad about that for Lilian’s sake or devastated for mine.
“I’d like to ask your advice, actually,” he said. “On a personal matter. May we walk?”
He nodded toward the nearest pathway, and I gestured at him to lead the way. We strode in silence for a few moments. Apprentices wandered the gardens around us, and butterflies danced above thick stands of blooming lavender.
“Your staff seems very industrious,” he said after a while, taking note of a servant plucking up a wilted gray flower. “Lilian tells me it’s always this busy near the festival.”
“Have you attended many Flower Festivals?”
“Oh, every year, like any good Florian.” He laughed a little, and then his face grew solemn. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Lilian.”
My heart sank. He knew. He’d noticed the way I looked at her, or she’d let slip something that told him we were more than just a princess and her gardener.
“Sir?”
“I get the impression you and Lilian are good friends,” he said. He dared a glance at me, and his demeanor seemed curious rather than upset. “She says you shared tutors growing up.”
I nodded, my heart racing. “Their Majesties took me in as an infant. They could have sent me to an orphanage or raised me to be a servant, but for some reason, they decided to give me a gentleman’s education instead.”
“Lilian said as much,” he said. “I wonder what they could have been thinking.”
I’d asked myself the same question many times. All these years later, I suspected the correct answer was also the simplest: They were kind people and tried to do their best by everyone who came into their lives. It was no wonder Lilian was such a wonderful woman, as loving as she was talented and as talented as she was beautiful. She’d grown in fertile soil.
“Since you seem to know my beloved better than I do, I was hoping I might ask your advice.”
Startled, I glanced over at him. How could a gardener possibly advise a duke about a princess?
“Lilian is a lovely person,” he said. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you that. She’s sweet, intelligent, and everything a man could hope for.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. He had no idea how right he was.
“And yet I can’t help feeling like she’s isn’t entirely comfortable around me yet,” he continued. “She’s always gracious, and I dare to hope she enjoys our time together. But she’s so quiet. There’s nothing wrong with a lady being reserved, of course,” he added quickly. “It can be a charming trait in a girl. But I admit, I hoped she’d open up to me more by now.”
I didn’t think it would do to stare openly at the duke, so I stared ahead at a patch of bleeding heart bushes instead.
I had known Lilian in a thousand moods. Reserved described none of them.
“I like her very much, but I want to get to know her better,” the duke said. “I just haven’t the foggiest idea how. She seems to like her dogs, so we talk about them sometimes. But surely, she’s interested in more than her pups?”
“Flowers,” I said.
The duke turned to me, his eyebrows flashing in surprise.
“Pardon me?”
“She loves flowers.” I shook my head; the words sounded stupid coming from my mouth. “More than your average Florian, I mean. We all love nature, it’s our cultural heritage. But Lilian loves flowers. She grows her own, and she’s even tried her hand at crossbreeding roses. The results were mixed, but I suspect she’ll come up with something splendid someday. She especially loves new, unique flowers. She keeps a collection of rare houseplants in her quarters: dancing mimosas and enchanted butterbells and night-blooming constellatas.”
I swallowed, questioning the wisdom of telling the princess’s future husband that I knew what her private quarters looked like. But he was asking my advice, and if there was one subject I knew backwards and forwards, it was Lilian and the things she loved.
I was a fool to tell the man anything. However uneven
ly matched we were for the princess’s hand, an ugly churning in the pit of my stomach knew he was the competition.
But there was no competition. I wasn’t in the running. I could never marry the crown princess of Floris.
What I could do was make sure her future husband knew how to make her happy.
Lilian deserved to be happy.
“If you want her to open up, I know how to do it,” I said. “Follow me.”
It was a long walk to my private garden. To the duke’s credit, he didn’t ask questions or complain about the distance. He just strode along beside me and occasionally pointed out gardens he particularly admired or asked questions about plants he hadn’t seen before.
By the time we reached my garden, I had to admit, as infuriating as it was, that I honestly liked the man.
Though not enough to let him into my heart.
“Wait here,” I said.
I unlocked the garden and slipped inside. A moment later, I came back out, a bouquet of dazzling pink peonies in my hand. The petals of the flowers shifted and swayed like silk skirts, and a series of low, melodic whistles rose up from the blooms.
The duke’s eyes widened.
“They’re called pink pirouettes,” I said. “They dance in the sunlight, and the sound is from the air whistling between the petals. Lilian’s never seen them before.”
“Nor have I,” the duke said. “Nor anything like them.”
He took the bouquet from me and raised it to his ear, listening intently to the music.
“It’s like the sound of wooden pipes,” he said.
“They’re a new variety. The seeds came from a hermit magician I’ve been writing to for the past few years. Brilliant man. If Lilian doesn’t open up to you after she sees these, there’s nothing you can do.”
The duke lowered the flowers and fixed me with his gaze. He held out a hand.
