Chapter 2 Paeonia #3
She shook her head. “I must go,” she whispered to the night. She had to return to her father. The sun grew weak in the sky, almost below the horizon.
With her next footstep, the grass that should have touched her sole spread out like a wave, avoiding her.
She silently gasped. Her hallucinations were getting more intense.
The grass did the same with her following step and the next.
The petals of the Autumn tulips beside her sank away, retreating into their stems and leaves.
She rubbed her eyes to clear her vision before bending to gaze more closely at the flowers that were now oddly repelled by her.
“Have I done something wrong, little flower?” she asked them. The branches shivered and closed in on one another, all hiding from the setting sun.
“Not you,” a deep voice rumbled behind her.
She started, quickly turning on her feet and backing away from the voice. She tripped over a loose stone and fell, barely catching herself. Her eyes rounded as a dark figure loomed above her. It was hard to make him out, shrouded by the shadows.
She immediately assumed this must be the master of the manor. She wanted to apologize, to say she had thought the manor and garden abandoned, but nothing came out.
“They retract from me,” he continued.
Then, the garden lit in a blaze, candles suspended in midair all flickering to life in an undulation. She let out a loud breath, the golden hue now dancing across her features. The garden still appeared withered and mistreated, but stars, it was magnificently lit in the night.
She crawled backward until she bumped into a wall of rose bushes, arrested in her path. The figure continued to approach, and when he finally entered the light, she squealed.
The man who approached her was scarred, the right side of his face slashed with white lines, his skin a dark tan.
His black hair curled at the nape of his neck, his beard scruffy and thick.
He easily stood a foot or more taller than her, his shoulders expansive, his figure rather impressive.
If he wanted to, he could crush her with one swift motion.
But it was his cynical expression that truly frightened her and made her blanch with terror.
She didn’t doubt the danger she found herself in.
In a stupid moment of panic, she hoped this would make her yearn for Barth, but it did no such thing.
She still preferred this to her betrothed’s presence.
She had traded one dangerous man for another.
“What is”—he appraised her—“a mangy, little flower doing in my gardens?” he mocked, crouching down so he was level with her.
She shivered, his face haunting and marred. The rose thorns pricked her head as she leaned as far back from the man as possible.
“I—I’m sorry, I—” Gooseflesh rose along her exposed skin, her cheeks zapped of all warmth.
“Afraid?”
She froze, her eyes stinging.
“Good,” he spoke as if she responded. He tilted his head, his teeth reflecting the light, his canines sharp.
“You wish to rid yourself of someone?” he asked her.
His voice a deep baritone, rich and thick, a threat laced within, but soothing to her ears.
He must have been listening to her nonsense as she roamed his gardens.
She swallowed, her saliva thick as it choked its way down her throat. “No. I mean y-yes. Well,” she stuttered. What a terrible daughter and suitress she was.
A gust of wind made her hair fly in front of her face, wisping past the man, and his nostrils flared. He looked like he was about to attack, his pupils engulfing his irises, diminishing them to all black, like the wind pained him. Her fingers clawed into the dirt.
Then, he smiled. And when he stood to pace in front of her like a predator might play with its prey, she fell into a trance.
“I will grant you just that.”
He pushed his hood back, letting the light catch his face and…the shape of his ears.
Her stomach dropped.
He must have seen the way her expression faltered at the sight of them, sharp and unmistakably fae. But he said nothing.
A fae. She was dealing with a fae.
She sat trembling before a creature of the night. A thing she thought only lived in the stories. She didn’t trespass someone’s long forgotten gardens, she trespassed on a fae’s manor. She couldn’t help but try to convince herself this was another one of her hallucinations.
She shook her head. “This isn’t real,” she muttered with unsteady words under her breath.
His jaw ticked like he was irritated by her lack of quick understanding. “This is real, girl,” he grunted. “I am real,” he threatened as he squatted again, his hand stretching to caress her leg over her dress.
She shuddered at the contact. This was real.
“I—I,” she stuttered.
He tilted his head when he stood, rubbing his short beard. “What to do with you,” he pondered out loud. “What to do with the little flower that thought she could trespass in my gardens.”
She bit her lip, her heart sinking. “I’m s-sorry.”
“I’m willing to make a deal with you.” His eyes flickered to the sun setting on the horizon, then lazily landed back on her. “You either make a deal with me, or I treat you as any other feral animal would a human that entered their territory.”
She gulped, her hand shaking as she crossed her arms over her chest. She began to sweat, the chill in the night air doing nothing to calm her racing nerves.
“I’m in need of a gardener.” His words were short and barely offered any semblance of an explanation.
After she stared at him, dumbfounded, he growled, “Are you listening?”
She quickly nodded.
He shook his head in irritation. “Then answer me.”
She swallowed roughly. “Y-you want me to work in your gardens?” Her words wavered, breaking as they were forced through her parted teeth.
He grunted, his jaw clenching, his teeth grinding together. She almost shied away from his intense gaze, but she was too stunned.
“Yes. You seemed so keen on trampling them, so why don’t you stay and mend them.”
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized I was—”
“I don’t need your petty excuses, girl.” He closed his dark eyes briefly, summoning energy to speak in a lighter tone. “Stay here, in my castle, and tend to my garden. This will grant you the escape you seek.”
“Escape?”
“Is there not a bachelor you are running from?”
Guilt sank in her stomach, and she finally looked away from the fae.
“Stay here, and you will not have to return to him.”
Her fingers dug into the cold grass. “But—”
He tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck, trying to withhold his impatience.
Paeonia took in a chilled breath. “I can’t just leave my home. My father… I have a life…” She shook her head, the idea ludicrous.
“And do you long for your life to be linked with this man you just wished to escape from?” His voice filled with frustration. “You wish to travel back to whatever borough you crawled out of; tie yourself to a man you seem to despise; bend over whenever he asks; give him children, plenty of them.”
She winced and shook her head. “No, but—”
“Then stay here for a month’s time. Wait out his presence, and he will find another to court. Then you can return home.”
“How could you possibly know he’d find someone else in that time?”
He paced before her, though, not as if he was impatient this time, but as if he was enjoying taunting her. “Because,” he snarled, “that is the deal we’re making.”
She was bargaining with a fae—that sentiment not fully registering in her mind—so of course he would abide by whatever rules he set forth.
He would make sure Barth found another woman.
She recalled very little about fae apart from the fact that there were two kinds—Grim and Gleam—and that they made deadly bargains.
Bargains that those bartered with always lost.
“And all you want from me is to take care of your gardens?” she asked, unsure.
He gave her a sly grin, and she thought he looked cynical. “If it’s such a simple task, why not agree? What could be holding you back?”
She thought it over for a moment, surprising herself that she was entertaining the idea. Would it be selfish to stay here and wait out Barth? Away from her dying father?
“If you don’t,” he added after her apprehension, “I’ll punish you for entering my grounds uninvited.” He snarled, his sharpened canines on full display. “And I do not think you’d like how I dish out punishments.”
“I—I—My father… I can’t. My father…he’s sick.”
“My garden is filled with more than just honeysuckle and tulips, pet. No doubt you can find what you need to help your father within these grounds. But only if you stay for the month will I let you pilfer from my flora.”
She bit her lip, drawing blood, her heart racing so fast she thought she was going to faint. Her father’s condition had been worsening, it was hard to tell how long he had. It could be months or weeks. Either way, returning home to watch him pour over his texts wouldn’t do him any good.
For once, it seemed like she might have a chance to make a difference.
To find something to help her father. She couldn’t believe she was rationalizing this, but what choice did she have?
It was either to be killed by this fae, or follow whatever deal he was willing to make with her.
Her father could survive a month without her.
He had all his savings and spry in his step.
The fae stood still, a gargoyle decorating the garden, but his eyes flashed with irritation. She hadn’t the time to think things through properly, to wonder if his deal meant more than he said. To wonder why he would even offer such a thing in the first place.
But for the first time, Paeonia’s belly warmed with unabashed hope—hope that seemed reasonable, not just a silly dream she prayed upon.
With the freedom she always felt selfish for wishing for.
She could escape Barth without dishonoring her family and save her father.
He’d miss her, and it’d hurt her heart to let him think she disappeared, but it would only be for a month.
She could do a month if it meant setting everything right.
So she nodded her head, accepting the fae’s deal.
“Foolish girl,” he laughed.