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Chapter Twelve
The man tending the rosebush yanks his hand back with a yelp. Tugging his glove off, he sticks his thumb in his mouth to quell the sting.
I guess fist-size roses come with dagger-size thorns.
Probably human.
After a week of watching the daily happenings of the royal garden from my balcony, I’m beginning to suspect that most if not all the staff at the castle are human. There’s nothing definitive, no box to check. It’s a gut feeling, and my gut doesn’t usually lead me astray. The nobility who stroll the pathways have a certain natural arrogance about them, the same natural arrogance that people raised with money and privilege exude at the high-society events I’ve robbed. But there is something more to them—an eerie calm, as though they do not ruffle easily, and a grace in the way they move. It could simply be a matter of breeding.
Or it could be that they’re not human.
The gardeners work tirelessly from dawn until dusk every day, perfecting cedar hedges and plucking errant grass that sprouts between the intricately laid stonework, pausing long enough to bow to the garden’s patrons. It’s mostly women who frequent the royal gardens during the day—in elaborate silk and chiffon gowns. Some hold parasols to shelter them from the hot sun as they spend their afternoons admiring the blooms. Sometimes, if they’re close enough, I catch drifts of conversations. Not enough to understand, but enough to know they’re gossiping about court members. Few have noticed me up here, but those who have watch cautiously as they pass.
The atmosphere in the garden shifts once the evening settles in, when lively instrumental music carries through open windows and three women dressed in garb identical to Wendeline’s sweep through, the lanterns igniting as they pass. The first night I watched them do it, my mouth gaped, allowing a bug an opportunity to fly in and choke me.
Men in formal coats and women in flowing dresses venture out, and couples of every combination disappear into the park for so long, one might worry they’re lost. But I hear the odd sound—a laugh, a cry, a moan—and they always reappear eventually, often checking their buttons and adjusting their skirts.
These frisky revelers have provided the bulk of my nightly entertainment since Zander ordered my balcony door unlocked—and each night there are more of them than the last. But during the day, I’m equally enthralled with watching blades clash in the distant sparring court, the speed and footwork jaw-dropping. I find myself holding my breath as their boots pivot on the compacted dirt, especially after the other morning when a sword sliced through a man’s thigh. No one panicked as he hobbled off, so I assume it wasn’t serious, or it happens often. Either way, there was a lot of blood, and I heard Wendeline’s name being called.
“You’ve caused quite the stir in the court.”
I startle at the familiar voice and spin around to find Annika standing in the doorway to my bedchamber. The last time I saw the king’s sister, I was launching anything I could find at a hellish beast to distract it from tearing her apart. I haven’t seen so much as a hint of her since. That she is here now … unexpected delight stirs in my chest. “You’re out.”
“Of my prison. Yes, for a few weeks now. Though my brother is still ‘extremely disappointed in my betrayal.’” She mimics a deep voice before rolling her eyes. She steps out onto the balcony, the skirts of her sapphire-blue dress swishing around her ankles. Her blond curls reach her waist in a cascade of plump corkscrews that seem impossibly springy under such weight. “Wendeline said she healed you as best she could?” Her voice is measured, reserved.
“Can barely tell,” I joke.
Blue eyes the color of hyacinths dart to my shoulder, where my dress’s collar doesn’t cover the marks. “It’s not too bad. The way he described it … it sounded much worse.”
I’m assuming he is Zander. They’ve been talking about me. I should expect as much. But what has been said? How much does he confide in his sister? “It was a lot worse.”
“Yes. I recall. The beast nearly tore you in two.” Her forehead furrows deeply as though plagued by a bad memory.
“You stayed?” I wondered if she had run when I told her to.
“I was halfway to the passage when I heard you scream. I looked back and …” She averts her gaze, but not before I catch the flinch. “But then it threw you across the dais as if you had burned it, and it let out that awful screech. I hear it sometimes, in the still of the night.” She shudders. “Then it burst into flames. The guards stormed into the sanctum as I reached you. I was certain you were dead. Your injuries were …” Her words fade. Quietly, she adds, “And yet, here you still are.”
Like a cockroach that won’t die, I hear in that tone.
I don’t expect a hug from Annika, but does she still despise me, after I saved her not once but twice in one night?
An awkwardly long moment hangs between us.
Annika takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back. “The king has deemed that I shall accompany you for a walk of the royal grounds, if you are so inclined.” Her words are formal, her voice flat, her reluctance painted across her face.
Normally, I wouldn’t jump at spending time with someone who looked like she’d rather eat broken glass than stand in the same room with me. Now, though, the chance to find this nymphaeum far outweighs my pride. “Yes!”
She sighs. “Corrin has a shawl for you.”
From my balcony, the royal grounds appeared immense.
As Annika and I walk side by side along the stone path and I revel in this false sense of freedom, they seem infinite. Everywhere I look are sculpted hedges and shrubs bursting with blooms and mammoth trees that cocoon seating areas in shade and privacy beneath their weeping branches. We’ve crossed three elaborate stone bridges and passed a network of streams and ponds, the carrot-orange scales of the koi gleaming in the afternoon sun.
“Has anyone ever gotten lost in here?”
“Not for more than a few hours.”
I peer over my shoulder. The colossal castle is entirely shielded from view within the dense depths of the foliage. I’m not surprised I didn’t see it that first night, despite the dazzling moon. That I ever found my way to the opening in the wall is no small miracle.
