Testing distance,Savory said approvingly.The patterns may reveal themselves in unexpected places.
Something was nagging at the back of my mind, a theory forming but not yet solid enough to voice. I needed more data, more observations.
But I was beginning to believe that distance played no part in whatever was happening.
Dominic offered me his hand again and nudged hishead to a door in the right wall of the glass building. “The gardens are this way.”
We stepped out into cool morning air that carried the scent of flowers and fresh earth. A stone path wound through carefully tended beds, though here too I noticed signs of the wilting problem. Blooms that should be vibrant hung limp on their stems.
As we walked for a bit of time, putting distance between us and the manor house, something shifted. Dominic’s giggling began to subside, the intervals between laughs growing longer.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice clearing. A small chuckle escaped, but it sounded more surprised than involuntary. “It’s getting better.”
I filed that observation away, already working through possibilities.
We followed the path deeper into the gardens, past a fountain where crystal-clear water danced with faint magical sparkles, and around a hedge maze with an entrance covered with flowering vines.
As we rounded a bend in the path, I caught sight of Lord Turren sitting on the grass under a gnarled apple tree, his elaborate purple jacket spread carefully around him like a protective barrier against the grass. His face twisted with concern, he held a mirror in one hand while the other plucked pieces of lint from his sleeves.
“This is absolutely dreadful,” he muttered, not glancing our way. “The outdoor air is doing terrible things to my complexion, and I’m certain dew is going to leave water spots on my jacket. But the light here is simply divine for adding sunshine lights to my hair.”
He adjusted a strand of his purple hair but frowned into his mirror. “No, no, that won’t do at all. Perhaps if I angleslightly to the left. Though I do hope no insects land on me. That would be catastrophic for tonight’s dinner appearance.”
Dominic and I exchanged amused glances and continued past, leaving the lord to his outdoor grooming crisis.
His giggles became occasional instead of constant.
We paused beside a bed of emotion-responsive blooms that would probably be one of the festival’s centerpieces. Instead of their usual vibrant colors, they were muted browns and grays, the colors of anxiety and confusion.
“This is worse than I thought.” I knelt to examine them more closely. “These flowers are trying to bloom, but they’re only picking up negative emotions. I feel like something is filtering out all the positive feelings they usually feed on.”
Dominic crouched beside me. “Could someone be deliberately dampening the court’s emotional energy?”
“It’s possible. But who would want to sabotage your most important celebration?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
He’d become a new person as the laughter faded. His shoulders straightened. His expression grew thoughtful, serious in a way I hadn’t seen since our brief contract meeting a week ago.
“This is more like it,” he said quietly. “I almost feel like myself again.”
We rose and continued down the path
“Tell me about the Emotional Bloom Festival,” I said, matching my pace to his. Our hands weren’t touching anymore, but we moved close enough that our arms brushed.
“It’s one of our oldest traditions.” His voice held none ofthe earlier giggling, just quiet passion. “The flowers that bloom during the festival are unique to fae magic. They feed on emotions—joy, wonder, even the bittersweet ache of nostalgia. When the court gathers and everyone’s feelings run high, the gardens transform into something extraordinary.”
“The festival lasts all evening,” he said. “Those who wish to remain come morning can participate in other evens. On the first day, we have the Awakening Ceremony at dawn, where children from the village bring their first emotions to the flowers. We’ll see wonder, excitement, and pure joy, something so sweetly unique in the young. The blooms respond by painting the entire garden in colors that don’t exist anywhere else in nature.”
He gestured toward the flowerbeds that should be bursting with life. “Then there’s the Emotion Walk, where couples and families stroll through different garden sections designed to evoke specific feelings. The memory grove for nostalgia, the laughter meadow for happiness, and the quiet corner for peaceful reflection.”
“It sounds incredible.”
“It is.” He paused beside a bed of bellaburst, their petals currently curled tight. “Or it usually is. With the plants in this condition, I’m terrified the festival will be a disaster. My people look forward to it all year. It’s not just a celebration, it’s affirmation of who we are as fae. Our connection to emotion, beauty, and to the earth itself renews us.”
“What else is included in the festival?”
“The second day features the Great Bloom.”
