“Did you leave because you wanted to break the physician’s orders like a bundle of sticks and I would have prevented you?”
“You were always against me becoming a dragon master. Even in Largotia during our …” he paused. “Our friendship.”
Valenna wondered if they were having two separate conversations. “Why are you evading my questions?”
“You don’t need to worry about me anymore, Val,” he said. A wave of his hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it aside, then raised his arms to adjust his cap, making the muscles in his shoulders tense. Valenna bit her lip. He caught her staring and cut her a roguish smile.
“My point,” she snapped, “is that I don’t care what you do now. If you’d like to ignore the physician’s orders, what’s it to me?”
“Exactly. Now, to business. No one can know about our past,” Evander said. “I am Master Trevelyan to you, you are Miss Castanaia to me.”
“Perfect. I will appoint the new dragon master and be on my way, and we …” She discovered a loose button on her sleeve that demanded her full attention. “We will never see each other again.”
Evander nodded, his mouth tight.
“You should change your shirt, you look a wreck,” she said, smiling and scrunching her nose. “But it’s been lovely seeing you again, Master Trevelyan.”
Evander nodded curtly and turned into a stall. Valenna strode past him, out the back door, and waited until the doors slammed behind her before she let out a long, tremulous breath. She felt murky inside, like she’d put her emotions in a cauldron and mixed them together with carrots and potatoes.
This was not helping her plan her return to Sennalaith.
Chapter seven
Valenna
After her conversation with Evander, Valenna found herself reeling, her stomach in knots. Eager for something to distract her, she decided to revisit the greenhouse.
The woman she’d spoken to when she arrived sat on a bench between two feathery pink ferns, rubbing a steaming salve on the stem of a snapping potted rose. The plant curled cucumber-green petals away from sharp yellow teeth and clamped on her thumb, snagging its fangs on her leather gloves.
“None of that now, you little monster,” the woman scolded. The plant worried her finger, snarling like a puppy.
Seeing the greenhouse in a more placid state of mind, Valenna warmed to its chaotic comfort. She recognized a system now: carnivorous plants surrounded by poisonous plants they wouldn’t devour. Shade-loving trees were stored under the sun-drinking shrubs, and vines climbed the green frosted-glass walls. A bubbling brook trickled down the center aisle, emptying into a frog pond in the domed far wall. The pond was large enough to swim in and hosted a family of ducks, a carpet of water lilies that looked like they were made of stained glass, and an assortment of colorful frogs. A turtle with a shell like a porcelain dinner plate basked on the sloped bank.
“I believe you’re Thomasina, the dracorium director,” Valenna said politely, reaching out her hand. “I’m here on behalf of the head dracologist."
The woman gasped. “You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow!”
An underkeeper ran past the open door, shouting, “Someone help! The drowserjaw has eaten Harold again!”
A pile of dung splatted against the glass exterior wall over Thomasina’s left shoulder.
She swallowed. “Have a seat. I’ll make some tea.”
Valenna sat on a white, wrought iron bench tucked between two dead willow trees, while Thomasina bustled over to a little glazed cast-iron stove in the corner and poured their tea. A breeze from the open door blew a weeping branch against Valenna's shoulder, and a cluster of small white flowers blossomed. She scooted away, startled.
“Are you going to fire me?” Thomasina asked, settling beside her with two chipped porcelain teacups in her hands.
Valenna took hers and sipped it, then set it on the saucer with a business-like click. “I’m not here to fire anyone. I was sent to appoint a new dragon master. That is all.”
Thomasina picked up her cup and took a hasty sip, spilling a few unheeded drops on her soil-smeared blouse. “I know the dracorium’s a mess. It’s all on account of poor Reggie’s death. Dragon masters aren't killed every day, you know, and it does throw things into chaos."
"Aren't you a botanist?" Valenna asked.
"I studied botany and dracology, and how the two disciplines intersect. We rely on this greenhouse for all sorts of medicines and potions for use in the dracorium.”
“Does Evander Trevelyan help you run the dracorium?”
“Evander? Oh, yes. I’d say he does as much work as I do—maybe more. But he’s bogged down with the trainees from Cobblepine. They send them every year, and Evander is set on having them comfortable on dreadnoughts. He’s convinced that 'everyone goes to war eventually'. He can be a bit nervy. A woodcutter's son indeed.”
