Chapter Eleven
Mithian sits on the edge of the forest, the boughs forming a leafy gateway to a village that consists of barely more than two dozen buildings.
Some have an abandoned quality, with boarded windows and misplaced bricks, clinging to life like a cluster of frozen shrubs in winter.
In the center, there’s a well where a thin woman hoists a bucket with too much ease, like there’s barely a drop within.
I hug my arms around my waist to shield myself from the frost that’s trapped at the bottom of this valley—so abruptly cold, I wonder if there’s magic at work—and peer toward a small bonfire at the far end of the street, near where an open-air blacksmith works in his forge.
Beyond that, the fields hold shrunken wheat and a handful of cattle. Not enough to feed everyone, I’m sure.
It’s just like Pigeon said.
A rustle of anger runs down my spine.
Mithian is still part of the Kingdom of Alrick.
It might be close to the border, on the cusp of the outlying mountains, but these people deserve just as much as we do in the citadel.
How can Bastion let this be? Has he been here and seen how little they have?
Is this why he was so worried when I brought it up the other day—because he knows and can’t do anything about it?
Although…he did say that his mother disregards all his ideas.
She’s the one who fuels the rumors that these people are beyond help by hiding away instead of showing an ounce of leadership—a failure that wouldn’t be so stark if the king wasn’t also absent of late.
But why? Has the queen barricaded herself behind castle walls to avoid seeing the truth of the kingdom in willful ignorance, or does she really believe that the people of the north are to be feared?
“Most of the people here are older,” I point out, and Will nods.
“That’s why my mum comes up here often. They can’t survive alone.
I mean, sometimes a wagon makes it through the mountain pass, but the Kingdom of Senred can’t give too much without stepping on Alrick’s toes, and no one wants to go to war over an outlying village.
They make do with scraps and support from Pigeon’s group. ”
“I don’t understand why this has gone on for so long.”
I’m not even asking Will for an explanation.
I simply can’t believe, for all her anxiety and paranoia, that Queen Fern would let her people suffer like this.
If she craves peace and stability, surely that means for all.
I know she’s been under a lot of pressure since the king’s health started worsening, but there must be something I’m missing.
A piece of information that would help me understand her motivations.
Will presses the small of my back toward a bungalow with a long-petaled daisy engraved on the wooden doorframe.
“A big question. One to ponder later, after we’ve looked at these flowers you were so eager to see.”
Will holds open the door and I shove my worries to the side for now. This is why we came, and if my purchases will bolster this village, then I am ready to shop.
The wood-walled store is smaller than my own, with less than a third of the stock, but the reassuring aroma remains the same.
I take a deep breath and scan the neat rows of flowers.
There’s the common flora found in the forest: daffodils, crocuses, and daisies, but on a table in the far right corner next to a door leading to the rest of the house, I spy something special—a potted plant with an unusually long stem that supports a drooping orange flower and sprouts leaves from its head like messy emerald hair.
“Oh my gosh!” I say, and rush over. “Is this a crown imperial? Will, look!”
From the back room, a hunchbacked elderly man shuffles in and steadies himself with a wrinkled hand on the doorframe.
“It is indeed,” he says, his voice croaky from age. “A rare one.”
“I’ve only read about them in books before!”
Crown imperials are native to the Kingdom of Hemlor in the far south due to the land’s rocky mountains, way too far for my usual supply.
I reach out a hand to inspect the leaves.
The magic inside greets me with a boldness that common flowers wouldn’t dare.
Power and nobility live within, ordering me to bow down and bask in its majesty.
There’s a vividness to the orange petals that reminds me of the golden band Bash wears around his head for formal events.
It’s rare, all right. Rare and royal. A perfect wedding gift.
There are three weeks to go until the big day.
If I keep it potted or plant it in my garden, then add some enchantments, it’ll certainly still be thriving by the ceremony.
And ancient Hemlorian was one of the first languages Card mastered, so to be given this native flower… he would lose his mind.
The old man wobbles a smile and glances over my shoulder.
“Who have you brought to my shop, Willoh? Where have you been hiding her this whole time?”
I hear a chuckle, then Will is beside me, shaking the old man’s hand.
“Nice to see you again, Reed,” Will says. “This is Fliss, and I assume she’ll be wanting to take that flower off your hands.”
I pull away from the flower’s magic and clasp my hands around the crook of Will’s elbow. His promise of exotic flowers has not disappointed.
“Yes, please!” I say. “How often do you get deliveries like this? Do you know where to find more? I’ve heard they can be poisonous under certain conditions. I should plant it outside, right?”
Reed laughs, and it folds the wrinkles of his face like a newborn puppy.
“What a breath of fresh air,” he says. “A friend of mine came by last week, and lucky for you, he had one left. Most had already been sold in Lucan to Queen Clover.”
“It’s traveled so far!” And it’s fit for Lucan’s queen. Card will be pleased to hear that.
“Clearly it was meant for you,” Reed says. “Here, let me find some paper. I can write down what I know.”
He scuffs his slippers toward a cabinet and searches within it with shaking hands. I look up at Will and tug on his arm.
“You are amazing for suggesting we come here. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I say.
Will’s eyes dart to my hands on his jacket, then back up to meet my own, and I’m certain he’s blushing. I wonder if my enthusiasm is the cause or if he’s just not used to being thanked. Or perhaps it’s just warm in here compared to outside…. A second later and the softness in his gaze retreats.
“I am amazing. Thank you for confirming that truth to the world,” he says, and smirks.
I roll my eyes and bound over to help Reed instead, desperate to pick his brain and perhaps get the contact information for this trader he knows.
I barely notice the time passing as we discuss growing conditions, pruning techniques, and how I use my magic to enchant even the most common flora, with a demonstration to match.
Reed tells me that most of his stock is used for healing aroma oils that Ruth often buys, like lavender and sage to treat mild headaches, as well as paints, inks, and perfumes that he can sell to the small number of traders that make it up this far.
It turns out he has heard of my shop, although he’s not able to make the walk down to the citadel himself.
I can’t wait to tell my mum that I’ve found someone else who loves flowers as much as we do.
I wonder if I could ask Bastion to let me borrow a horse and carriage so Reed can visit.
But then I’d have to explain—never mind.
A thought occurs to me partway through our chat.
“Reed, would you happen to know anything about a flower called the Feiyan? Or the Odyssa?”
He furrows his wispy eyebrows. “Hmm…I can’t recall anything about the Feiyan. I think I’ve heard tales of a twin plant called the Odyssa or something similar growing in the mountains, but as far as I know, the stories are more folklore than truth. I’ve never seen one myself.”
“I had a customer request both recently. Is there anything else you remember?”
“I’m afraid that’s all, my dear. Perhaps Creon down in the citadel knows more?”
“I already asked him…”
His answers don’t scratch the ever-growing concern I have about these flowers.
No further requests have come, yet there’s been no show of power, no flourish of magic that has utilized them.
They wouldn’t have withered by now either, not with their raw power and my added enchantments.
Whoever wanted them is either long gone or sitting on them for another purpose.
The fact that Creon and Reed, similar in age and wisdom, know very little about them tells me that only someone like Will, who studied at the Library of Heris, could have any information about these flowers.
I wonder if the requester asked the Library’s professors for information or sought out anyone else who might know before coming to me.
Maybe the Feiyan and Odyssa were taken back there for further study.
They seem to be rarer than rare. Rarer than this crown imperial from a distant kingdom.
Much later, my flower basket contains the carefully wrapped crown imperial, cushioned with a selection of colored tulips that always come in handy, and some large white daisies that Reed insisted I take for brightening his day.
I tuck his written recommendations safely inside the basket and pay him generously. I wish I had more to give.
We say goodbye to the old man, stepping once more into the cold. The sun has moved since we arrived, but with the thrill of my time at Reed’s buzzing in my chest, I’m reluctant to head home right away.
“Do you…” I start, then glance to the tree line, trying to word my question as subtly as I can manage. “Do you think the forest is safe enough to go back yet?”
Will hums. “Perhaps we should stay a little longer, just in case.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.”
“We don’t want to get caught up in Pigeon’s mischief.”
“Right. We could…?”