“I have proven myself,” she argued. “Twice now. I have saved your life twice.”
“Really? Or are you playing cat and mouse with me? I was just beginning to trust you, and now this.”
Magdala bit her lip. “I’m not playing games.” She realized too late that she’d shown her tell.
Asherton’s expression closed. He strode out of the room.
“Wait!” Magdala ran after him. “I didn’t do it! Whywould I?”
His jaw set, Asherton said, “We’re at an impasse. I can’t make Zephyr fire you because he’ll want to know the reason, and I don’t want you to hang—no matter how rude you’ve been to me …”
“I have not been rude to you!”
“No?Your Highness, you’re filthy. Your Highness, clean up after yourself. You’re an idiot. Wear a shirt… as if any woman wants me to wear a shirt. Ridiculous.”
A flush crept up Magdala’s neck. “I recognize that I’ve been a little brusque …”
“Brusque?” Asherton let out a ringing laugh. “I don’t know what to do with you. We’re caught in a corner and we can’t get out, but regardless, I’ve done my half of our deal.Ourroom is clean now, so it’s your turn to help me with my chores.”
Magdala’s heart sank. She remembered the times she’d hinted that she was out to kill him—the hesitation in the hedge maze, the little smiles and jokes. She’d whittled away at his trust, and now she was paying for it. “What chores?”
He grinned. “You’ll see.”
“Your Highness, I don’t want anything to do with this.” Magdala set Anton down on a table and followed Asherton to a vulture violet in the corner of the greenhouse. It was a violent shade of purple, its hard, dinner plate-sized petals lined with sharp teeth. It was snapping at the soil in his glazed pot, shredding its own stalk.
Rain pattered on the glass greenhouse roof and dripped in rivulets down the walls.
“Here.” Asherton handed her a wooden bat. “If it tries to bite off one of my ears, rap it on the head. And don’t imagine you can let it eat me, because it won’t. It’ll just bite me. Then you’ll have to sew my ear back on, and is that how you want to spend your evening?”
Magdala took the bat and braced.
Bending over the pot, Asherton dug his hands up to his elbows in the soil. The violet went for his ear, so Magdala imagined the plant was Asherton and slammed the bat on the creature’s petal-head. It reared back, aghast—or she assumed it was aghast. It was hard to tell how flowers felt. Even vicious ones.
From the table behind her, Anton picked up a stick and let out whoops of joy as he beat a little flytrap.
“Almost got it …” Asherton said through his teeth. “I’ve almost ...”
“Anton! Stop that!” Magdala cried—the tiny fly trap was sobbing softly. “That’s not nice! Stop!” She wrenched the stick from Anton’s leaves, ignoring his angry growls.
“Ouch! Mags!” Asherton called.
Asherton bunched his shoulders as the violet nipped at the back of his neck. “Oh, so youaregoing to let it bite me!”
“Maybe I will!” Magdala exclaimed, hitting the creature again. It snarled and snapped at her.
“You are the worst bodyguard I have ever had!” Asherton cried.
“You’ve never had a bodyguard before!”
“If I had, you would be the worst.”
The violet snarled at Magdala and then lunged at her. His teeth scraped her blouse, popping off a button. She cracked the bat against its jaw. “Will you hurry!”
“Careful with Rufus!” Asherton shouted.
“RUFUS SHOULD LEARN TO BE CAREFUL WITH ME!”
Anton began to cry.
