The look I got from him was acidic.
I knew I’d said something wrong but didn’t want to ruin the party, so I excused myself and clung to Card’s side for a while. When Lark caught up with me, he was sulky and needy, complaining I wasspending too much time around my best friend. I gave him a confused frown and said that the point of the party was to celebratetheirengagement, notus.
“Gods, why are you so difficult?” he yelled, loud enough for onlookers to hear.
I jerked back.
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, you and yourfuckingwords.”
“My…what?”
“You just can’t say anything supportive, can you?No,you have to be a fucking nightmare! You take every chance to embarrass me. It’s like youwantpeople to be uncomfortable around you!”
My world had plummeted. All the anxious thoughts I’d had about us were coming true. I was hard to be around. I was hard to communicate with.
I was hard to love.
So I shouted back. Told him he was controlling. Told him he was too arrogant, too critical of his peers—things I’d previously kept to myself for fear of losing him. I couldn’t see through my tears when Card pulled me into his arms. Bash dragged Lark out. Threw him out of the party and sent him to Ava for a behavioral assessment. And by the next day, the whole citadel knew.
The whispers that agreed with Lark hurt the most.
I shove the flowers into his chest.
“Get out of my shop. You can help me by staying as far away as possible.”
“Fliss—”
The chime interrupts and Tarin, dressed in leather armor, short dark hair tucked behind their pale pointed ears, opens the door with one hand. As a guard-in-training, Tarin immediately hesitates, thrown off by finding their senior here. Lark’s jaw is clenched and he’s gripping the asphodel.
“Miss Felicity,” they say, their eyes jumping between the two of us.
“Tarin, please come in,” I reply, delighted to have any other company.
“I only came to deliver this from Master Cardamine,” Tarin says, and brings forth a yellow elecampane flower, its thin trails of petals not too dissimilar from a sunflower.
Elecampane means one thing.
I snatch the flower out of Tarin’s hand, my pulse rocketing.
“Are you sure this is from Card?”
“Y-Yes,” Tarin stutters.
Forgetting everything else, I fly into action, dashing forward to turn the shop sign toClosedand grabbing my keys. I yank open the door and wave my hand urgently.
“Everyone out,” I order. I’m so panicked I’m hardly able to see. Elecampane from Card is an SOS. A call that I should run to him immediately.
“Fliss—” Lark begins, but Tarin hoists him out. I don’t care what they do once I’ve locked the front door. It’s not as important as Card being in distress.
I race in the opposite direction Marceline went earlier and head toward the castle, practically running over the drawbridge and through the courtyard. Howell is there at the large double doors and, with the experience of a longtime guard, he opens them for me with a hand clenched in a fist over his heart. Even now, after years of being granted entry to the castle without question, I can’t help but think about how this is not a privilege most have. I often wonder if my access adds to my “otherness,” or whether it might be one of the few places I’m accepted—even if it’s on the queen’s orders. I know where the hallways and stairwells lead, and when I reach Card’s quarters, I don’t even knock. I throw the door open and stand there panting, the elecampane drooping in my hand.
“Fliss!” Card sings with a grin. “Come on in, my darling.”
I heave a deep breath and stare at him. He’s lounging on a sofa in his parlor, a goblet in hand and no emergency to be seen. Nettle, resident tracker and Captain Ava’s partner, reclines in a chair to the side, eyeing me as she always does, with a haughty indifference. I told Nettle she had food in her teeth when we first met, and she’s hated me ever since. One of Card’s wedding planners stands by the fireplace, holding what seems to be a type of cravat, next to a variety of fabric squares laid out on a low table. Card leaps up and pushes a spare goblet toward me. I catch a waft of wine, and prickle.
“Card, I closed the shop for this.”
