Chapter 20
THE NEXT NIGHT, after a frustrating day in the labyrinth where I got turned around and did not find my way to the next tier, I make my way to the glasshouse.
There wasn’t time during my tour with the king, and I’m curious what plants they have here as well as what methods they’re using to grow them.
It’s only a short walk and I’m hoping the gentle exercise will help unknot my muscles and joints from the riding lesson and trekking through the labyrinth.
The warm, damp air and green smell of growing things hit me as soon as I walk in.
It’s like my mind’s clearer now I’m not with the king and I can absorb it all.
The narrow stone paths that wind between the raised beds, their gray surfaces damp and dark.
The stakes supporting peas and raspberries at the far end.
The stunted fruit trees dotted here and there, buds twisted tight like they don’t want to bloom.
Threnn followed me here and now waits at the door, standing to attention. One of the other Twylth guards said it was an honor to guard their future queen, and he seems to take pride in his work, gaze sticking to me as I make my way along one of the vegetable beds.
No doubt he’s wondering what the hells I’m doing. I don’t think unseelie queens generally take an interest in horticulture.
I keep my back to him and tuck my notebook in the crook of my arm so he can’t see it as I catalog what plants they have. Black kale, leeks, beetroot. A leafy thing that looks similar to cauliflower, but its center is spiked and purple rather than bobbly and creamy white.
Interesting. They have plants I don’t recognize, even from books.
What botanical treasures might exist in the Underworld?
Since the unseelie came here in long lost ages, I assumed they’d brought all the Underworld’s flora and fauna with them from the surface but perhaps that isn’t the case.
There might be something with undiscovered benefits to humans…
particularly humans with unidentified, apparently incurable illnesses.
It’s a nice thought.
For now, I’m on the hunt for belladonna. My jar of the dried stuff is half full, so I’m less worried about that running out than I am my medicine, but it’s a contingency. Just in case…
Wincing, I riffle the edge of my notebook and force myself to finish that thought.
Just in case I don’t make it home.
Like my illness, I need to be realistic.
I squeeze the notebook, letting the pages bite into my fingertips. A reminder. Of my brother and how I’ve failed him. I owe it to Lowen to get back somehow. Whether it’s through the labyrinth or some other means. If it takes a week or a year.
Nodding to myself, I bend to a creeping weed I’ve spotted by some parsnips and tug it up by the roots.
Dizziness rolls over me as I try to straighten, forcing me to spin and plop myself on the stone edge of the raised bed.
A shadow passes over me.
Blinking as I steady myself, I find Threnn’s towering form, his brow low. He really does take his job seriously.
I wave him off, the dizziness already abating—not a full episode, thankfully. “It’s all right. I just got up too quickly.”
His hands clench and unclench and his weight shifts as if he’s about to come closer.
“It’s fine. I don’t need any help.” If he lifts me to my feet, he’ll uncover the notebook hidden half by my arm and half by the light jacket I’m wearing.
His steps forward in silence. He towers over me. I squeeze the notebook, craning to look up at him with a reassuring smile.
“Lady Rhiannon—just who I was looking for.”
Threnn spins at the sound of Min’s voice, and she hurries over, wearing an overly bright smile of her own, like she’s thrilled to see me. He glances back at me, holds my gaze for a beat, then nods.
Shit, does he suspect I’m hiding something?
But he resumes his vigil at the doors as Min offers her hand to help me up.
Now the world has stopped spinning, I take it. She knows about my illness already—it doesn’t matter if she sees the notebook.
She keeps hold of my hand once I’m upright, and bends in. “What were you playing at last night?”
I blink at the way she asks in a forceful hiss. “Last…? Oh, you mean the ride?”
“Yes, I mean the ride. Were you trying to embarrass me or—?”
“What? No!” I slip my hand out of hers and hug the notebook tight. “I was trying to help. I saw how you looked at Asti when she was practicing and I thought… maybe you could use a hand to throw you together.”
Her head jerks back. “You were trying to… help?”
It may not be one of the rules I’ve been told, but everything I’ve learned so far about this culture suggests that pitying is probably the worst thing you could do to the unseelie. So I use one of Min’s own suggestions back on her to avoid mentioning her isolation. “You do like her, don’t you?”
Her jaw works side to side and she glances around. Threnn is the only one here, some distance away at the door. “Of course I do. Have you seen her?” Cheeks flushing, she swallows. “But she’s one of the Twylth.”
I wait for her to go on, but she stops there as if that’s explanation enough.
“Do they… take an oath of chastity?” That doesn’t seem very fae, but it’s possible, I suppose.
Min snorts. “Is that something they do on the surface? Seven hells, humans are weird. In case you hadn’t noticed, the Twylth are…
Well, everyone either wants them or wants to be one of them.
They are some of the highest-ranking folk in the entire kingdom.
Whereas I…” She sighs, a frown etched between her eyebrows as her gaze lands on one of the dormant fruit trees. “I am scarred. Weak.”
“But… Asti’s arm. Isn’t that a kind of scar?”
She makes a thoughtful sound, a half smile twisting her mouth.
It doesn’t suit her. “Astrid is that rare thing—injured, but in an acceptable way. She’s marked by battle, and she’s still a warrior—fit, strong, capable of killing pretty much anyone she comes up against. She’s a hero of the Underworld.
I… am not.” Warmth, pride, longing all shine through in her voice, right up until it drops on that last broken sentence.
“I make clothes. Out of sight. Even my parents refuse to acknowledge me.”
The ache in her voice speaks to something in me, tightening my chest. My parents kept the bargain with The Morrigan secret, and I’ve been trapped by that hurt, unable to separate it from my thoughts of them since I got here. But at least I still have them.
Min on the other hand…
I shake my head. “Lord and Lady Song are your parents, aren’t they?”
Her mouth flattens. “I bet they curse the resemblance. My imperfect face doesn’t let them forget.
” She turns her glower from the twisted buds to me as if realizing how vulnerable she’s been.
Shutters in her eyes slam. “So what were you trying to help me do? Look like a fool? Tell Astrid so she could laugh in my face? Or—”
I stop her with a barked laugh of disbelief.
“And you think humans are weird! Not everyone is out to get you, Min. This wasn’t some master plan to trick you or make you look silly.
” I pause, wrestling with how to explain something so raw for us both.
A breath lets me regain control of my voice so I can lower my tone.
“I wanted to help because I saw how isolated you were in the ballroom and… that’s something I can relate to. ”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Repeats the motion before asking, “Is this a human lie?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrow.
“No! I swear it on my brother’s life.”
She stays quiet. So do I.
Eventually, I turn and continue working my way along the plants, cataloging them. I expect her to leave, but a moment later, she’s at my shoulder. “It’s… uh… It’s hard to grow crops here.” The fragmented sentence feels like a peace offering.
With the glass roof arching over us, I eye the snow outside. “Why not just stockpile in the summer months?”
She huffs out a laugh, then her hand shoots to her cheek and she looks away. When she lifts her head, her expression is smoothed out. “What summer months? This winter has lasted forty years.”
“Huh.” I raise my eyebrows at the frozen world outside.
“There’s only so much we can grow in here. We have to supplement it with raids from the surface, when our parties can make the journey.”
Forty years. I wander over and press my hand to the cold glass. Such a strange world. “It came suddenly.” That explains the camellias captured in full bloom. Seasons here don’t obey the laws I’m used to.
I jot it in my notebook. Part of me wonders if I can help. Perhaps that’s part of the consort’s power Kishel told me about. It would explain why Drystan is so keen to keep hold of me even though he’s made his distaste excruciatingly clear.
Not that I want to help him, but it would help Min, Astrid and Kishel, as well as preventing raids to the surface.
That’s a big responsibility. And no small feat.
I’m better off focusing on something more manageable—like growing belladonna.
It normally flowers in the summer, but it likes partial shade at the edges of woodland or hedgerows, so the Underworld’s seasons, natural or not, would be a relevant factor in its cultivation.
“Do you get belladonna in the Underworld?”
She frowns, tilting her head. “Is that a plant?”
“About this tall, purple bell-shaped flowers, purple-black berries. Poisonous—to humans, anyway.”
“Sounds like dwale to me.”
Min bolts upright at the new voice, cheeks immediately flushing pink.
I’m already smiling when I turn and find Asti bowing her head to me, gaze quickly flicking to Min.
“Dwale?” I make a note—she’s already seen the notebook. “So that’s what you call it. And does it grow here?”
“Not in the glasshouse, but I’ve spotted it once or twice outside.” Her cheerful expression flickers for a moment and she adds in a lower voice, “Not in Mordren, though.”
Right. The perma-winter.
“Could you get hold of some for me? Seeds, preferably.”