Chapter 3 Paeonia #3
He scoffed. “Then that makes you a fool.”
She gritted her teeth at his assumptions. “But you’ve never made yourself known. How are we supposed to know you exist?”
He grunted, taking a step toward her. Her eyes widened, and she tried not to cower away, remembering how he stormed into her space last night.
“If a fae does not wish to be found, he will not.” He moved his fingers like he had claws. “Only when I wish to make myself known will the humans perceive me.”
“I perceived you,” she mumbled. Did Rowan allow himself to be found by her?
He didn’t seem to hear her. “And I have made myself known on the occasion. But the humans who dealt with me are too ashamed to speak of my existence. Afraid of others knowing their foolish mistake in bargaining with a fae. I’m sure you’ll keep this blip to yourself in due time.”
Her heart beat erratically in her chest. “Will… My father… Will I be able to visit him?”
Rowan gave her a feral grin, and she almost choked on her next breath. “Unlikely.”
Her face fell. She had already known his answer, but it still made her throat tense when he said it. She wished she had said goodbye to him.
She opened her mouth to ask Rowan yet another question, but he stopped her. “I can answer more of your tedious questions at dinner.”
“Dinner?”
She wiggled her nose from the slight chill as the wind howled, the morning sunlight doing little to warm her.
He let out an irate breath. “I’ll have fresh clothes sent to your room.”
Sent to her room? The idea of others living here excited her momentarily. Perhaps she could make friends. But what if they were just as apprehensive toward her as Rowan was?
She nodded, and he took a wide berth as he stepped around her to enter the castle, leaving her alone in the gardens.
She tried to suppress the cry begging for alleviation from her weighted chest, rubbing her hand along the sleeve of her dress.
At least winter was beginning, which meant there would be less foliage to tend to.
Most hibernated during the colder months in Findale.
And those that stayed and bloomed in the snow were hearty enough to be low-maintenance.
Another breeze sent a chill up her spine, and she turned to return to the castle, wanting to
find something to wrap herself in before she explored. As she began her trek, she noticed a coat hanging beside a few shovels and garden tools lying against the wall of a small shed.
She hurried over to it and hastily wrapped it around herself, sighing into the thick fur. It was certainly oversized on her, but not to the extent where she would assume it belonged to Rowan.
Motley tools laid in various places about the shed, and she snatched a pair of shears. She began to roam into the gardens, following the stone path, stopping to admire various flowers and shrubs.
She stumbled upon a small fountain, thinking it was the same from last night, its water an unnatural blue and purple, the sunlight refracting off its surface and creating a brilliant wash of colors along the dew-sodden grass.
When she made it to the perimeter that lined the woods, she realized the garden was entirely fenced in.
The large wrought-iron gate was locked, the metal of it clashing as she tried to push it open.
That seemed odd; she had entered the gardens last night, but how could she have if they were locked so securely?
She tried not to think too heavily about it, stopping to prune dead petals from a blossoming winter shrub, a blue-coated bush with white flowers, and petals that radiated like the sun off the snow.
The farther she made her way into the flowerbeds, the more peculiar things she found.
Blooming beds of spider lilies—far bigger than the ones Barth had in his observatory.
Row after row of oddly colored pumpkins, some green, some purple, some a deep pink.
Brambles of death berries. Ornamental trees that lingered with fog.
Redbuds with cotton-like smoke billowing around each branch.
Magnolias with gossamer webs spiraling among the buds and branches like they were caressed by a ghost.
She followed the main path, statues of people suddenly lining her way.
She took a moment to marvel at them and gasped.
They were stone, yet they appeared so lifelike.
Like they would start moving, their chests rising in breath, if she continued staring.
She traced a finger along the arm of one, her mind tricking her into thinking she could feel warmth beneath the stone’s surface.
A loud caw startled her, and she abruptly cradled her hands against her chest. She turned
back to see the castle, her skirts billowing with the wind.
Overgrown moss laid like fluffy clouds on the rooftop, the dark sun-lit sky making the candles in the windows glow brightly.
Even with the decaying vines that wrapped the building like supports, and even with the cracks and creaking as the wind shifted the castle, it still seemed rather inviting.
She noticed a small inlet on the roof, a cramped space, maybe for one or two people, to stand and marvel at the sky.
She wondered if she’d be able to see Ephemeral from there.
She had never given much thought to how far away she was from the main kingdom—she might not even be in her small village of Findale any longer.
But she couldn’t possibly have run that far on her own two feet.
She slid the shears into her coat pocket and something crinkled.
She pulled out a small piece of parchment.
Scribbled in scratchy ink was a to-do list: preparations for the garden before winter struck.
Some of the items were hashed out, like covering the wheat plants and harvesting the last remnants of the autumn fruit.
But the rest remained uncrossed, undone, like lighting the fire in the center of the summer beds to keep those warm-month blooms alive during the winter.
She found it odd that the list was left uncompleted. She shook her head before shoving the note back into her pocket.