Page 37 of Prince of Flowers
I shrugged. “We’re not entirely sure that this mission of yours aligns with what we’re planning to do.”
Aphrodite flipped her hair, her brow furrowed, the corners of her eyes creasing. This was the closest I’d seen her approaching anger. The entities didn’t like it when they didn’t get their way. But she remembered herself and smiled again.
“I can assure you both that this enormous creature you’ve destroyed is not the last of these withered beasts. Something has desecrated these forests — and the forests of your home as well. Is it not true, princeling?”
Sylvain’s eyes stared hard into hers, and then into mine. He nodded once.
“Then this is settled,” Aphrodite said. “Find information. Slay more of these beasts as you encounter them. Tell me what you learn. Simple. That is all I ask.”
I threw my hands up in resignation. “Fine. Whatever we find, we’ll let you know. Whatever we learn.”
Aphrodite beamed. My heart skipped a beat. “See? Was that so hard to agree to? Sapling, starling, little darling.”
My ears burned. This was a little embarrassing, and almost sweet. Yet I still needed to remember that this was a goddess, an entity, a supremely powerful creature whose lifespan far outstripped mine. Was she doing this out of genuine concern, or plain boredom? And if the gods themselves didn’t know what was happening with these withered creatures, what hope did Sylvain and I have of finding out?
“I trust you’ll learn something interesting,” Aphrodite said. “I’ll be visiting the two of you again. Until then, I do hope you’ll behave. Rather, I hope you don’t. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Oh, it’s — it’s not like that.”
I’d blurted the words out, defensive despite the relative innocence of what she’d said. Sylvain studied my face, only adding to the awkwardness. I couldn’t read the look in his eyes, whether he was relieved or offended. Could have been both, really.
“Well, gentlemen,” Aphrodite said. “Whatever happens, happens. Such a rare and precious occasion indeed. I hope that you do not squander this valuable opportunity for — ah, let’s say experimentation.”
She let the word linger, as if I didn’t have constant problems just breathing the same air as Sylvain already. In every sense, really. No one had ever triggered my fight or fuck reflex quite like this.
“For advancements in the field of summoning of course,” Aphrodite clarified. She pressed a finger into her cheek, like she’d memorized where the dimple was long ago. Her last sentence she spoke in a rhythmic hurry. “And also in the name of love.”
Again I sputtered, reaching out, a finger raised to correct her. “It’s not like that.”
Sylvain crossed his arms and grumbled. “It really isn’t.”
Aphrodite disappeared on the wind, leaving behind a sigh, a moan, a whisper.
Oh, and peals of ecstatic laughter.
15
“There,”I told Sylvain. “See? The tent’s fully grown. We can go in now.”
I lowered my head as I entered the structure, a trellis of vines and branches grown over five or so minutes using a single seedling. Leafy protrusions served as the tent’s canopy, the wispy tendrils spilling down the sides meant to keep out drafts, sunlight, and rain.
“Very impressive,” Sylvain said, nodding approvingly as he unfurled his bedroll on one end of the tent. I followed suit, bedroll tucked under one arm, backpack under the other.
The Wispwood never left its students unprepared. These tents were part of every standard provisions kit, enchanted seedlings smaller than a fingernail. They’d grow into shelters within minutes, then naturally break down over the course of days to rejoin and feed the earth.
I passed Sylvain his share of rations, eaten unquestioningly, maybe because of how famished he was. Nasi lemak for dinner, a Malaysian delicacy: a heaping serving of fragrant coconut rice topped with spicy relish, tiny fried fish, a sliced hardboiled egg, roasted peanuts, and some fresh cucumber, all conveniently wrapped in a banana leaf, shaped like a green pyramid.
And for snacks? Trail mix, jerky, dark chocolate, and colorful pressed juices kept chilled in glass phials. Bless the kitchen imps, seriously. They were over their French phase, which was probably for the best. I didn’t mind French cuisine, but couldn’t imagine tucking into it out in the woods.
Stuffed full of dinner and a phial of apple juice, Sylvain stretched out on his bedroll, munching absently on some trail mix while paging through a large book. He sighed as he scanned the pages, like a schoolboy going through some unpleasant required reading.
Where did he even get that thing, anyway? Even better question. Where was he keeping it? I squinted at the book, recognizing the cover.An Annotated History of the Wispwood. Yikes. No wonder he looked so bored.
“Hey. You stole that from my bedroom.”
“Borrowed,” he said, lifting a correcting finger without removing his eyes from the pages. “And I don’t see why you care. This thing just prattles on and on about your academy. Headmaster this, Wispwell that. Mind-numbing.”
“Then find something else to do, Sylvain.”
