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He tried not to, but he smiled back. “Well, then.”
He had not, after all, built a water garden for Villette. Over the past few weeks, they had had only a few conversations, random, unexpected, intriguing. She might go days without acknowledging Brandon’s presence at all, then spend two hours one moonless night quizzing him about his life back on the islands. He never knew whether her mood would be expansive or contained, so every night he made his way to the garden determined not to give in to his mounting excitement. Every night he failed.
Some nights he was rewarded.
Perhaps a week after he had first discussed the idea of a water garden with her, he came out for his evening shift to find that someone had started digging a large, shallow hole in the open ground between the patio and the fence. When he went over to inspect it, Villette’s voice sounded directly behind him.
“I so much loved the idea you proposed,” she said without any preamble, and he whirled around to try to make out her face in the dark. “But I was certain Finley and Nadder would find it odd that I had asked you to undertake such a project. And they might mention it to the high divine. And the high divine would be afraid you had become fond of me, and you would be sent away, and I would never get my water garden, and I would be very sad.”
He had to admit that this was exactly how events might unfold. “I suppose you’re right.”
“But once I had the notion in my head, I could not give up on the idea of fish! So I asked Abe if he could construct a pond for me, and he was most willing.”
“Well, I don’t mind thatI’mnot the one to complete the project for you,” he said. Though that was a lie—he had loved the idea that he would be the one to create a small, beautiful spot that would bring her joy. She would think of him every time she studied the rippling water or caught a flash of color under the floating lilies. Long after his stint was over, she would remember him. “But I’m happy you’re getting a pond.”
“I am quite looking forward to it! You will have to tell me what kinds of fish I should stock and what I should feed them. I am innocent of any knowledge whatsoever on this topic.”
They had passed a few agreeable evenings discussing the fish breeds she might invest in. He had even told her the legend of Keshalosha, the lucky fish that supposedly swam in the waters off the Zessin islands. She had wondered what kinds of plants might add an aesthetic appeal to the pond, but Brandon suggested that Abe would be a better one to ask. “I’m not sure what grows well here,” he admitted. “The soil is different where I’m from.”
And that had led to another long discussion about life on the islands—the common flowers, the typical foods, the favorite holidays, the variable weather conditions. At the end, Villette had sighed and said, “I would love to visit that spot someday.”
He had kept his voice steady as he replied, “And I would love to be your guide on that visit.”
She laughed and said something almost under her breath. He thought it might be “sweet Brandon,” but maybe it was “sweet dreaming,” or maybe it was nothing at all. But he felt his face flush and his heart race at the mere thought that she might someday be free, walking along those dear familiar roads, clinging to his arm and exclaiming in delight as he introduced her to beauty after beauty.
The next night two nights, she didn’t speak to him at all. The third night, she wasn’t even in the garden. He might as well be guarding a fantasy, or a ghost. He might as well be obsessed with a creature he had simply imagined.
But now the pond was finished, and stocked with a variety of fish—some languid and silver, some quick and blue, some shaped like golden triangles, others like red snakes. The pond had become the favorite spot of everyone in the household, and any time anyone from the guards to the servants had a free moment, they could be found standing on the brick lip, tossing scraps of food into the ripples. Abe had suggested they place a pair of stone benches on either side of the water, but they had not yet arrived.
So Brandon carried the heavy chair from the patio and placed it where Villette indicated. “I want to watch them,” she said, settling in so she could follow Nadder and Finley as they checked the integrity of the stone wall. Brandon took up a stance beside her chair.
“Can you hear that?” Nadder shouted from the other side. “I’m tapping at a spot about two feet above ground level. Might be a crack.”
Finley bent over and ran her hands around the specified location. “It looks fine on this end, but right above—near the top. I can see a line in the mortar.”
“Hang on. Let me check.”
Villette leaned back in the chair and stretched out her feet so they were almost at the water’s edge. “This is very entertaining,” she said. “I wonder if they expect me to shove at the wall with such force that I bring the whole thing tumbling down.”
“I think they just want to be able to assure the high divine that they are taking all precautions where you are concerned,” Brandon said.
“Ah, yes, the high divine,” Villette said. “He is convinced that I am a wily woman, always scheming.”
Brandon didn’t know how to answer that, so he said nothing. He thought maybe the head priest was right. He thought that, given her circumstances, Villette had every right to scheme.
Villette stirred in the chair. “He’ll be back next week, you know.”
“Who? The high divine?”
“Yes.”
For no reason that made sense, Brandon felt a spurt of fear. “Testing your blood again?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what he’ll be doing.”
“And will he find what he’s looking for?”
Nadder’s voice came from over the wall. “Here! About halfway up. Does that look like a crack to you?”
