Page 75 of Only Flames Remain

Rensford had proven to be poor company, but Voirel was at least someone I could talk to. I could hear her delicate footsteps at my back as I released a frustrated huff.

“Waiting for Sorin?” she asked in her high-pitched voice as she joined me, hopping onto the seawall to sit atop it, her feet dangling.

“Does your brother always leave for days at a time with no word of when he will return?” I grumbled.

“Yes,” she replied simply, playing with the beaded trim on her dress.

Voirel had been my only friend these last few days.

The castle staff largely ignored me at Stormgaard. I wasn’t sure if that was because they had been instructed to by Rensford, or if my reputation preceded me and they simply didn’t want to mingle with someone from Myros. I turned toward Voirel, her strawberry hair stirring in the salty breeze.

“When do you think he will return?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Though I do assume he will be thoroughly chewed out by Rensford when he does return.”

I turned back toward the castle.

I could always feel his eyes on me…watching. If I didn’t know any better, I might think I was being hunted. It certainly felt like it.

Rensford didn’t trust me.

He knew I had tried to poison Sorin, while Voirel did not. He hadn’t told Voirel about the incident, and I wasn’t sure if that was for her benefit or my own. Voirel needed someone to talk to as well. Stormgaard could be awfully lonely.

But Rensford didn’t know of the conversation that had followed the incident, and what I had confessed to Sorin. If he had, he would know I was no longer a threat.

“I will be taking tea in the gardens this morning, if you would like to join me.”

My heart skipped. “Gardens?”

I had searched this castle high and low, and I hadn’t found a single living thing. Where in the seven hells was there a garden?

Voirel nodded enthusiastically. “Have you not seen them yet? They are beautiful! You simply must come with me.”

She hopped down from the seawall, grasping my hand in hers and dragging me toward the courtyard. I dutifully trailed along, passing through the arches into the main hall. We took the long corridor toward the west wing. At the kitchens we turned left, trailing down another long hallway. Voirel suddenly stopped at a wooden door, no glass set within it to reveal what might be hiding behind it.

A lock was set into its surface, right above the brass handles.

Why would a garden be locked?

Voirel produced a key from her dress pocket and inserted it, allowing the mechanism to click twice before swinging the door open. I wouldn’t be able to harvest whatever plants I found beyond unless I did it right beneath Voirel’s nose. I didn’t have a key.

I wondered if she was the only one, or if Rensford had one as well. Perhaps I could pilfer one from his person. I would feel too guilty doing such a thing to Voirel.

She disappeared behind the heavy door and I followed, the pungent smell of flowers almost knocking me back a step. The garden was located in the center of the castle, a hidden courtyard that was open to the sky above. There were no windows or doors that gazed down upon it other than the one we had passed through. There was no way of finding this secret garden unless you already knew it was here.

The garden was cradled in old, pale stone as though the castle itself had grown around it. The walls rose in gentle arches, their surfaces softened by creeping ivy that could be found throughout Stormgaard.

A narrow canal of glassy, emerald water wound through the courtyard, its surface catching stray petals from clusters of blush-pink roses that spilled over the rock ledges. Soft lantern light glowed beneath the archways, even in daylight. The lit torches led toward stone steps that curved upward into a shadowed passage beyond.

A footbridge crossed the narrow canal where a thatched pergola could be found, covered in climbing roses of all varieties of colors. I bent to smell one, its apricot petals stark against the emerald water. There were flowers of all varieties here. Roses, tulips, carnations, ranunculus, and even alstroemeria.

None of them poisonous.

None of them useful for creating a tincture or elixir for mithridatism.

I released a deflated exhale, doing my best to mask my disappointment as my gaze flitted to Voirel. The garden was elaborate and beautiful, but I had been hoping for something else entirely. Voirel perched on the simple stone bench tucked beneath the pergola. Her gaze was focused on the crawling vines above her.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.