“Ah, it’s not a real rose, of course,” the woman said. “But I thought that was an appropriate name, given the color and pattern of the leaves.” Her finger brushed against the nearest leaf, and it seemed to plump up at her touch. “Deathless roses will last for decades, if you care for them correctly. And I’ve bred a little extra charm into them as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Plants listen to us,” she said. “And they’ll speak to us, too, if we let them.” She leaned closer to the little succulent, inclining her ear toward it, and I could have sworn the plump leaves moved ever-so-slightly, subtly angling themselves toward her. I felt a tinyshiver, and I remembered Octavian mentioning that some people had special talents with essence—maybe this was hers.
She paused, tilting her head a little more as if the deathless rose was literally speaking to her. I didn’t hear anything—and frankly, I was shocked she could, either, given the noise of the crowd around us.
Then she looked up at me, a twinkle in her green eyes as she straightened again.
“Deathless roses are bred for love,” she said. “From the moment of propagation, they must be nurtured with a warm, open heart, or they will shrivel up and die. Once they are mature, like this one, they are hardier, and it is then that we can receive their true gifts. Care for this plant well, girl, and you will be blessed with love. Learn to listen to it, and it will do even more than that, guiding you through any trials of the heart.”
She lifted the small pot, holding it toward me.
“This one already believes it can help you,” she told me. “It sees great heartache in your future, but also great love—the kind of love to make the poets sigh and dream.”
Her words made my heart stutter—even though part of me was pretty convinced this was all just part of her sales pitch, like those people back home who claimed to sell charms that cured cancer or crystals that cleansed your home of bad energy.
But this is Therador, I reminded myself. Things worked differently here. And whether this deathless rose had any special powers or not, it was still beautiful.
“I wish I could,” I told her, and I could hear the longing in my own voice. “But I don’t have any money. I’m sorry.”
I started to back away—quickly, while my willpower was still strong—and ran smack into a tall, familiar form.
Alastor.
He had a mug in his hand and his usual frown on his face as he looked from me to the stall behind me.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I told him. “I just…I liked the plants. They remind me of the ones I have back home.”
I glanced back at the stall, where the woman still held the deathless rose in her hand. She was watching me closely, as if she might draw me back to her stall with the force of her gaze alone.
“She saw me looking at that one she’s holding,” I explained to Alastor. “She tried to sell it to me, but I explained that I don’t have any money.”
His frown never wavered. “Do you want it?”
“The plant? I…” I felt silly answering that, let alone asking him to pay for it the same way he’d been paying for all our drinks. “It’s okay. We should just keep going—”
He was already moving past me, stepping up to the stall and the waiting woman.
“She’ll take it,” he told the woman, fishing into his pocket for coins.
The woman watched him with narrowed eyes, as if she found this whole thing suspicious for some reason, but her gaze softened when it landed on me once more.
“Here you are,” she said, reaching out and wrapping my hands around the clay pot. “Remember what I said. Care for it well, girl.”
I nodded and started to pull away, but her gnarled fingers suddenly curled over mine, her grip almost painful.
“Promise me you’ll listen to it,” she said, an edge of desperation to her voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Not just for your sake, but for Therador’s.”
I had no idea what had provoked this sudden change in her. “I…”
“Release her.” Alastor’s voice was hard, commanding.
The woman’s hand fell away immediately, but her eyes were still locked on mine. “Promise me.”
“I’ll…try,” I assured her, still utterly confused.
