The gardens were an absolute dream.Acre upon acre of whimsical floral heaven.
I knew David had worked hard to replicate the gardens of Loveland, but this felt like it was carved from the hands of Loveland itself. Blooming with allure, rare beauty, and meticulous care. If this was only a scaled-down replica, I couldn’t imagine the magnificence of what the real ones must have looked like.
The paths unfurled like storybook pages appearing through mist as Wyatt strode down each one. We passed flowers in hues I’d never seen before. Ballooning purple blooms, blood-red roses the size of watermelons, and tiny sky-blue bells that dangled like earrings from shimmery vines. But my favorite by far was the moss-like grass beneath our feet. It was thick and plush as if we were walking on the back of a furry earth-creature. I had to fight the urge to kick off my shoes and dig my toes in.
Our pace slowed as we reached the heart of the gardens. Aring of rose quartz pillars were placed at the center, arranged in a perfect circle.Lovehenge, I decided to name it.
Inside the ring lay a flawlessly manicured open clearing, quietly humming with magic. The perfect place for sweat and blood, I presumed.
“Today,” Wyatt said, “you’re going to show me what you remember.” He jerked his head toward something behind me as the loud clank of metal hitting stone rang out. I turned to find the three Cherubs had appeared. One of them—Pudge, of course—was standing over an upturned satchel, a shiny mess of blades spilled haphazardly at his feet.
Wyatt shot him a look that could sharpen the swords all on its own.
“Then,” he continued smoothly, “we move on to sharp,pointy things.” His sass slipped out on the last words.
I gathered my hair into a high ponytail, tightening it like I was gearing up for battle.
“Hey, Honey—” I glared at the winged menace who was currently cuddled up to Pudge and Huck like they were having a damn picnic. “Payback’s a bitch. Remember that.” I aimed my finger at him.
Honey didn’t flinch. Just waggled his eyebrows, smug as ever with an expression that taunted,wanna bet?
Pudge popped a small cheese pastry into his mouth. One that lookedsuspiciouslylike the ones I’d bought yesterday to enjoy over the weekend. Beside him, Huck was my own personal cheer squad, waving a large, fluffy bloom like a pom-pom.
I was surrounded by rosy-cheeked goblins.
Thankgod my leggings were dark because I was sweating everywhere. And I mean,everywhere.
We’d finished a long and grueling hour of hand-to-hand sparring through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Eyes closed—an attack from behind. Lying flat—someone launching on top of me. Casually walking—an assailant grabbing my arm, dragging me off. Like a live-action movie of all the ways you could get murdered. And, hopefully, somehow . . .not.
That is, until the Cherubs decided to improvise. All three of them decided to script their own scenario, swarming me from all angles like tiny, pestering wasps of chaos. Pinching, wet-willies, and the occasional tickle-torture, were all apparently part of their strategic plan. Safe to say, I died, murdered by tummy squeezes.
Wyatt, in a stunning display of betrayal, took a leisurely water break while I struggled to maintain bladder control during the fiasco. All the while, he was rambling on about the fascinating traditions of Eostre Land.
My happy thoughts of chocolate-filled Easter eggs, fuzzy bunnies, and boozy brunches were promptly replaced with explosive devices, spider-legged rabbits from hell, and horn-dog orgies. Eostre Land valued growth and fertility above all. And they took that very seriously. Honestly,sex, sweat, andbloodseemed a more appropriate motto.
I wasn’t disappointed by the descriptions of Eostre Land, I was horrified.
“That’s not going to be part of the competition, right?” I asked, panic and embarrassment creeping up my neck. “I mean—I’m not expected to participate, am I? Like, notrequiredto—” I cut myself off, the words choking me with mortification. I wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and live there. Forever.
“No.” David’s voice rang out across the garden. Clipped, cold, and very,veryclear. “You’re not.”
He approached, dressed in similar activewear to Wyatt. Afitted white shirt, navy blue sweats and the kind of mood that saidsomeone had been listening for a while.
Great.
“You’re not,” he repeated firmly. “In fact, you’re to stay away from all nightly celebrations. And absolutely nowhere near their mushrooms . . . or chocolate fountains.”
My interest piqued at the sound ofchocolate fountains,but then I internally scolded myself.
Wyatt narrowed his eyes at David in silent reprimand.
David cleared his throat, revising his words. “Mystrongrecommendation,” he said, softer. “As your official advisor.”
Oh dear god. I wasnothaving this conversation with them right now. The birds and the bees could buzz off. I was far from my teenage years and really didn’t feel like dusting off the old memory of him traumatizing me with photos of sexually transmitted diseases before I went off to college.
“Good to know,” I said, flatly. “Wasn’t planning on it. I’m sure I’ll find better use of my time.”
And I would. Specifically, snooping through their libraries for any information that might point to the black relic. It’d been a few nights since I’d dreamt of the onyx box, but the weight of it never left me. It clung to the back of my mind like a quiet, steady urge. Running into Alvar—the Vinterland elf—confirmed I was close. I refused to believe it was a mere coincidence he had the pink, egg-shaped rock—the Bondi Stone, as he called it. The vision it gave me felt too tangible to be symbolic. That valley, thatcave, they were real. And they were connected to Eostre Land . . .somehow.
