Chapter 12 #2
“As you wish,” I say simply, rising to my feet, daintily patting at my mouth, and setting my fork across my plate in the manner Hilda always insisted on. If they want to focus on the fact that I’m a lady, then I’ll lean into it for them.
Thorian’s chair rattles loudly against the marble when he stands, throwing his own napkin down onto the table with disgust.
“Not,” Valtor says, pointing at Thorian with a laugh, “you.”
Thorian stares at Valtor with such disdain that I think his glare alone might be enough to melt the divine.
“It’s just a flower,” I say to him, before turning and orienting myself toward the front of the room. There’s a cacophony of flowers and brush flooding in toward Terranis from one of the doors, and I’ll assume the garden is out that way.
“Nyx.” Thorian reaches out, catching my wrist in his hand and stalling me, once again sending that shiver, that full-bodied awareness of his physical form, through my own.
I turn to him, trying to hide how he affects me.
If he feels it, his face doesn’t show it.
His look is one of intense wariness and panic.
“It won’t be as simple as it sounds. It’s—”
But, at the prompting of the gods, the others have started chanting at me, “Pe-on-y! Pe-on-y!” They slam their hands against the tables and walls like drunkards at the bars, and it’s impossible for me to hear Thorian’s warning.
“I’ll be careful,” I say, hoping he can read my lips. With that, I turn and walk through the room, keeping my head up. Servants direct me where to go, and I make my way toward the garden.
When I step out into the night, into the embrace of the well-groomed bushes on either side of the path, I’m suddenly grateful for the task.
Inside the grand dining hall, it was warm and heavy with the feeling of breathing in another’s exhalations.
Out here, the air is fresh and crisp, brushing gently against my cheeks like my mother’s cool hand against my forehead in the night, after a nightmare.
Of course the gardens are immaculate. I stand on the back terrace and look out at the space, a large half-moon of flowers and plants. After making my way down the back steps, the hedges drop in height so they’re just above my knees, giving vision to the gorgeous flowers they bracket.
Our garden at home was nothing like this, and still the precious quality to the air only makes the scene more magical. I close my eyes against the longing for my sister, wishing I could share this with her.
I always enjoyed strolling through the garden to clear my head, but Lyra was the one who knew the names of the flowers.
I take a breath and remember her pointing out the peonies to me.
The delicate, layered flowers, often pink or white but sometimes red as well.
According to my sister, a symbol of love, happiness, and even romance.
Of course Valtor would send me to fetch one for him.
As I walk, I realize the flowers are organized by color, a rainbow that starts with red roses, poppies, chrysanthemums, and marigolds, melting into lantanas and lilies, which end with a full row of vibrant sunflowers.
Lambs ear and button pom are less delicate than the other flowers, but fill in the greens before giving way to asters, bluebells, violets, and lilacs.
The lilacs are especially fragrant, that sweet, fresh smell drifting through the garden and reminding me of my mother in the spring, her eyes lighting up at the sight of a full, blooming lilac bush.
And finally, after the blue and purple melt to white for what feels like miles, I come to the very tip of the half moon, where a single golden peony blooms in the center of a bush.
“Only one of you?” I ask, my voice quiet as I step closer to the plant.
It smells impossibly good, both like molasses and greenery, fresh and warm, comforting and new all at once.
Gently, I run my fingers along the back of the flower, feeling a thrum of power through my bones, a hum like when my magic agitates inside me.
I don’t want to sever the only flower left on this bush. I stand still and let my touch linger on the smooth petals, wondering what would be so bad about forgetting this quest.
In fact, Valtor has probably already forgotten himself, distracted with fangs and grappling and whatever impressive weaponry the others are showing off.
If I wait out here long enough, perhaps Thorian will come and find me, and we can sneak away to wherever we plan to sleep for the night without the gods being any the wiser.
Or, perhaps Valtor will be angry that I’ve defied him.
I think of Lyra, alone and scared wherever she is, and swallow down my trepidation.
It is just a flower after all.
With regret in my throat, I run my hands along the long, delicate stem and find a good spot to snap the flower away, thinking it might live a bit longer in water.
But I snag on something sharp, maybe a thorn, and gasp, pulling my hand back with a start.
Peonies do not have thorns.
My head swims as I watch the plant before me move, not with the wind, but of its own accord, growing, the flower rising to the top and leaves twisting together to form a large, gaping maw.
“Oh,” I gasp, as it lunges toward me. “Shit!”
Apparently, I don’t even have the self-preservation to close my eyes, because as the peony-monster lunges toward me with a menacing, near-silent whoosh, I see not my own death but something else.
A man with a sword, appearing and slicing with one definite swipe down onto the roots.
The plant rears back, and my heart rockets into my chest when I realize this isn’t just any man.
It’s one of the vampires.
And now, his sword glinting in the moonlight, he’s not concerned with the peonies. He’s turning those hungry eyes on me.