“What is this?” I asked him, tearing my gaze away from the stag to look up into Alastor’s eyes. “Your royal crest?”
All of the amusement had disappeared from his face, replaced by his usual stoicism. “Yes.”
His tone made it clear he considered this conversation over, and I recognized that this wasn’t the time or the place for this conversation, despite my burning curiosity.
“I…can wash it,” I said, my grip tightening on the fabric. “Unless you want it back right now.”
He hesitated, then nodded and said, “You may return it later.”
Relief whispered through me, though I couldn’t have said why keeping this handkerchief a little bit longer felt so important. I folded the fabric carefully and tucked it inside my dress.
When I looked up again, Alastor had his hand extended toward me to help me to my feet.
“Are you done for the evening?” he asked as his strong fingers wrapped around mine. “Would you like me to return you to your quarters for the night?”
“Not really,” I admitted. I could definitely use a little breath-freshening, but I was loath to leave the celebration now, when there was still so much I wanted to see.
To my surprise—and pleasure—Alastor nodded in what might have been approval.
“Good,” he said as he pulled me to my feet. “Because there’s something I think you’ll want to see.”
38
Deathless Rose
Ourfirststopafterthe alley, thankfully, was a stall selling sweet, slightly fizzy water flavored with herbs and bits of fruit. Alastor bought me one that had a sprig of mint and little purple mystery berries that added a refreshing bite of tartness to the drink. It was heavenly, and just what I needed to cleanse my palate.
While he ordered something for himself, I sipped at my drink and let my gaze wander to the rest of the street. No matter how many hours I spent wandering Ring-Around-the-Hill, there was always more to see, more than my eyes could ever truly take in, and it was overwhelming in the most exhilarating way possible. I wanted to soak up every detail, record it all in my memory, hold on to as much of it as I could.
That guy would make a fun background character in one of my fanfics, I thought, watching a man with an oversized orange coat and a fire-red beard waltz down the street like a king.
And that music…For a moment, I was lost in the strange strains rising from the pair of flute-like instruments on the corner, wondering if I could ever possibly capture their song in words.
But it also felt pointless to even think about writing fanfiction now—I still had no idea how, or if, I’d ever get home again. And would my stories even have any meaning to me, now that I’d seen the real thing?
Those were both depressing thoughts, so I shoved them down to the place where I’d been keeping all of the other unanswered questions and the emotions that were too complicated to deal with at present.
And just when I was starting to worry I may have killed the mood for myself, I saw the succulents.
At least, Ithoughtthey were succulents. I wasn’t sure how botany worked in Therador, but these plants looked close to what I knew—with their smooth, plump leaves and dusty, muted colors. The stall across the street haddozensof them lined up in neat little rows, as well as an assortment of other plants that I dismissed immediately.
“I’ll be right across the street,” I told Alastor, never taking my eyes from those adorable little succulents in their tiny clay pots. I didn’t wait for his response before I slipped through the crowd and found myself right in front of them.
Up close, they were even more beautiful. A couple of them looked just like ones I already had in my collection back home, but most were like alien versions of the ones I knew. Their pudgy leaves came in all shapes—some soft and rounded, others long and pointed—and ranged in color from pale green and turquoise to brighter pinks and purples and yellows, many with stripes and speckles or veiny, marbled patterns across their skin. Some plants were squat, their leaves arranged in spiral patterns, while others were taller and wider on top like minuscule fleshy trees.
My eyes caught on one in particular—a cone-shaped plant that was blood red at the bottom and faded to more of a dusty pink at the top. The leaves were rounded on the sides with three little points at the end—almost shield-shaped—and the more mature ones near the bottom had very fine, silvery fuzz along their edges. The entire plant had a subtle shimmer to it as well, like it had been dusted with pale, soft glitter. The whole thing looked like some sort of pinecone designed by a five-year-old with a princess obsession.
I loved it.
The woman running the stall hobbled over. Her long gray braid was studded with tiny blue blossoms, and her tunic was woven out of multicolored ribbons, their ends trailing on the cobblestones beneath her feet.
“Ah, the deathless rose,” she said.
“Hm?”
“This charming little plant you have your eye on,” she said, reaching out to caress the pot with her gnarled hand. “It’s one of my favorites. I only cultivate a handful every year, as they’re quite fussy when they’re young. But it’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
“I wasn’t aware it was a rose,” I confessed. “I thought it was a…” Would someone in this world know the wordsucculent?
