Chapter 38 Deathless Rose
Deathless Rose
Our first stop after the alley, thankfully, was a stall selling sweet, slightly fizzy water flavored with herbs and bits of fruit.
Alastor bought me one that had a sprig of mint and little purple mystery berries that added a refreshing bite of tartness to the drink.
It was heavenly, and just what I needed to cleanse my palate.
While he ordered something for himself, I sipped at my drink and let my gaze wander to the rest of the street.
No matter how many hours I spent wandering Ring-Around-the-Hill, there was always more to see, more than my eyes could ever truly take in, and it was overwhelming in the most exhilarating way possible.
I wanted to soak up every detail, record it all in my memory, hold on to as much of it as I could.
That guy would make a fun background character in one of my fanfics, I thought, watching a man with an oversized orange coat and a fire-red beard waltz down the street like a king.
And that music… For a moment, I was lost in the strange strains rising from the pair of flute-like instruments on the corner, wondering if I could ever possibly capture their song in words.
But it also felt pointless to even think about writing fanfiction now—I still had no idea how, or if, I’d ever get home again. And would my stories even have any meaning to me, now that I’d seen the real thing?
Those were both depressing thoughts, so I shoved them down to the place where I’d been keeping all of the other unanswered questions and the emotions that were too complicated to deal with at present.
And just when I was starting to worry I may have killed the mood for myself, I saw the succulents.
At least, I thought they were succulents.
I wasn’t sure how botany worked in Therador, but these plants looked close to what I knew—with their smooth, plump leaves and dusty, muted colors.
The stall across the street had dozens of them lined up in neat little rows, as well as an assortment of other plants that I dismissed immediately.
“I’ll be right across the street,” I told Alastor, never taking my eyes from those adorable little succulents in their tiny clay pots. I didn’t wait for his response before I slipped through the crowd and found myself right in front of them.
Up close, they were even more beautiful.
A couple of them looked just like ones I already had in my collection back home, but most were like alien versions of the ones I knew.
Their pudgy leaves came in all shapes—some soft and rounded, others long and pointed—and ranged in color from pale green and turquoise to brighter pinks and purples and yellows, many with stripes and speckles or veiny, marbled patterns across their skin.
Some plants were squat, their leaves arranged in spiral patterns, while others were taller and wider on top like minuscule fleshy trees.
My eyes caught on one in particular—a cone-shaped plant that was blood red at the bottom and faded to more of a dusty pink at the top.
The leaves were rounded on the sides with three little points at the end—almost shield-shaped—and the more mature ones near the bottom had very fine, silvery fuzz along their edges.
The entire plant had a subtle shimmer to it as well, like it had been dusted with pale, soft glitter.
The whole thing looked like some sort of pinecone designed by a five-year-old with a princess obsession.
I loved it.
The woman running the stall hobbled over. Her long gray braid was studded with tiny blue blossoms, and her tunic was woven out of multicolored ribbons, their ends trailing on the cobblestones beneath her feet.
“Ah, the deathless rose,” she said.
“Hm?”
“This charming little plant you have your eye on,” she said, reaching out to caress the pot with her gnarled hand. “It’s one of my favorites. I only cultivate a handful every year, as they’re quite fussy when they’re young. But it’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
“I wasn’t aware it was a rose,” I confessed. “I thought it was a…” Would someone in this world know the word succulent?
“Ah, it’s not a real rose, of course,” the woman said.
“But I thought that was an appropriate name, given the color and pattern of the leaves.” Her finger brushed against the nearest leaf, and it seemed to plump up at her touch.
“Deathless roses will last for decades, if you care for them correctly. And I’ve bred a little extra charm into them as well. ”
“What do you mean?”
“Plants listen to us,” she said. “And they’ll speak to us, too, if we let them.
” She leaned closer to the little succulent, inclining her ear toward it, and I could have sworn the plump leaves moved ever-so-slightly, subtly angling themselves toward her.
I felt a tiny shiver, and I remembered Octavian mentioning that some people had special talents with essence—maybe this was hers.
She paused, tilting her head a little more as if the deathless rose was literally speaking to her. I didn’t hear anything—and frankly, I was shocked she could, either, given the noise of the crowd around us.
Then she looked up at me, a twinkle in her green eyes as she straightened again.
“Deathless roses are bred for love,” she said.
“From the moment of propagation, they must be nurtured with a warm, open heart, or they will shrivel up and die. Once they are mature, like this one, they are hardier, and it is then that we can receive their true gifts. Care for this plant well, girl, and you will be blessed with love. Learn to listen to it, and it will do even more than that, guiding you through any trials of the heart.”
She lifted the small pot, holding it toward me.
“This one already believes it can help you,” she told me. “It sees great heartache in your future, but also great love—the kind of love to make the poets sigh and dream.”
Her words made my heart stutter—even though part of me was pretty convinced this was all just part of her sales pitch, like those people back home who claimed to sell charms that cured cancer or crystals that cleansed your home of bad energy.
But this is Therador, I reminded myself. Things worked differently here. And whether this deathless rose had any special powers or not, it was still beautiful.
“I wish I could,” I told her, and I could hear the longing in my own voice. “But I don’t have any money. I’m sorry.”
I started to back away—quickly, while my willpower was still strong—and ran smack into a tall, familiar form.
Alastor.
He had a mug in his hand and his usual frown on his face as he looked from me to the stall behind me.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I told him. “I just…I liked the plants. They remind me of the ones I have back home.”
I glanced back at the stall, where the woman still held the deathless rose in her hand. She was watching me closely, as if she might draw me back to her stall with the force of her gaze alone.
“She saw me looking at that one she’s holding,” I explained to Alastor. “She tried to sell it to me, but I explained that I don’t have any money.”
His frown never wavered. “Do you want it?”
“The plant? I…” I felt silly answering that, let alone asking him to pay for it the same way he’d been paying for all our drinks. “It’s okay. We should just keep going—”
He was already moving past me, stepping up to the stall and the waiting woman.
“She’ll take it,” he told the woman, fishing into his pocket for coins.
The woman watched him with narrowed eyes, as if she found this whole thing suspicious for some reason, but her gaze softened when it landed on me once more.
“Here you are,” she said, reaching out and wrapping my hands around the clay pot. “Remember what I said. Care for it well, girl.”
I nodded and started to pull away, but her gnarled fingers suddenly curled over mine, her grip almost painful.
“Promise me you’ll listen to it,” she said, an edge of desperation to her voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Not just for your sake, but for Therador’s.”
I had no idea what had provoked this sudden change in her. “I…”
“Release her.” Alastor’s voice was hard, commanding.
The woman’s hand fell away immediately, but her eyes were still locked on mine. “Promise me.”
“I’ll…try,” I assured her, still utterly confused.
I let Alastor lead me away from the stall, but when I glanced back over my shoulder, she was still watching me intently.
All this over a plant? I looked down at the deathless rose cradled in my hands. A beautiful plant, yes, but even if it was some sort of magical charm…
Tentatively, I lifted it up toward my ear, inclining my head toward it the way she’d done. And I listened.
I heard the music from the performers on the corner. The laughter of the people around us in the street. The shouts of vendors on all sides. But I heard not a peep from the plant.
“What are you doing?” Alastor asked.
Face heating, I lowered the deathless rose. ”Is it really possible for plants to speak in this world?”
His eyebrows knitted together. “Is that what she was going on about? What did she tell you?”
“Just that…well, it might tell me something important. If I learn how to listen.” My face got even hotter as I added, quickly, “But judging by your expression, that was probably a bunch of bullshit.” I’m glad he didn’t hear the bit about it being some sort of love charm—I never would have lived that down.
“People will make all sorts of assertions when they want you to buy something.” He stated it simply, with no judgment, but that didn’t keep me from feeling incredibly gullible for entertaining the woman’s claims, even for a second.
“That’s not why I wanted it,” I assured him.
“I thought it was beautiful. And I…I love plants like this. Back home we call them succulents. I have a whole collection lined up on my windowsill.” I felt a pang of homesickness as I said it, and I didn’t let myself think about what the state of those succulents might be when—if—I ever returned.
We paused on a street corner to let a small procession of musicians march past, and Alastor looked at me over the rim of his mug as he took another sip.
For reasons I couldn’t quite explain, his attention made me nervous.
“Thank you,” I said.
He lowered his mug, one eyebrow rising. “For what?”
“For buying it for me.” I shifted the little pot in my hands, letting the deathless rose’s fleshy leaves catch the light of the lanterns above us.
I was still in awe of that pale shimmer.
“Why did you buy it for me?” He didn’t strike me as the sort of man who recognized the pleasure to be found in a little thing like a plant, nor as the type to spontaneously purchase gifts for people—let alone people whom he barely tolerated.
He seemed surprised by my question—and judging by the long pause that followed, perhaps even he didn’t know the answer. He took another long sip of his drink before he finally responded.
“You wanted it,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I wanted you to have it.”
As if it were as simple, as pure, as that.
Something stirred inside me, something strange and confusing and—
“It’s the least I could do,” Alastor added. “Given that you brought us home.”
Ah—obligation. That made more sense. He was simply trying to repay the debt he felt he owed me.
That stirring inside me loosened, easing back into something comfortable and expected. Something I understood.
We both fell quiet after that. As Alastor led me through the crowd, I held my new plant baby close to my chest, occasionally glancing down just to admire it again—and to remember the seller’s words.
Despite Alastor’s claims, I couldn’t completely quiet the part of me that wondered.
Wondered if maybe, with some practice and some carefully wielded essence, I might be able to hear something.
If maybe the woman’s words had carried a nugget of truth.
It sees great heartache in your future, but also great love. That declaration terrified me as much—if not more—than any of the woman’s claims that the fate of Therador was connected in any way to my ability to hear a plant talk.
But before I could unpack any of that, Alastor stopped in front of me—so suddenly that I nearly ran into him.
We were in front of a railed platform that was built right into the side of the Hill. There was a line of people leading up the platform’s steps, and Alastor guided us into their ranks.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Watch,” he replied.
I did—and a moment later, the platform rose.
I hadn’t even noticed the ropes until the platform started moving, but now I tilted my head back, following them all the way up—to one of the huge branches of the tree that stretched out above us. The platform was essentially an elevator. Up into the giant oak-like tree on top of the Hill.
“I thought you might want to see the tree up close,” he said.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, I want to see it.”
There was a twinkle in his eye that might have been the start of a smile—but whatever it was, he quickly suppressed it.
We didn’t have to wait long before it was our turn, and we were crowded onto the platform with the next batch of people.
There were about twenty of us, pressed up against each other and the rails like sardines, and before I could let myself think too much about the safety of this contraption, it jolted and started to rise.
I swayed, but I was able to keep my balance—not that there was anywhere to fall.
The sturdy rail came up to my ribcage, and on every other side of me the passengers were packed in so close I could practically smell what they’d had for dinner.
The man on my left seemed to be suffering from some sort of indigestion—several seconds into our ascent, he let out a belch that made my still-recovering stomach heave.
Then a second belch.
I leaned the other way, holding my breath to keep out as much of the stench as possible. Already, my insides were lurching, and the urge to dry heave was hard to fight down.
Behind me, Alastor shifted, moving so that his body provided something of a barrier between me and the belching man. His hands closed around the rail on either side of me, as if he was preparing to grab me should I lean over the rail and start vomiting again.
It was a surprisingly considerate gesture, and I was just about to twist my head around and tell him so when I caught sight of someone in the crowd below.
Octavian.
He stood with Talon and Ary and several other members of the crew, and though most of them were laughing and drinking, he was looking straight up.
At me.
And at Alastor behind me, his arms on either side of me like we were lovers standing at the bow of a ship.