Chapter 9 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
She met Castor in the garden later that morning after she had slid the key onto the chain of her necklace, letting it dangle beside her locket.
She was too afraid of misplacing it if she kept it in her pocket.
And this way, she wouldn’t ever forget it inside the manor.
Her fingers rubbed along the silky surface of the ribbon she shoved in her pocket before deciding to tie it into her hair to keep her locks from falling forward.
It was nice to have the reassurance of a key, but that only meant something if Rowan wasn’t lying, and it did actually unlock doors within the castle. She had tried it on her bedroom door, and so far, it worked.
Castor bent to pull at a dragon weed that threatened to strangle a delicate rose.
“Good morning,” she greeted.
He spun to meet her, the dragon weed twirling around his stone fingers. He smiled, and Paeonia wished she could see his whole face. Wished he could remove his helm. “Good morning, little flower.” He laughed, and Paeonia’s face went warm. He strolled past her. “Apologies. I couldn’t help myself.”
She trailed behind him, her hands sliding into her pockets. “I take it you were watching last night.”
“Most of us were,” he said dryly.
Paeonia’s cheeks went aflame at the idea of all the Stoneborne watching.
“Lack of entertainment, remember?”
She swallowed a breath to reduce the feverish embarrassment. “Did you ever garden in the past? Before you got stuck here?”
“Hm?” he hummed from ahead. “Not much, no. Why do you ask?”
“Oh. Well, do you find yourself liking them? Gardens, that is.”
“I suppose. They do have a certain beauty about them. Can’t say I mind it much when I’m amongst flowers.” He motioned his hand around in an airy manner like someone might describe the soft fluttering breeze in the summer.
She shook her head. “I seem to always find you in them.”
“There’s only so much to do here,” he droned. He took a turn in the path that Paeonia had yet to explore, and she eagerly followed in pursuit.
“Yes, but I mean—” She let out a little wistful sound. “I wanted to know if you’d help me with the garden upkeep.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her and seemed to ponder that a moment, his footsteps faltering. “What’s in it for me?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She had a feeling his flippancy was all a guise. When he didn’t answer, she said, “I suppose I’ll ask someone else, then.”
He turned to face her. “No need.” He swung his hand in the air. “I’ll help.”
“But I thought something had to be in it for you—”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Paeonia. Condescension doesn’t suit you. I simply asked; I never required it.”
She tried to restrain the smile that tugged at her lips as she trailed after him again, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He passed through a small gate that opened into a hedged cove.
Her eyes widened when she realized where he had led her.
They were standing in a small graveyard.
There had to be at least ten tombstones that sat in various locations, all different shapes, a plethora of varying flowers blooming around the stones.
Perhaps the different flowers bloomed for different people. Most seemed rather well-kept.
Castor clicked his tongue to gain her attention. “Have another question for me?”
She blinked a few times. “Where are we?”
“Is that the question you want to be answered?”
She glared at him, and he chuckled. “A graveyard, my dear Peony. Where else would you find such miserable decor?”
A hint of sadness flashed in his voice. If she could see his face, maybe she’d be able to truly decipher his coolness. To spot differences in his miniscule movements, to tell one emotion from another.
“And who’s buried here?” she asked politely.
“Oh, no one of note.” His head bobbed around the small cemetery, and she couldn’t help but notice how he lingered in a specific direction, at a specific headstone.
“So,” he said, clapping his rocky palms together. “Ask away.”
Paeonia cleared her throat and sat upon the rickety bench Castor gestured at. The flowers bloomed between the wood slats, and when she sat, they quickly snaked away from her before returning and nudging at her thighs in a barely noticeable movement.
She swallowed her concern as she formed her question. Castor waited patiently, leaning against a dogwood tree, one leg bent and foot flat against the trunk.
“What happened to the last gardener? The one I took the place of.”
Castor hummed in the back of his throat. “Interesting,” he mumbled. “He was killed.”
Paeonia’s eyes widened.
“By the hands of Rowan.” Castor clearly thought himself generous for giving her a bit more information.
Paeonia’s heart fell, her eyes snapping back to him. “He k-killed him?” she fumbled.
“‘Fraid so,” Castor said with frightening ease. He wiped away a bit of dew that landed on his arm from the dripping tree.
“Rowan killed him?”
Castor’s head moved to look at her. “Did you not hear me the first time?”
She shook her head. “No. I just… I’m trying to wrap my head around this.”
Castor hummed in response.
“I knew Rowan was a bit”—a pause—“dishonorable. But to have killed a person?” Maybe she didn’t stand a chance at ever getting along with him.
Castor clicked his tongue. “Yes, but you seem to be ignoring the biggest question of all.”
She looked at him helplessly.
“Did the gardener deserve it?” he said in a curious tone as if the two of them were playing a game.
“How can anyone determine something so multifaceted? So nuanced.”
“I’m just telling you: don’t be so quick to judge.”
She gritted her teeth, her fingers clenching the bench.
Castor strolled over to one of the tombstones, brushing a hand across the top, trying to appear indifferent as he read the front of it.
“Worried for your safety?” Castor implored.
He squatted and tore away some of the moss that began to cover the person’s name.
He tilted his head in her direction. “Don’t be. ”
She tried to control her breathing, to prevent her chest from rising too rapidly, from stealing her breath away.
Castor stood straight and waltzed to her, stopping so their knees almost touched. “You’re stronger than you think,” he muttered.
She slowly tilted her chin, gazing at him. Her lips parted, almost ready to laugh, astonished, sure he was teasing her. But he stood with great severity. He meant what he said. “Oh,” she said without meaning to.
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Foolish, foolish girl,” he mumbled as he strolled back over to the headstones, weaving between them.
His leadened steps left prints in the ground, a little trail forming in his shadow.
“Why are you in armor?”
He chuckled. “You’ve already asked your one question.”
“Fine.” She fell back against the bench with a shrug. “I was only trying to be a friend.” She looked over beyond the bushes, a few ravens circling overhead, one swooping down and landing on an obelisk.
That seemed to strike something inside him because Castor unsheathed his stone sword and held it in the light as if the surface was still metallic, shining in the sun. “I was a perimeter sentinel.”
“A perimeter sentinel?”
He put his sword back in its holster. “No, I don’t suppose you would know much about it.”
One of the ravens landed on the top of Castor’s helm as if he were a legitimate statue, and Paeonia held in her giggle. Castor didn’t seem to take notice.
“Long ago, back when the fae often roamed the human realm, terrorizing the humans—but also, becoming one of their strongest allies—some precautions had to be taken at the border.” The raven fluttered its wings.
“Well, not a border as you know it. Rather, a bewitched area where fae could summon themselves into Lyth, which is what they called the human realm. They could step through doors and be transported just about anywhere. And I had the honor of maintaining some of the more congested entrances.”
“I hadn’t realized fae had once worked alongside the humans.”
“Well, not all fae. The Gleam Fae had empathy toward your kind. The Grim Fae, on the other hand… They were the ones making the impossible bargains—deals that are hard to refuse, as you know all too well.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbow on her knee, supporting her chin in her cupped hand. “What happened then?”
“When the fae went to war with one another, humans got lost in the crossfire. They got burned for something that didn’t pertain to them.
As you can imagine, one side had to lose.
The Gleam Fae…” He trailed off. “And so the Grim Fae left, no longer caring about Lyth.
Their magic faltering now that the forest depleted alongside the Gleam Fae. They had their fun.
“I had been one of the unfortunate fae to have been honored to stay behind. To keep the humans, or any straggling Gleams, from following. And I made a foolish mistake. Made a bargain I couldn’t uphold.” His head tilted ever so slightly in the direction of the tombstone from earlier.
“And fae make these sadistic bargains with their own kind?”
Castor scoffed, and the raven took flight. “You have no idea how cruel they can be. Even to their own kind, yes.”
She clasped her hands together on her lap. “Was it Rowan you made the deal with?”
Castor gave her a tiny grin, just his right side ticking. “No. No, not Rowan. Those who were here before him.”
He rubbed his arm, and Paeonia wondered the extent of what he could feel.
Could he feel the softness of her hair if she let him touch it?
Would he be able to feel the warmth beneath her skin?
Could he feel his own pain that coursed through his body?
Could he experience the tender feeling of being embraced? Of being kissed?
“The stone,” she began tentatively.
Castor seemed to notice her hesitation. “You can say it, Peony.”
“It’s from breaking a bargain.”