All it said was:
Hellebore,
Come to the northwest corridor four hours after sunset on the first of the month. You’ll get your answers then.
Well, that was sufficiently ominous.
The first of the month was two days away. Which meant she had two days to decide what to do about the note.
One, show it to Taiyo and get his opinion. The problem with that one was she'd also have to decide if she would tell him the truth that she'd gone behind his back and included a secret message to her aunt prying into the past, or lie to him and act like there was no reason for her to expect such a note.
Two, keep it to herself and show up prepared for either her aunt—who had chosen to disguise her handwriting and not sign the note—or to meet whoever it was that thought he could give her answers and had gotten access to her things either in transit or in the castle.
Three, don't tell Taiyo about the note and don't show up to what could be a trap.
That night at dinner, she kept her mouth shut, only telling Taiyo it would take her time to go through her research and see if there were connections. When he asked if Palladia had written back, she’d simply said no.
The first of the month arrived, and as her maids fluttered around her in the morning, she stared at her belt, trying to decide what to equip herself with in the event she did decide to risk it and walk into a trap on the chance it was actually from her aunt.
The dusty, barely functioning organ in her chest constricted, and Hellebore nearly gasped. She instead took a deep breath and ignored it.
But as she worked in her lab that morning, it still didn't go away.
There was something deep, something aching in what was supposed to be a purely functional space.
And all of this pain just at the thought that by not going she was missing a chance to see or at least hear from Aunt Palladia.
Hellebore hadn't let herself feel anything since her wedding. She hadn't cried since then either, and she wasn't going to start now.
“What's wrong?”
Hellebore looked up at Taiyo as he sat beside her during dinner. He’d been inviting her to eat every other day since she’d sent a message to Palladia.
Admit to the elf she was married to—who she’d been working hard to convince she was an emotionless, impenetrable fortress—that she was homesick and missed her aunt like someone had actually carved her heart out of her chest?
She'd sooner swallow her tongue and never speak again.
“Just thinking about the samples I'll be examining tomorrow. I'll be testing a tincture that I don't believe will cure anything, but my hope is that it will slow the decay in the garden. If it does, then I can move forward with developing something that will reverse the rot.”
It wasn't a complete lie. That was true, just not what she was thinking about.
Taiyo clearly didn't believe her. “That sounds like good news, but you look like a rain cloud.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn't a compliment.”
“Well, we can't all be rays of sunshine—and I’m not; so don’t even think about calling me that. The rain comes eventually. Night always falls.” Hellebore picked at the fruit on her plate before giving him a stern look. “Maybe I look so grave because I don't want you to get your hopes up. My tincture could fail, and then I've made no tangible progress. Maybe I'm just trying to protect you. People always let you down eventually.”
“And because of that it's better not to have any hope at all? Not to try?” There was something in his voice she didn't like. It was far too personal for their strictly professional relationship.
“Obviously I believe in trying, otherwise I wouldn't be spending all my hours in this lab trying to help your people. But I'm going to be practical about it. Until the solution is tangible, I won’t hope that I have the solution. That's all.”
Taiyo shook his head. “I never knew a stone wall could take on the guise of a woman for so long and never crack.”
“Thank you.”
Taiyo looked ready to climb over the table and strangle her. She grinned.
