Page 55 of Prince of Flowers
Sylvain was standing nearby, no longer quite so naked, the last of the leaves he’d summoned adhering to his thigh to complete his garment. He’d crafted himself a pair of his favorite leafy britches, his strong chest stretching out the gray hooded vest I’d given him.
But why did he look so — I don’t know. Crestfallen. That was the word.
“Come back to bed,” I mumbled.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, giving me a small smile.
I pushed myself off the mattress, sat up. “What’s going on?” I rubbed at my eyes, my hair, headed toward the breakfast table. “If you’re hungry, I can just — oh, right. I burned the menu. Well, I’m sure we can find you something to — ”
“Locke. I have to go.”
The words trickled over me like drops of ice rain.
“Wait. I’m confused. Was it something I did?”
I detested how pathetic I sounded in my own ears. He started for me, and I leaned away. He stopped again, doubt, maybe some hurt etched on his face.
“You did nothing wrong. You were wonderful.” He gestured around the room with one hand. “This. All this has been wonderful.”
Past tense. That wasn’t very reassuring. “So where are you going?”
“Back to the Verdance. But not for long, only to see if I can stop the Withering.”
I gripped the back of a chair, trying to steady myself. “But we don’t know for sure what can stop it. Unless — did you find something?”
His eyes fell on a book he’d left on the table, the same one he’d complained about when we were setting up camp.An Annotated History of the Wispwood. He was only pretending. He’d actually read it, or at least the parts of it that mattered. I shut my eyes, pushed my palms against my face.
“The Wispwell. That’s why you’ve been so curious about the Wispwell.”
He wasn’t thirsty when he arrived, but had been so eager to learn about it. All those questions. And the book. The damn book. Why didn’t I put all the pieces together?
“What if its waters can cure this decay, Locke? The book says that the Wispwell’s waters run deep, make the castle and its forest strong. Perhaps it could counteract the Withering, even in some small way. And I swear, it won’t be long. You need only call me, and I’ll return.”
“You could have just asked,” I said, my head spinning. “You didn’t have to sneak your way around this, then sneak your way out again.”
“But I said I would come back. Don’t you believe me? I’ve lingered here long enough. The Withering is taking over our corner of the Verdance, and I fear it’s only going to get worse. Nothing odd about wilting and browning leaves. I’m used to it. But this much desiccation? You saw so yourself when the guardian crumbled to nothing, when the first creature we killed did the same.”
I held the chair again, staring down at my belt draped along the back of it. Wait. Was that a slip of the tongue? What was all that about dry leaves? I didn’t know enough about the Verdance, but the courts — back at the tent, Sylvain mentioned a perpetual summer.
“You said it was always summer in your corner of the Verdance.”
Sylvain glanced away, his lips quavering as he searched for an answer.
“There’s something else you need to know.”
In one quick motion I unclasped the guard of my dagger’s sheath. The sparkle of summer, the blossom of spring. And what came in fall?
“The Withering,” I breathed. I rushed at him, placed my dagger against his throat, knowing he could overpower me. He knew it, too, but the sadness in his eyes told me that the drawing of my blade had been hurtful enough. I steeled myself.
“You — you betrayed me. All that talk of the Summer Court, the Verdance, and your father, the Summer King.”
“I said that the King of Summer was a good man. I never said he was my father. You put those pieces together yourself.”
He’d been so careful. I searched my memories, my eyes flitting all about the bedchamber. He was right about that part. I’d only assumed.
“Yet you lied about everything else.” I bared my teeth, pressing in, the dagger so close to drawing blood.
“I didn’t lie about falling for you.”
