Page 87 of Down from the Tower

“Not everything changes,” Zarev replies evenly.

She gives him a soft chuckle before gesturing back the way we came. “Margo should be back soon with some fresh soil from the western border of the gardens. Usually she brings along ripe berries, too. See if you can’t help her get a meal prepared.”

He raises a brow, and I almost laugh at the look on his face. “You trust me to cook?”

“No. You’d kill us with your cooking skills. Burnt isn’t a flavor. Margo can handle it. Maybe teach you a thing or two, Zarev. Now off you go.”

He blinks, clearly as surprised as I am by the dismissal, but shrugs and turns away. His trust in Legs must run deep if he’s turning away without a backwards glance.

Anxiety builds in my chest. Dahlia is a cozy tavern owner who looked after me. Legs is a mysterious gardener who looks like she can take just about anyone in a fight, and she probably won’t even have to move from her comfortable spot in that chair to do it.

“Don’t look so terrified,” she says with a laugh. “He’s not going to want to listen to us yammer. And Margo will like seeing him again. She always likes when one of the boys stops by.”

I study her. Zarev is Death, but she speaks of him like he’s merely a young boy. And maybe that’s what he was long ago, but now he’s a type of monster most people fear, and she’s still looking at him like she’s ready to reprimand him for acting silly.

“Now,” she goes on, turning her curious eyes fully on me. “Let’s see these letters, Golden Princess. And maybe you’d like to hear about your magic hair?”

Legs surfs through the letters while I explore her home. She insisted on making us some tea before she began, saying it would help relax my nerves. I humored her, though my taste for tea is skewed now that I’m questioning why my mother always insisted I drink the cups she brewed. Had Zarev not mentioned it, I probably wouldn’t have put together that anything was wrong. It’s tea… it should be simple.

It feels improper to snoop, but Legs kept teasing me until I got up to look. Everything in here is homegrown, from the woven rugs to paintings that look to be done in dried berries. There’s lots of fresh fruit, and happy little ladybugs and caterpillars cling to some of the plants in the window, enjoying the wildlife that rests just outside the house.

I don’t believe this is a place that gets cold. The world is too alive out there to be coated in snow, and when I pull out a map to study it I notice that the Frostlands rest further west. The Butterfly Garden is close, but not close enough.

It doesn’t take long to read the letters, but I’m pretty sure she gives me a few extra minutes to explore. When I turn around she has the letters folded neatly on the table again, her hands folded beneath her chin as she watches me.

I give her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. This place is so…”

“Beautiful?” she asks, tilting her head. “It’s pretty enough you almost forget about the horrors that happen here.”

That sobers me up, and I awkwardly clear my throat. “Well, not quite.”

Her eyes dance over me, and I see no judgment there. “We often avoid the truth by avoiding our problems. Take me for example, Princess.” She gestures to herself, shaking her shoulders as she moves. “I am a butterfly with clipped wings. A caterpillar with no legs. The only solace I have is here in the gardens, where I can still turn the ugly things in life beautiful.”

I give her a smile, thinking that’s a wonderful metaphor. But Legs cocks an eyebrow, pivoting in her seat, and a set of broken wings appears. What I thought was a cloak is a pair of butterfly wings, torn in spots with the ends completely broken off. Splotches of red decorate the translucent black, and I imagine when she could fly it was spectacular.

I swallow before I try to respond. “Um, what happened?”

She chuckles, turning around to face me again. “If I had problems talking about it I wouldn’t show you. I’m sure Zarev gave you a bit of a background on me. You didn’t ask about my nickname, so I assume he’s spoken of me.”

“When he does speak,” I say, embarrassed. “We had a lot to discuss. The nickname… it didn’t come up.”

She laughs again. “It’s called cruel irony. My love Margo made little jokes after it happened to try and lift my mood. The dark humor stuck, and now I never use my name anymore. Only the closest of my friends even know what it is.”

“Does Zarev?”

Her eyes sparkle. “I knew Zarev for a time when he was alive, after he was bitten. But no, only one of the four Reapers knows it, and he travels through fairly often.”

I wrack my brain, but I can’t remember who that would be or if Zarev even told me. She shoots me another wink, easing my mood. But there’s a look on her face that I can’t gauge, caught between admiration and sadness. “When I worked in the gardens of the castle, the Queen let the fairies like myself tend to her plants.”

“You’re a fairy,” I ask, doing a double take. She’s the same size I am, possibly a little bigger, and all the tales I ever read about fairies made them sound like they could sit on your shoulder.

“A type. Creatures are different depending on their environment. My kind have extra legs to help us tend to nature or live in the wild, and when we’ve matured fully we sprout wings and shed the extra appendages, taking to the skies. Our magic rests in the earth, and it’s what gives us life.”

I nod, leaning forward. There are no fairies in Tressa, and I suddenly have a brand new set of questions. But Legs continues on at her own accord, so I clamp my lips shut to listen. “When the Queen began to lose it, she started killing the fairies in her court who couldn’t nurture the prettiest flowers. Some escaped, some were killed. I had skill with roses in particular, so she kept me around. When she grew furious one afternoon and slaughtered everyone but me, my punishment for not being able to do the work of many was the loss of my legs - all of them. She tore my wings too, so I can never escape the gardens.”

She indicates over her shoulder, and it hurts my heart to look at what’s left of the set. “The soldiers brought me here, tossed me into the dying grass and demanded that I get to work. It took some time, and fairy blood has magic of its own. It bled into the land, and quickly helped me to craft beautiful roses that appeased the Queen. Things were okay for a time, until she started using her black magic in my gardens and killing people. The blood mixed with all my magic and nurturing in the earth, creating the Flowerborne.”

Blinking, I think of Zarev and the lack of information he gave me to prepare for Legs. She must read the thoughts on my face, clicking her tongue as she watches me. “Don’t hold it against him. Zarev was a lonely boy in life, and Death brought him friends he is bound to forever. To ease the suffering of others, he occasionally embellishes or avoids the truth. It’s usually harmless, but he’s doing it to cushion the blow.”

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