37. Adelina
Adelina
Queen Elowyn comes for me after breakfast. I’m standing near the window when she arrives, watching the eastern gardens far below my balcony and trying not to look as though I have been watching them for too long.
It’s been two days since I arrived in Elyrion, and the castle has been consumed by other matters, leaving me alone to rest with my two new maids. I haven’t seen or heard from Kaedryn or any of the others. Since I know nothing of this castle, I stay in my chambers.
The knock at the sitting room door stops all three of us. Mirelle opens it, and Queen Elowyn steps inside without ceremony.
Selvara would have swept in with attendants and perfume and the expectation that the room rearrange itself around her. Elowyn enters quietly, in a gown the color of pale morning light, her dark hair pinned beneath silver combs shaped like leaves.
“Good morning, Adelina.”
I rise from my chair because queens require standing, even gentle ones. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”
Her gaze moves over me. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by to visit. I wondered if you might walk with me. I wanted to show you the garden.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I reply.
Elowyn’s expression eases in a way that makes me think she hears the training beneath it. “Only to the east garden. It’s private to the family and very quiet this time of morning.”
I nod because refusing would be rude, and because part of me wants to see the gardens so badly it frightens me. Then I remember the seeds.
My eyes flick to the trunk where I placed my satchel.
Elowyn follows the glance. “Kaedryn told me you brought ice orchid seeds.”
It’s not a secret, not compared to all the others. But the thought of him noticing, remembering, speaking of something that small unsettles me.
“I did.”
“If you would like, you may bring them.”
My breath catches at the simplicity of the permission, and I hesitate before I cross to the trunk. Linnea and Mirelle remain still, both of them careful not to move too quickly or offer help I have not asked for. My hands are steady when I grab my satchel and look inside.
Freya’s shawl rests on top, and I move it aside carefully. Beneath it, wrapped in waxed cloth and tied with thread from the hem of an old undersleeve, are the ice orchid seeds.
For one terrible moment, I see my garden in Dravaryn. The narrow strip of earth beneath the stone wall. The frost clinging to petals delicate enough to look impossible.
Freya standing near the archway, pretending she had come to remind me of supper when really she had come to give me a few more stolen minutes of peace.
I loop the strap of my satchel over my shoulder. Queen Elowyn’s gaze drops briefly to the bag, but she says nothing about it.
We leave through the private corridor instead of the main hall. Two guards fall in behind us at a distance. They are close enough to protect us but far enough away to give us some semblance of privacy.
I still know they are there.
The castle is brighter in the morning. When I arrived, I saw it through exhaustion and fear.
Today, white stone catches the sun in long bands across the floors, and silver-veined columns rise toward ceilings painted with constellations I do not know.
Water runs through narrow channels beside the walkway, clear and soft over pale stone, carrying blue-white petals toward hidden basins below.
Queen Elowyn matches her pace to mine. She pauses once to point out an old arch from the first age of Elyrion, then again to tell me the names of the flowers growing in wall niches along the passage.
“Tideglass orchids,” she says, indicating a cluster of pale blue blooms. “They grow better near sea air, but they tolerate the lake terraces if one flatters them enough.”
I glance at them before I can stop myself. “They require flattery?”
“Constantly. Most beautiful things do, though.”
A few steps later, she points to a softer flower with petals folded around its center. “Dawnveil orchids. They open in warmth and close if the air turns too cold, or if the plant senses hostile magic.”
I look at the petals. They are open. Soft and pale and trembling slightly in the morning air.
The queen follows my gaze. “They are dramatic things. Kaedryn used to scowl at them when he was small because they always closed when he stalked past after losing a sparring match.”
The image comes so suddenly I almost forget to be afraid. Kaedryn as a child. Scowling at flowers because they dared notice his temper.
My mouth curves into a small smile before I can stop it. “They sound sensible.”
Queen Elowyn laughs. “They are,” she says. “Far more sensible than my son sometimes.”
I look down quickly, unsure whether I am allowed to agree.
The queen spares me from answering by opening a glass-paneled door at the end of the corridor.
Cool air spills in. The east garden unfolds beyond the threshold in terraces carved along the mountainside, each level edged with pale stone and silver railings.
The lake glimmers far below, blue and vast, while the distant sea appears as a brighter line beyond it.
I freeze. There are so many living things here, far more than could ever fit within my little patch in Dravaryn.
Vines over archways. Trees with silver undersides flashing in the breeze. Flowers in blues, whites, greens, and pale gold. Water threading between beds in shallow channels, catching sunlight until the whole garden seems stitched with light.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur.
Queen Elowyn waits beside me. She does not tell me to come. She does not ask if I am all right. She simply stands there until my lungs remember how to work, then begins walking again when I take the first step.
A sheltered bed waits beneath a stone arch near the edge of the upper terrace.
It’s set apart from the brighter southern flowers, tucked under the shade of a silver-leafed tree where the air is cooler.
The soil is dark and freshly turned, not decorative loam scattered over the surface for appearance, but real earth, deep and damp and prepared with care.
Beside it sits a small woven basket holding a silver trowel, gloves, a watering vessel, and a pale wooden marker with no name carved into it.
My breath catches.
Queen Elowyn stops beside the bed and looks at the soil rather than at me. “Kaedryn mentioned that ice orchids may be difficult to grow outside Dravaryn.”
My hand closes over the satchel strap. “They are.”
“I thought they might prefer this spot. It stays cooler than the rest of the terrace, and the morning light reaches it without much afternoon heat. The gardeners prepared the soil from the eastern slope. There is crushed moonstone beneath the lower layer for drainage, but not too much. If that is wrong, you may tell me.”
I stare at the bed, at the soil, at the care hidden inside every detail. A sheltered place. Cool earth. Morning light. A chance for something of mine to try to live.
I swallow the knot in my throat before it can climb any higher. “That is very kind.”
“It’s practical,” she says. “Kindness is sometimes easier to accept when it pretends to be practical.”
I glance at her before I remember not to. She is watching me.
I lower my satchel from my shoulder and open it carefully. The packet rests where I tucked it, still tied in Freya’s thread. My fingers linger over the knot. Elowyn looks away just enough to give me privacy with the small thing.
That courtesy nearly undoes me.
“Would you like to plant them yourself?” she asks.
The answer rises with such force that it almost frightens me. “Yes, please.” The words are quiet, but they are real.
She holds out a pair of gloves.
“If it’s all right, I prefer to keep my hands bare,” I say.
“Ah, that’s right. Your magic.” She smiles.
I kneel carefully at the edge of the bed, and the motion pulls at bruises along my ribs and the ache near my wing roots, but I keep my face still. The queen kneels beside me with the ease of someone who has done this many times before, unbothered by stone beneath her gown or soil near her hem.
It takes me a moment to untie the packet because my fingers feel clumsy. When I finally open it, the seeds rest in my palm, tiny, dark, unimpressive things.
Life often looks small before anyone believes in it. The thought feels like Freya’s voice.
My eyes sting.
Queen Elowyn takes the trowel and loosens the soil. “How deep?”
“Not too deep,” I say. “They need cold, but too deep and they can’t sprout properly.”
The queen only smiles. “Then show me.”
I make small furrows with my bare fingers, placing the seeds carefully, spacing them the way Freya taught me.
Queen Elowyn watches, then mirrors the motion when I nod that she may.
Her hands are elegant but not useless. There is dirt beneath her nails by the time we finish, and she seems pleased by it.
For a while, neither of us speaks. I sink my fingers into the soil and wait, feeling for the flicker of life. I coax it gently, willing the seeds to come to life. Then I feel it, the faint pulse. Now, they have to sprout on their own.
The garden sounds fill the quiet. Water moving through channels. Leaves brushing together. A bird calling from somewhere above the terrace. My own breathing, slower than it was inside.
I rest my hand lightly over the soil.
My magic is small. A garden gift of little consequence, Varek always said. He said it was useful only for keeping flowers pretty and making me seem harmless. But I feel the whisper.
Queen Elowyn sits back on her heels. “There.”
I draw my hand away. “Thank you.”
“You may visit them whenever you like.”
Whenever you like.
Not when summoned.
Not when permitted for display.
I smooth a bit of soil that does not need smoothing. “That is generous.”
“It’s a garden, Adelina. Not a royal favor. This is your home now.”
I don’t know what to do with that.
The queen seems to understand because she reaches for the small watering vessel in the basket and offers it to me. “Would you like to water them?”
I take it. The water pours in a clear, gentle stream, darkening the soil over the hidden seeds. Sunlight catches on the droplets, and something beneath my ribs aches in answer, a faint pull toward the wet earth.
I go rigid. The sensation vanishes.
“Are you all right?” the queen asks.
I set the vessel down. “Yes.”
A lie, a small one, but she does not challenge it.
Instead, she brushes soil from her hands and settles on the stone bench near the flower bed. “There is a dinner tonight.”
My spine stiffens. There it is.
The cost.
It was foolish to think the garden came without one.
Queen Elowyn’s gaze rests on the flower bed rather than my face.
“It’s a larger affair than I would have chosen for you so soon, but the wedding has brought half the important families of Elyrion to the castle, and Rhaegar believes delaying your formal welcome would create more gossip than it prevents. ”
My fingers curl instinctively before I force them to relax. “I understand.”
The queen’s voice stays gentle, but there is no pretending now. “There will be nobles who are curious. Some will be kind. Some will be ambitious. Some will smile at you because they think a soft smile hides a sharp question.”
That sounds familiar enough that I almost feel steadier.
Almost.
“In Dravaryn,” she continues, “insult often wears armor. Here it wears perfume and asks after your health.”
I chuckle softly.
“You will be seated beside Kaedryn,” she says. “Sylas will be near you. I will be across from you, and Rhaegar will preside. You will not be alone in that room.”
I nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Adelina.” Her voice holds enough firmness that I look back at her.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“You do not need to worry about what the nobles might say.”
I must fail to hide my disbelief, because her expression softens.
“They may speak,” she says. “Nobles always do. They may test the edges of your silence. They may try to decide whether you are frightened, meek, pliable, or already under my son’s control. But whatever they decide in their little circles will not change what you are.”
I do not ask what I am. I’m not sure I want the answer.
Queen Elowyn gives it anyway. “You are a princess of Dravaryn. Until your brother has a child, you remain heir in your own right. After the marriage rites, you will be Kaedryn’s wife and the future queen of Elyrion.
No noble at that table outranks you. No council wife, no lordling, no old family with too much pride and too little sense.
Only Rhaegar and I stand above you in that room. ”
Rank. The word feels like a dress made for someone else.
“My brother rules Dravaryn,” I say quietly.
“He does,” she answers. “But he does not erase your blood because he dislikes what it means.”
My hands fist in my lap.
“Power does not only belong to those who use it loudly,” she says.
Silence settles between us.
“You do not have to stay the entire time. You have the excuse of your journey. Simply tell Kaedryn.”
“I do not wish to cause trouble for him.”
“My son has survived wars, court factions, border disputes, assassination attempts, and Sylas as a younger brother. A dinner table will not destroy him.”
I glance toward her. “I have caused enough trouble, Your Majesty. I can bear one dinner. Thank you for taking me to this garden. I am truly grateful.”