The coins are placed on the table and begrudgingly I pinch the end of the stem, winding my magic into the flower and feeling for its connection to the earth, to the emotion, searching for the thread. I’ve made a lot of bouquets with asphodel in my time, so I know just how to hook out the magic inside. Asphodels are sharp. The sorcery inside them feels like a barbed shell, imprisoned by its own grief. It takes a patient hand, the soft brush of their white petals, and an understanding of the cage they keep themselves in. If I wind my magic just right, I can coax the asphodel’s emotion to the surface and create an enchanted flower that cries out in regretful agony. As I work, half my mind meanders in the flower’s magic, and half keeps a watchful eye on Lark.
“I heard you went north recently,” he says.
“And?”
“You need to be careful.”
Gosh, thank you,I want to say, but I don’t want to genuinely thank him for his concern, so I can’t. Lark folds his arms. He knows what my silence means.
“Did you go alone?” he presses.
“I left the citadel alone, yes,” I say, to avoid revealing I met Will and Pigeon out there. “Card and Bash are busy these days, so I didn’t ask them to come with me.”
Lark’s broad shoulders rise.
“PrinceBastion and his consort have duties to attend to,” he says, with a drop of bitterness. It’s not my fault he has to address them like that. Lark used to join us outside the citadel too. He was there for hot, lazy summer walks in the grass, winter evenings in Bastion’s chambers with wine and wild stories. Now he has to treat Bash like the rest of his subjects do—with a distance and respect that Card and I can bypass.
When I drag the last of the asphodel’s power to the surface, Lark moves around the table and closes the space between us. I flinch away like he’s fire, scorching every defense I’ve built.
“Fliss, I’m being serious. You can’t be going off into the northern forest alone anymore,” Lark says. He takes my shoulders and his sandalwood scent washes over me. Ihatehow nice it smells. It was the first thing I’d noticed about him that day in the training yard, when I’d hung back waiting for Card to finish flirting with Bash. Lark had wandered over, a rookie guard-in-training from the south, and done what many people are reluctant to do with me—smile and say hello.
“Let go of me.”
He does. A sting of tears threatens the back of my eyes.Just concentrate on working, on choosing some wrapping paper, on folding it around the flower.I select a ribbon (the cheapest one) and tie it to the bottom, flooding the package with a spell that will keep the flower alive and healthy for much longer.
“There are rebels out there,” Lark continues, his hands now clenched at his sides. “They’ve been attacking the trading wagons more frequently, and you know what happened to Simon. That explosion might not be a one-off. You have no idea what kind of security we’re putting in place to prepare for Prince Merit’s return.”
“I’ve come back unharmed so far,” I say. I don’t mention the injuries that were gained and healedwhileI was gone, but my point still stands.
“Fliss, you’re not listening to me.”
“I don’t needyouto tell me what to do.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help!”
The truth of it knocks at Lark’s persistence. He runs his eyes over the tight press of my mouth.
He drifts into that velvety tone. “Fliss…how long will it be until you stop looking at me like that? You need someone to protect you.”
“Protect me? I don’t— You—” My tongue trips over all the curses and exasperation I can’t find the words for.
He thinks I’mweak.
Lark skims a finger over a petal of the asphodel in my shaking hands. The enchantment must sink in. It doesn’t take much for the emotion to bleed out once I’ve triggered the magic. Unfortunately for me, unceasing regret and despair are just what prompt Lark to lift a hand to my cheek and gaze deeply into my face. His skin is rough from years of sword training. Compared to Willoh’s hands, they’re—
“Fliss, I’msorry.I can tell you every day if that’s what it takes. I shouldn’t have—” He cuts himself off.
“No, go on. Tell me exactly what youshouldn’t havedone.” I push him back, twisting out of his grip. Let him squirm. Let him suffer. He only wants the attention and applause. The boost to his ego. The proximity to the royals. But he can’t handle my honesty. His pride can’t take the hits. That was our breaking point after all.
Ten months ago, Bash and Card’s engagement celebrations around us, drinks in hands and music playing, he’d flipped. Exploded. Irrationally, I’d thought at the time. I didn’t see the signs until it was too late.
Earlier on when we’d been getting ready, he changed into a dark suit bought with his new earnings and asked me how he looked. I said he looked nice, how he always looks, and didn’t understand why he got annoyed at that. I reminded him that I couldn’t exaggerate. I literally could not tell him he looked like the falling stars, or whatever romantic compliment he was fishing for.
Later on at the party, we were mingling with a few of his guard friends, and one had made a joke about missing his kid’s bedtime story, saying how he’d have to ask his wife to catch him up on the plot. I opened my mouth before I could think about it.
“Yeah, Lark didn’t want to come either,” I said, which was the truth. He’d had a hard day of training and had a slight headache.
