Daromir doesn’t like the garden; the sightlines are bad. He remains close as Vana moves through the gathering. There’s been no sign of the illusionist over the past few days, but today, Daromir’s biggest concern is his prince’s complexion.
Holding off the storm is sounnecessary.
The garden has an enchanted, mechanical roof to protect it from inclement weather, which in central Draskora is most of the weather. But as today’s storm rolled in, Aliza mentioned, “Oh, dear. I was so hoping for fresh air today.”
Vana simply bowed and held back the storm.
Like an iron rose himself, Vana shows no strain as he speaks with an attending dragonrider. Daromir follows close behind.
“Remarkable,” Kamil Ivo says. He’s small for a dragonrider, his hair dyed black and yellow-green. “I’ve never seen Her Majesty speak so long to anyone.”
Aliza and Naoko huddle deep in conversation at the golden rosebush. Naoko is doing most of the talking, but Aliza listens with more attention than she gives most people.
“She didn’t even bring a book,” Vana says. “Her Majesty has a few things in common with Lady Naoko. They’re both interested in research, though they have different specialties.”
Movement attracts Daromir’s attention. He keeps half an eye on Mori, who wanders the party aimlessly. The young man’s wine glass is dangerously full. He trips over a rock, and some of the wine sloshes over his fingers. Wiping his hand on his trousers with a grimace, Mori glances around.
Daromir politely avoids eye contact, pretending not to have seen.
His pretense is for nothing. As Vana and Kamil continue talking about recent festival caravans—which is a roundabout way of talking about the dragon corps budget, which Vana is obviously amenable to increasing—Mori refills his glass and walks towards Daromir.
“This seems familiar,” Mori says. “You and me, at the edge of things.”
Daromir doesn’t find Mori so annoying this time. Maybe because Daromir’s heart is so full of joy, there’s less room for petty annoyances. Maybe because he’s seen more of Mori and has a better idea of how hapless the young man is. Mori’s more likely to trip onto a knife than stab anyone on purpose.
“Shouldn’t you be off observing the flowers or something?” Daromir asks.
“I have the day off.” Mori takes another happy swig of wine. “Thankfully. Her Majesty offered Lady Naoko a full inventory of the garden, so she’ll be able to reference the exact types of flowers and metals for her travelogue.”
Daromir is surprised. “That’s very generous of Her Majesty.”
“Right? I don’t know anything about flowers. How am I supposed to tell a copper nasturtium from a jade lily?” Mori tips his head back. “Wow, that isuncanny.”
Clouds roll around the column of sunlight, shockingly dark in contrast to the clear disc of blue sky above. The storm roars overhead, and the hammer of rainfall on the surrounding palace underscores all the conversation in the garden.
Vana briefly meets Daromir’s eyes. His face shows no sign of strain, even to Daromir’s practiced gaze. Daromir worries so much sometimes. But he remembers what Vana told him, too. Vana isn’t a weak, innocent boy anymore. He’s stronger than Daromir sometimes gives him credit for.
Protestations aside, Mori seems to know a lot of flower names. He keeps chattering on as Daromir scans the garden. There’s no Petir Bernek drunkenly making accusations. No Kazia Dire name-dropping traitors. Maybe this is a metaphor after all: a calm ray of sunlight in the middle of a storm.
So why isn’t Daromir happy?
Why does his positionat the edge of thingssuddenly chafe?
Daromir’s magic twists within him, seeking release. A tightly-bound blizzard to match the storm overhead. After a taste of true closeness, Daromir is no longer content to watch Vana from far away.
Across the stone garden, a herald appears at the queen’s side. She bows, presents a letter, and steps aside to wait.
A premonition crosses Daromir’s heart.
Tuning out Mori’s chatter, Daromir catches Vana’s eye. It’s easy when Vana glances at him every so often. Vana follows Daromir’s gesture, turning towards the queen just as she claps her gloved hands.
The sound is muted, but everyone’s attention is already at least partly on the queen. Courtiers and dragonriders turn towards her with wary politeness.
“Thank you everyone for attending this little gathering,” Aliza says brightly. “I’ve just received exciting news. His Majesty’s brave drasgard have apprehended a scalestone smuggler. The celebration will be tomorrow, and you’re all invited.”
Beside Aliza, Naoko’s expression briefly freezes before she smiles and claps with the rest of the gathering.
Vana’s expression doesn’t change at all. The flare of lightning high above could just as well be a natural flash from the storm.
