Willoh pushes off the table and closes the distance between us, standing only an inch from my knees. My mouth goes dry as he tugs that smirk across his face.
“How about a promise?” he asks, and I have to wonder if he’s teasing me on purpose. He reaches out a hand to tuck the cinquefoil flower snugly behind my ear. It must have been falling out of its clip. I’m surprised it survived the avalanche. “You can say no. I don’t know how promises or conversations about the future work with your curse, but next time you get a crazy request for a flower, promise that you’ll ask me to come with you first. Only so you don’t end up injuring yourself further. It does seem to be a skill of yours, and I’d hate for your loyal customers to lose their dearest florist.”
I swallow away the flutters. “Um, I…um.”
“Well, don’t say it out loud. Just think about it and we’ll call it even.”
He reaches for my belongings, and I take them from his hands gingerly.
“Why?” I ask, and follow him to the door.
“Why not? Besides,” he replies, and throws me a wink, “my mother would kill me for abandoning a princess in need.”
A bristle runs down my spine.He always ruins it.
Willoh pulls open the door again to find that Mustard has not moved an inch.
“Hey, you. Budge.” He crouches to poke Mustard’s fluffy back. The cat twists his head around slowly and gives him a glare that would put Bastion to shame. “Or stay there. Fine. Come on, Farrow, I’ll walk you out.”
We step over the door guardian and out into the flower-filled garden where Willoh tucks his hands in his jacket pockets.
“You know, you can get past the wards now—that’s what I was doing when you woke up; I have to press a spell to someone’s forehead to give them permission to enter without fainting. But the magic protecting this place means you can’t point to it on a map or tell anyone the location,” he says, leading me past some shy daffodils and through the same gap in the trees Pigeon disappeared into.
“Don’t worry, I’m used to choosing my wording carefully.”
He frowns, but says nothing. Sometimes this happens when people find out about my curse. They become reluctant to reply. Reluctant to share. Besides Card, who upon finding out about my curse a few days after we met, simply shrugged, told me that words are only one way to communicate, not our whole identity, and that language changes so much over time that, in years to come, historians will argue over how many interpretations there are of my truth. He had squeezed my hand, not one to linger on sensitive topics, and immediately changed the conversation to tell me about his grandparents’ recent trip to the deserts of Ject. I suppose not everyone can be as self-assured. I have to wonder if Willoh’s regretting letting me in at all.
Soon the trees widen, and I spot the wild crocuses that bloom outside the citadel, adding color to either side of the dirt path. They’re wilting slightly today, which is strange for spring.
Willoh comes to a stop. “You know where you are now, Farrow?”
“It’s Fliss. Felicity. Farrow is my last name. Um, thank you for your help, Willoh.”
“Ouch, so formal. Will is fine.”
“Then thank you…Will.”
I open my mouth again. Close it. I find myself wanting to stay, wanting to ask a thousand questions I shouldn’t. Why do Bash and the queen hate him so much? What exactly happened five years ago? Why does he have wards around his house, and why can Pigeon get through them? Also, off topic, but who whittled all that cute furniture? Because I’d truly love some for myself.
I say nothing, as usual, and take a step away.
“Try not to injure yourself on your way home, Princess,” Will calls. I shake my head, and he turns back in the direction of the cottage.
It isn’t until after I’ve greeted Godfrey at the gates to the citadel that I realize the questions in my mind are a bud unable to bloom. Questions I’ve actively avoided for years. They’re going to gnaw away at me from now on. Right beside them, the memory of Will’s hands on my skin refuses to shrivel, digging a home like the roots of an oak tree. I know that I’ll be keeping the promise he asked of me.
It’s almost disappointing to find the submission box empty.
Chapter Seven
The air in my tiny greenhouse is thick, like a fever under glass-walled skin, but it might be one of my favorite places in the world. It’s nice to get back to some familiarity after working with the unusual power of the Odyssa all of yesterday. I’d studied the twin flowers for as long as I could allow myself, enchanting and inspecting and sketching until my fingers ached, but eventually, I had to pack them up and leave them in the collection box. I was worried they would wilt without the winter weather conditions, but neither flower showed any signs of weakening. And just like with the Feiyan, the welcome sum of ten gold was left behind and nothing more.
I’m clipping away at my collection of colored roses when the chime of the door pulls me back to reality.
“Just a moment,” I call out, placing my pruning shears next to the jug of sugar water I’ve balanced between pots—just another reminder that my flowers will be fighting for space if I can’t invest in a bigger greenhouse soon.
I leave behind the overpowering smell of roses and enter my shop through the back door. There I find Marceline, my part-timedelivery girl, bouncing on her toes, her auburn hair in two braids beside pink windswept cheeks. It surprises me that she’s here already. It must mean it’s later in the day than I thought. Time often distorts in the greenhouse, like it’s on a different beat from the rest of the world.
“Got anything for me?” Marceline asks, unable to still the energy in her limbs.
