Marco shrugged. “I’m not. I just like the gardens when all the flowers are in bloom. It reminds me Spring always follows even the darkest of Winters.”
Anders’ eyebrows rose and he slapped Marco on the back. “Lead the way, then maestro.”
Anders’ stomach rumbled; he hadn’t touched the food at breakfast, thanks to the anonymous note that had been slipped under his door, and now he was famished.
Who could have written the note? Only a servant would know what was going on in the kitchens. Unless the poisoner was tampering with the food after it had been made, perhaps on the short journey from the kitchens to his room? Perhaps one of the Princesses themselves was sabotaging his attempt to solve the riddle, and her sister felt guilty and wanted to help him. Or maybe one of the Princesses was being forced into the strange mystery against her will, and she wanted Anders to uncover the truth and free her?
Or could Paolo be responsible for the drugged wine? Could Marco have written the note and dropped it in his room on entering that morning? Everyone was a suspect and no one could be trusted.
There were too many possibilities and no clear answers. He needed to speak to more residents of the palace, ask more questions and get more of the facts. And maybe even find an ally, someone he could trust to help him find the answers he sought.
But first, he needed to find something safe to eat.
“Are there fruit trees in the royal gardens, Marco?”
The guard looked delighted to have been asked. “Indeed, there are. Bananas, papayas and pomegranates, as well as cashews. Would you like to see them?”
Marco led them through rows of box hedges, down gravel paths between manicured lawns and flower beds in full bloom. The sound of bees buzzing from flower to flower, and water trickling from fountains was soothing to Anders, and as the sun warmed his face he wondered, not for the first time, how he’d lived in D’Argentis for so long with no sunlight for half the year. He’d known no different as a child, had always assumed it was how everyone lived, lighting candles and oil lamps every few hours and storing up enough food and necessities during the daylight months to last them through the darkness each year.
Having spent the last five years abroad, enjoying the warmth and beauty that daily sunlight brought, despite the horrors of war, he now couldn’t imagine living any other way. And yet, he belonged in D’Argentis. When this curse was broken, he’d return to his family and endure the long, dark winters once more, and he wouldn’t complain. But inside, he would always remember the glorious sunshine and cloudless, blue skies he’d seen while serving with the army.
They reached a part of the gardens where a small grove of trees had been planted in a sunny spot, protected by a wooden fence. An older gentleman was picking fruit from the low hanging branches, tossing them into the wicker basket on his arm. He wore coveralls in a shade of blue so dark it was almost black, with polished silver buttons. He clearly took a lot of pride in his appearance, for a groundskeeper.
When he spotted them approaching, he paused and waited, a smile on his deeply tanned and lined face, beneath a grey, shoe-brush moustache. His dark, deep-set eyes seemed to capture the sun’s light and reflect it.
“Good afternoon, Marco, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Afternoon, Gus. This is Anders—”
“The Silver prisoner. Aye, I can see. What can I do for you, lads?”
Anders took a step forward and held out a hand to the gardener. “Pleased to meet you, sir. I was wondering if you might have some fruit I could eat? I missed breakfast, you see.” A white lie, but what Gus didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “And supper is still a good while away. I’ll take anything you’ve got, I’m not particular.”
Gus chuckled. “No, I imagine not. I was a soldier myself, for my sins. You certainly learn to eat what you’re given and like it when there isn’t much to go round.”
“You’re a military man?” Anders asked, intrigued.
“Aye. Twenty-seven years. I retired a long time ago and have been maintaining the palace gardens ever since. King Aurelio was kind enough to employ me when I left the army and settled down with my wife and son. Carlos is a soldier, himself, now.” Gus beamed with pride, and Anders found himself grinning back.
“Here,” Gus said, handing the basket of picked fruit to Anders. “These are all going spare, you may as well enjoy them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Aye, they’ll only go to waste otherwise.”
Anders took a pomegranate and offered the basket to Marco and Paolo, who both declined. He broke the pomegranate open and scooped the seeds out with his hands, shovelling them into his mouth with little decorum. He didn’t care, he was too hungry to worry about what he looked like.
Something dawned on him then. “You’ve worked at the palace for a long time?”
Gus nodded.
“Do you know anything about this curse the Princesses are under? Or how they might be leaving their rooms each night—are there secret passages they could be using?” It occurred to Anders that, if he had been drugged, perhaps the palace staff were too, and that was how the Princesses were escaping the confines of their rooms. But to get away unseen by anyone, every single night? It would be challenging unless the guards were all fast asleep at their posts.
Gus shook his head, a regretful look on his ageing face. “I’m afraid I don’t. I rarely set foot inside the palace, my work keeps me outdoors. But I’ll tell you who might know.”
Anders waited expectantly for Gus to go on. When he didn’t, Anders said, “Who?”
“The historian.”
