His sympathy churns my stomach, the knowledge of my deceit threatening to crush me. I’m not upset that the Gardener is going to die, but lying to Rayce to get what I want breaks my heart. Having him willfully by my side as I feed the Gardener poison would just make everything worse.
“No thank you. I appreciate you wanting to help, but I’ll be able to manage.” I clear my throat, searching for a shred of comfort by wrapping my arms around myself, but everything is hollow…my words, my hands, my intentions. “He’ll continue to see me as weak if you’re there all the time. I just want to help the rebellion.”
He kicks off the table and makes his way to me, his eyes much more gentle than before. “And you have, Rose. More than you know. You’ve helped me so much. What you’re willing to do to help the rebellion, to help me, proves without a doubt that I can rely on you.”
His nearness teases my cold hands still damp from the dishwater. He reaches out like he’s going to touch my face but seems to think better of it and grabs the towel I slung over my shoulder instead.
“I’m…glad.” The words stick in my throat.
He nods to the mound of dishes behind me. “You wash, I’ll dry.”
Though he doesn’t touch me, we stand close, closer than two people fighting, but not close enough to be lovers, either. The warmth of his body fades just before it can heat my own, trapping me in this endless cycle of frustration.
“Although,” he says, pausing while drying a pot, “I do wonder what his angle is with this request. He could have demanded anything, a different cell, finer clothes. I would have never given him the freedom to move around outside of a cell, but he didn’t even try to bargain for that. For someone so greedy, it seems a little off that his only request is you.”
I don’t look at him, glaring down at the white suds in the freezing water. The reasoning behind the Gardener’s request has always seemed clear to me, even if I don’t trust the information we get in return.
“Because the only thing that monster…” My hands grip the sponge like I’m trying to rip it in two. “The only thing he cares about more than comfort is power, and this is a play at power. Power over me. I told him I would never serve him again, and he’s using his position to prove me wrong.”
The soft sound of cloth wiping metal stops. Before I can turn to see why, Rayce’s shoulder presses against mine, as solid as a wall, like he’s trying to keep me upright. There is understanding in the way he doesn’t say a word, in the way he just lets me lean on him, supporting me even though we both messed up royally yesterday. His warmth eats away at all of my doubts until the only thing left is this innate need to be near him. I close my eyes, letting his presence wash over me, and try to hold back the wave of guilt rising in my throat.
“You realize this could be a trap, right?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady.
“It might be.” He sighs. “But so far all of his information has been good, and right now, it’s the only hope we have, so I have to try.”
His words hang in the air around us as I begin to thaw and get back to work. We don’t talk, but he doesn’t leave, either, helping me complete the assignment he gave me, a silent act of gratitude until the other barriers between us can come down.
The poison hiding beneath my robe weighs me down, trying to drown me in the dishwater. There was a time when it wouldn’t matter that I was going to betray Rayce. But now that I am no longer blinded by my own wants, it’s impossible to go back to the darkness of living with my eyes closed.
And yet, the Gardener’s survival puts every girl that catches his eye in danger. As long as he is alive, none of the Flowers can ever truly be at ease and he will continue to rip through my nightmares to claim me over and over again.
Everything about the way our hands touch when Rayce takes a dish and the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention feels orchestrated to destroy me.
We shall see which of these things burns me faster: the guilt or my secret.
The last time I kept secrets from Rayce, it cost Oren his life. But this time, the only life on barter is the Gardener’s, and that is a price I am more than willing to pay.
Chapter Ten
For the past two nights, I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal and brought the Gardener his specially prepared dinner laced with desert rose. The first night, he tried to taunt me by commanding exactly where and how I set the tray down, but I refused to speak. Normally, his antics would have been enough to send me furiously destroying a target in the training room, but on my way there, the sound of a little girl’s laughter followed by the soft glow of Zarenite pulsing through the wall pulled my attention to my right.
Rayce kneeled down, holding a jar of Zarenite that glowed bright within his fingers, and was encouraging another little boy to grab a piece. Already, three other children were putting the Zarenite chunks up against the wall and lighting up the dreary tunnel while Rayce explained to them that it was their future to make the world a brighter place.
Despite my anger, I couldn’t help but stop in my tracks and watch him paint the world in color, watch the way he made those children’s eyes grow wide in wonder as they lit up the walls. He was fostering in them a world worth saving, with every act of kindness.
The second night I gave the Gardener his dinner, he switched tactics, trying to tempt me with information, but it was all too easy to ignore him. I sat back and watched him devour all of the rice on his plate, eating the poison without a complaint.
Tonight, the dinner tray holding a large slab of roasted duck and a generous mountain of rice weighs far heavier in my hands than it should. In reality, it’s exactly one drop of the poison heavier, but currently, that pale blue drop encapsulates the entirety of my sisters’ hopes and dreams. The difference between a set future and one of uncertainty. Walking on careful feet down to the holding cell, I carry the plate of food as if my entire world depends on it. Because it does.
But I’ll only need to mix the poison into his brown rice for two more weeks to bring the Gardener to his final resting place.
One drop a night until freedom.
Though I’ve looked for Arlo to thank him, I’ve never gotten to speak with him alone after he placed the poison in my hand and set this entire plan in motion.
Zarenite stuffed into glass jars flickers on as I walk through the final checkpoint before the floor levels out at the holding cell. Tonight, a young man with his black hair closely shaven to his head and eyes that hold far too much joy for the task at hand, nods to me before unfastening a large silver hooped key ring from his belt. It jingles out a happy melody as he moves to open the iron bars for me.
The door’s rusted joints creak in the cavernous space. Walking forward, my foot catches the dip in the stone. The porcelain teapot lid clatters dangerously with my misstep, but years of dancing in the Garden allow me to right myself without much trouble.
Mocking laughter rumbles deep within the cell. My eyes fight to adjust to the single beam of sunlight in the middle of the room, but I finally see him in the alcove. Tightening my grip on the edge of the wooden tray, I jut my chin forward and clench my jaw shut. I will not give him a reaction. That’s exactly what he wants.
A tattered tan blanket covers his feet, turning into the desert dunes over his round belly.
“That was quite an entrance, my Rose,” the Gardener says. Though he tries to laugh again, he ends up coughing, sitting up quickly, his pockmarked cheeks turning red as his small hand grips the fabric of the robe covering his chest tightly.
Now that’s a sweet sound.
Arlo had mentioned that coughing was one of the side effects of the poison. This joyous thought puts my mind at ease and I decide that tonight, I will finally engage.
“Not quite as good as your introduction,” I say. “Coughing in the middle of a performance? What did you used to call that? Bad showmanship? Good thing you never held yourself to as high of standards as you held the women and girls you persecuted.”
He swings his legs over the edge of the alcove carved into the stone and rises to his feet, using his hand to support him on the way up. Was that always something he did or is this another beautiful little side effect of the poison he’s stuffing himself with nightly?
“I didn’t hear an apology in your words, Flower,” he says. “You were much more tolerable when you obeyed my rules, but don’t worry, you’ll get back there soon. Now tell me, what day is it?”
The teacup clatters as I set the lacquered tray down on the table, the low lighting highlighting deep scuffs in the black surface. A few chunks of sticky rice spill onto it, diamonds popping from coal.
“You’re delusional if you think you’re going to make it out of here alive,” I say. “You’ll rot in this holding cell and no one will even remember your real name.”
He sneers, his beady eyes appearing even deeper set with the bags under them. My hand fumbles for my sword the second he takes a step forward, but I find only air where the hilt should be. Rayce still hasn’t given me my weapons back.
“And yet you’re still wise enough to fear your master,” he says, a satisfied smile revealing a row of yellowing teeth. “You have a little sense in you, girl.”
“I do not fear you. Never forget whose sword was pressed against your neck the day everything you built burned to the ground. It wouldn’t be hard for me to overpower you again.”
Watching him move my way feels like reliving one of my recurring nightmares.
“Isn’t that why you’re in this mess in the first place?” he asks. “If you’d just kept your temper bottled then you would be free right now. Perhaps I should give the good shogun a few tips to keep you in line? Maybe he’d assign that pretty little friend with the curls to be your new Wilted.”
How dare he try to take another one of the people I love and cast them in a role that would have them beaten and bruised for every wrong step I make. He already stole Fern’s life. How dare he even think of Marin.
His grin splits wider.
“If you think you can intimidate me, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“And even still, I haven’t given up on you.”
My voice is hard. “That’s just pathetic. No one even remembers you enough to think about you.”
Reaching the table, he pulls out the stool, letting the legs scrape against the stone floor. He sits, the seat groaning as it accepts his weight, and he snatches up the wooden spoon.
“Do you think you’ve come that far?” he asks, several grains of rice and spittle shooting out of his mouth as he chews. “Because from where I sit, you’re still shaking in my shadow, serving me my food like an obedient little girl.”
Fire threatens to sear my veins, my vision narrowing to a black speck. My empty hand jerks forward.
He snickers at my reaction, revealing his half-chewed food. His laughter sputters into coughing, reminding me of the poison concealed in his rice like a serpent in tall grass.
There’s an intricate power struggle happening between us, and it’s clear by the way the Gardener’s eyes light up that he thinks he’s winning.
An earsplitting creaking sound reverberates through the room, announcing an unexpected presence. I twist around as a figure steps into the cell, forcing my eyes to try to peel back the darkness, and heave a sigh of relief seeing Rayce walk up behind me.
“The rebellion has now fulfilled its end of the bargain,” he says. “It’s time for you to make good on your word.”
My gaze drifts over him, hearing the hardness in his voice that leaves no room for argument. This is the shogun, not the man who helped me in the kitchen a few days ago. He’s shaven his face clean, his hair slicked back with purpose, and he wears his long black robe. His bare arms cross over his wide chest, the whisper of the Zarenite tattoo running down his bulky bicep. If his hand were to brush across the stunner strapped to his side, the wind pattern would awaken and glow an alluring green, transforming his skin to magic.
Both iterations of Rayce captivate me. This version of him is immovable, hard, precise. This is the man who will defeat the emperor and unite the people of Delmar, leading them into an age of peace. The leader, according to Oren, that my father hoped for me to marry to finally unite both kingdoms under one rule.
“But of course,” the Gardener says. He pours a glass of hot tea and picks it up. The tiny round cup almost makes his small hands look normal. “As I’ve said before, it would be my honor to aid your grand rebellion to victory.”
Please.
It takes everything inside me not to roll my eyes. The fact that he put himself and honor in the same sentence should be enough to set warning bells off in Rayce’s mind.
“Perhaps the good shogun will grant me a small favor and tell me what the day is?” he asks.
“Day twenty nine of the 561st Summer.” Rayce takes a step forward, standing a few inches closer to the Gardener than I care to. “Now, you mentioned something about how the rebellion could obtain more soldiers. Tell us how we can accomplish this.”
My gaze falls on Rayce’s wide back.
“We don’t have all night,” I say, my words clipped.
“As the wise shogun has indicated, I will happily hold up my end of our arrangement. Though I must say, I’m impressed you were able to get the Flower to be obedient.”
His voice a low rumble. “Make no mistake, I don’t wish for her obedience.” He does nothing to hide his anger. “You’re implying we are alike to get under my skin. It won’t work.”
“Of course,” the Gardener says, bowing his head in mock submission. “In order to find what you seek, you must head east, to Huidezen.”
Rayce’s brow creases at the Gardener’s statement, and I can almost see a map of Delmar appearing behind his eyes as he tries to recall that name. Thanks to my frequent trips to Oren’s office and the maps papering half of his room, I recognize the town instantly.
“Huidezen?” I ask, doubtfully. “Isn’t that a small town to the north of Imperial City?”
The Gardener’s mouth splits into a wide grin, revealing pieces of rice stuck in his teeth. “Well, now, it seems the Flower has been taught the lay of our fair land.”
I wouldn’t have even noticed the tiny town if Oren hadn’t marked it with a pin as a potential location to implant spies.
It’s even stranger to hear about it from the Gardener. We visited plenty of towns while I was a part of his horror show, always on the run from the ban of entertainment the emperor enforced whenever the whim suited him, but we never visited it. So why would he mention it now?
“Why there?” I ask.
“Because it is where you’ll find the Blue Heron,” he says. “A small inn located in the middle of the town, and in there you will find my contact who will assist you in rounding up the men you so desperately need.”
Rayce crosses his arms over his chest. “How will we know how to identify this contact of yours?”
The Gardener takes his sweet time chewing on the last bite of his rice and daintily wipes his mouth with a scrap cloth.
After taking an eternity, the Gardener looks up at Rayce. “When you get into the inn, look for the lotus brooch, and speak the phrase fortune clings to the hand that wields flowers. They’ll handle the rest.”
The words he tells Rayce to speak are vaguely familiar, some Delmarian saying that’s lost its meaning to time. Juniper used to say something similar, though she said fortune clings to the hand that gives flowers, encouraging kindness. Clearly the Gardener has changed it to suit his own whims. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“We need more information than just a brooch,” Rayce says. “You’ve barely given us anything.”
“It looks like the shogun will have to be very observant,” the Gardener says. “Unless you would like to wait around and buy more information with the Flower’s body.”
> I cut my eyes at the Gardener. Only a few more weeks and we won’t have to put up with him anymore.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” I say. “I’ve had to look at you for the past three days so you’d better give us more than that.”
“A description of the brooch, at least,” Rayce says.
The Gardener takes another slow sip of his black tea.
“It’s silver, the lotus petals a soft pink.” He holds up his thumb and pointer finger about five inches apart. “Roughly this big.”
Rayce nods curtly. “I can work with that.”
Between the Gardener’s smug face and Rayce’s calm demeanor, frustration curls my lips back, causing my hands to shake. The Gardener is our prisoner, he lives or dies by our hands, and Rayce is allowing him to make demands, giving him the illusion of power he doesn’t have. Especially when there are other, more painful ways to make him reveal the secrets he holds.
“We shouldn’t have to.” My voice shakes with anger. “He’s our prisoner. Why are we even bargaining with him?”
Being in this room feels like being thrown into a river of cold water, and I just need to get out. It’s all unbearable. I stomp away, not even waiting for Rayce’s response, the Gardener’s laughter chasing me down the hallway. A few seconds later, the squeak of iron bars signals that Rayce has exited as well, but I’m in no mood for entertaining, not even him.
Logically, I know Rayce isn’t at fault for the way the Gardener is acting, and he’s done nothing to encourage his behavior, but I’m so frustrated with having to serve that monster that I can’t keep my anger at bay.
Rayce’s footsteps come at me fast, and not even a breath later, his hand wraps around my arm.
War of the Wilted Page 9