Page 2 of Monster's Secret Baby

"Arkan, your gardens are looking particularly vibrant this season," Adellum says, his voice carrying that musical quality all xaphan possess, but rougher around the edges. "Your gardener has quite the touch."

"Harmony's a treasure," Lord Arkan replies, and I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the plant before me. "Worth every lummi I pay her, which she reminds me of regularly."

They laugh, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

"Let's stable these beasts," Arkan continues. "I've had enough of Maelstrom's attitude for one morning. Your zarryn's a terrible influence on him."

"Cloudchaser reflects his rider," Adellum responds, that teasing lilt to his voice. "Besides, a little spirit keeps life interesting."

Their voices fade as they move toward the stables. I exhale, realizing I'd been holding my breath. Just as my shoulders begin to relax, a shadow falls across the bluevine.

"You've missed a spot."

I startle, nearly dropping my shears. Adellum stands not three feet away, arms crossed, studying the bluevine with exaggerated seriousness. His white-blond hair is tousled from the ride, falling in unruly wisps around his temples. Those silver eyes—unnervingly bright even in daylight—crinkle at the corners.

"I didn't miss anything," I say, trying to sound properly respectful. "I simply hadn't gotten to that section yet. Some of us work methodically."

"Methodically." He rolls the word around like he's tasting it. "Is that what you call avoiding looking at me?" He drops to a crouch beside me, close enough that I can smell him—like thunderstorms and cedar smoke. "I've been gone for nearly two weeks, Harmony."

I risk meeting his gaze. "I noticed."

His full mouth quirks up at one corner. "Did you now? Here I thought you'd be too busy with yourmethodicalgardening to count the days."

"Plants are excellent listeners. They never interrupt or make assumptions." I tie off another section of vine, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck. "Besides, Lord Arkan mentioned your absence at dinner last week."

"Ah." He reaches past me to touch a bluevine blossom, his bronze fingers gentle against the delicate petals. "And here I imagined you pining away, staring wistfully at the moon."

I snort before I can stop myself. "I'm afraid you've confused me with one of your admirers in the city. The ones who buy your paintings for obscene amounts of nodals."

"Obscene?" His grin widens. "I prefer to think of it as appropriate compensation for my genius."

"Your humility is truly your most attractive quality," I deadpan, but my lips twitch traitorously.

This is how it always is with Adellum—this easy banter that slips past my defenses. I remember the first time I saw him, over a year ago. I was helping in the kitchen, arms dusted to the elbows with flour, when Lord Arkan brought his guest through on an impromptu tour. Apparently, Adellum had just bought the neighboring estate. I'd tried to duck behind the pantry door, not wanting to be seen in such a state by Arkan's friend.

Instead, I'd crashed into a sack of flour, sending a white cloud exploding into the air. When the dust settled, Adellum was standing there, covered head to wing-tip in fine white powder, his silver eyes wide with surprise. Then he'd thrown his head back and laughed—a full, rich sound that transformed his sharp features into something almost boyish.

"I believe," he'd said once he could speak, "this is what the poets call a memorable first impression."

Now, watching him toy with the bluevine, I feel that same dizzy sensation I felt then—like the floor might not be where I left it.

2

ADELLUM

Iwatch Arkan flick through ledgers that had been deposited while we were out, feigning interest as the conversation shifts to city politics. Sunlight slants through the study windows, catching the gold filigree on his desk. He's always been fond of displays—the polished marble floors, the commissioned art displayed just so.

"You're not listening, are you, Adellum?" Arkan chuckles, setting down his pen.

"Utterly captivated," I reply, straightening from where I've been leaning against a bookshelf. My wings adjust behind me, the gray feathers rustling against silk.

Arkan shakes his head. "I'm sure. I thought you'd at least want to know what you missed. Might inspire you."

"I have plenty of inspiration." My eyes drift to the window where I can see the only thing that ever acts as my muse. "I'd like to view your southeast garden before I leave. I hear the moonblooms have started their seasonal shift."

Arkan's amber eyes glint with amusement. "Ah yes, the garden. Suddenly a dedicated horticulturist, are you?"

I don't dignify that with a response.

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