King of Devotion

by J A Armitage

  He tapped his nose, and I laughed.

  We took a leisurely stroll to his house. It was a pleasant walk that exited the train station and wound through the picturesque village of Goldenrod. Red and pink geraniums squatted in window boxes outside shops and the apartments above them, and sweet pea vines crawled up the sides of brick buildings. Away from the pressures and demands of the city, everyone here seemed cheerful, from the baker adjusting her chalk sign to add SOLD OUT next to an advertisement for cardamom buns to the street sweeper who whistled as he tidied up the remains of a flowerpot that had spilled all over the sidewalk.

  “I ought to move out here,” I said after a woman selling flowers handed me a daisy with a wink and a flirtatious “No charge, love.”

  “Don’t let it fool you, small towns can be madness,” Hedley said. “Hyacinth is in a proper feud with the lady down the street who keeps stealing our apple blossoms.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why would anyone steal apple blossoms?”

  “Well, that’s the mystery, isn’t it?”

  We turned onto a dirt lane that wandered away from the rest of the town. We passed an orchard and a stand of raspberry bushes thick with leaves, and then the bushes gave way to a landscaped front garden that could only have belonged to my mentor. His cottage stood under gently swaying trees, the stone walls covered in climbing roses and the window boxes bursting with petunias.

  “And here I thought you’d have less gardening to do,” I said.

  Hedley boomed out a laugh. We both knew he would garden his way into the grave, and part of me suspected his ghost would find a way to come back every few weeks to tend whatever flowers were planted by his headstone.

  “I’ll give you a tour, but you’d better come inside first,” Hedley said. “Hyacinth was so excited to hear you were coming that she cooked a goose.”

  “She’s a rose among women.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  Mrs. Hyacinth Hedley greeted me with a shriek and a hug and proceeded to demand to know whether the palace was feeding me and whether I’d managed to get my favorite boots repaired and how I was sleeping now that I had a whole forty acres of garden to worry about. I answered her questions almost as quickly as she could ask them while she piled a plate high with goose and gravy and roasted vegetables.

  “That’s plenty,” I said as she maneuvered a soft roll onto the already-full plate.

  “It’s not, and there’s more where that came from.”

  I devoured the meal while she looked on in approval. Hedley watched with quiet amusement, and when my second plate was cleaned, his wife finally seemed satisfied to let us go wander the property.

  I had missed Hyacinth’s cooking ever since she and Hedley had moved away. I’d missed the love that came with it even more.

  “She worries about you,” Hedley said in a low voice once we were out in the expansive gardens behind the cottage. “How have you been getting on?”

  “I’m all right.” I considered the words as they came out, weighing them for truth. I wasn’t all right, not exactly, but perhaps I would be soon.

  Hedley saw right through me.

  “Everything’s not quite as it should be, though, is it?” he said. “Your first solo festival is coming up fast, and yet you’re here.” He swatted a butter-yellow moth away from his face, and it flitted to a nearby bluebell and slowly beat its wings. “What’s the matter?” His face stayed placid, but his hazel eyes sharpened. “Girl troubles?”

  He knew how I felt about Lilian. Anyone who’d been paying attention to us over the last eighteen years would, and Hedley paid more attention than most, however quietly.

  And no one in the kingdom could be unaware of her upcoming nuptials.

  “I’m sure that’s part of it,” I said.

  It was a relief to admit. I’d spent so much time trying to deny my feelings—not to pretend they didn’t exist, because that was impossible, but to ignore how much my love for her mattered.

  “She’s marrying someone else,” I said. “The world’s ending.” I shrugged ruefully. “What can I do? Floris would never accept a gardener as its king, and I have no right to aspire to the position of her husband. It is what it is. I just hope things get easier after the wedding.”

  “You’re a good man, Deon.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Another woman will recognize it, sooner or later.”

  The thought of ever loving another woman filled me with—I didn’t know what it was. Dread. Fear, maybe. Grief.

  “This wildflower bed has been coming along better than I expected,” Hedley said, smoothly changing the subject and giving me a moment to get the prickling behind my eyes under control. “It seems the scarlet rocket might take it over, but it’s facing stiff competition from the winding clover. I’m looking forward to watching them battle it out.”

  I cleared my throat. “Sounds exciting.”

  “Gardening always is.” He gestured at the path in front of us. “Wait until you see the pond lilies.”

  After the tour, I sat across from Hedley at his kitchen table and sipped my tea. The sweet chamomile flavor blossomed in my mouth, its fragrance delicate and green.

  “I suppose I should bring up what I actually came for before it’s time to go home,” I said.

  Hedley nodded, as tranquil as the surface of the lily-coated pond he had been so proud to show me earlier in the afternoon. Like any good gardener, Hedley knew how to let things unfurl at their own pace.

  “I brought it with me,” I said.

  This piqued his curiosity. “It? Have you come up with a new bloom already?”

  I glanced at him. “I have, as it happens, but that’s not what I came for.”

  I collected my small bag from where I’d hung it on the coatrack. Just touching the bag left me with a feeling of contamination that made my fingers recoil from the leather strap. I set it on the table and glanced around.

  “Do you have a room that doesn’t have plants?”

  Hedley’s thick silver eyebrows drew together. “Can’t say I do.”

  “It should be all right.” I glanced at the philodendrons that curled down from the windowsill and the elegant snake plants in the corners of the room. “I’ve got it under glass.”

  “Now, you do have me curious.”

  I unfastened the bag and took out the bundle inside. The specimen bell jar I’d snagged from the palace apothecary was covered with old newspapers, and Hedley watched with interest as I unrolled the protective layers.

  I set the jar on the table between us.

  Hedley leaned forward. “What in blazes happened to those?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”

  He picked up the spectacles that hung around his neck and put them on, squinting as he did so. He peered down at the blooms: two tulips, a rose, and a bearded iris, each one gray and oozing rot from its wilted petals.

  “Stinging nettles, Deon, what have you done to my gardens?” Hedley muttered.

  I wrapped my hands around my teacup as if it could provide any kind of comfort in the face of a problem this enormous.

  “I don’t know what it is,” I said. “None of us do. I noticed it a couple of days ago, and already, it’s spreading. It affects every plant the same way, first a bit of gray fading at the tips of the petals, and then the whole thing decays like it’s got the worst kind of root rot. It’s only a matter of time before the king and queen notice.”

  “What visitors has the palace had lately?” Hedley said sharply.

  I startled at the sudden change in his manner. “Just the duke and his entourage,” I said.

  “The Duke of Thornton?” Hedley shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t have what’s needed for a thing like this. Nor his parents, pompous upstarts though they are.”

  “You know the family?”

  “I worked at the palace for longer than you’ve been alive; I know everybody.” He squinted again at the flowers. “Who was in their entourage? A witch? A sorcerer?
A court magician, perhaps?”

  I frowned. “Servants,” I said. “Ladies’ maids, valets, secretaries, their transport advisor. Fourteen people in all, I think. No one like that.”

  Hedley picked up the jar and turned it over, muttering to himself. Finally, he set it down and fixed me with his gaze.

  “These are cursed,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

  “No, I’m talking magic.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “It’s uncommon,” he said. “They’re different.”

  He stared at me with pursed lips for a long moment, then blinked and poured us both another cup of tea.

  “What’s killing these plants isn’t natural,” he said finally. “I haven’t seen a flower like those in over eighteen years, but I can still spot one as well as I can spot a case of blossom rot or leaf curl.” He tapped the jar with his knuckle, the glass clinking softly with the impact.

  I examined the flowers again. There was plenty odd about this disease, but a curse?

  “It’s not that surprising,” Hedley said. He sipped his tea, eying the flowers over the rim of his cup. “The gardens of Floris have always been helped a little by magic, haven’t they? Makes sense that sometimes they’d be hurt by it, too.”

  He didn’t seem to be trying to make a joke. I leaned forward. “What do you mean, helped by magic?” I said. “Since when? Was I supposed to be casting spells on the gardens this whole time?”

  The thought was horrifying. I didn’t have magic. Hedley didn’t have magic, as far as I knew. Why would anyone have left me in charge of a magical garden without telling me that it might be prone to curses?

  Hedley raised a calming hand. “Don’t panic,” he ordered.

  I took a long, slow breath, and did my best.

  “The magic isn’t from the likes of you and me,” he said. “But it’s there anyway, as surely as I’m sitting here. Why do you think the garden is so quick to bloom and so eager to produce the best flowers the kingdoms have to offer? Wisterias don’t flower this early in other parts of the world, and yet, I’m sure half the garden pathways are covered with them. And your strawberry patches—I suspect they’re producing enough to keep your princess in jams and tarts already, aren’t they?”

  I knit my eyebrows together. What he was saying was all true, but reaching for magic as the explanation seemed like wishful thinking.

  “We have a temperate climate,” I said. “Spring comes early, and the coast on three sides keeps our summers from ever getting too hot.” I’d learned as much from Lilian’s and my tutors. The way we Florians put our climate to such good use was a point of national pride.

  “A temperate climate will not cause daffodils and roses to bloom at the same time,” Hedley said. “And yet, I’d bet this cottage that both are showing off their full colors at the palace.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but he was right. The daffodils were in full bloom, but the roses were unfurling, too. And yet, according to the books I’d read on the subject, daffodils were supposed to bloom in early spring and roses near the beginning of summer.

  I’d never given it a second thought. I’d just assumed that Floris’s climate was the best, and its flowers were the best, too, so it was no small surprise that we had longer blooming seasons than everyone else.

  I set my teacup down and stared at Hedley as the pieces started to fit together in my head.

  “You don’t want to miss your train,” Hedley said. “We’ll talk more on the walk there.”

  The town of Goldenrod was aptly named at this time of day. Evening light streamed from the apricot-and-periwinkle sky, touching the striated clouds with gold and warming the tiled roofs of the shops and houses that lined the main thoroughfare.

  “What else can you tell me?” Hedley said as we approached the station.

  I’d left the specimen jar on his table, just in case his further examination might reveal anything of note. Now, he seemed hungry for information, but I had little to provide. I didn’t know of anyone with magic who’d come to the palace with the duke. I didn’t think King Alder or Queen Rapunzel had met with any magicians or enchanters lately. No one had been using unapproved spells or witch-brewed fertilizer, to my knowledge, and nothing about the palace or gardens seemed different from previous years, aside from Princess Lilian’s engagement.

  “It started with the tulips,” I said, although I was pretty sure I’d already told him this. “The ones right up against the palace walls.”

  He stepped around a sidewalk display of flowerpots and gardening tools that a shopkeeper was packing up for the day.

  “That walkway that leads to one of the servants’ entrances?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Right flush up against the walls, then,” he said. He hemmed and hawed for a moment and drummed his fingers on one of his suspenders. He’d taken to wearing suspenders ever since marrying Hyacinth; there was something old-fashioned and charming about it.

  “The disease seems to be spreading out from the palace,” I said. “I haven’t seen any problems in the orchards or gardens further away, but it looks like it’s going to devastate most of the tulip beds near the castle.”

  Hedley’s gait slowed, just slightly. Hyacinth had always accused him of not being able to walk and talk at the same time, and it seemed there was some truth in it. He nearly ran into a small trash bin, then came to a stop and looked at me.

  “Spreading from the place, you say?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” He frowned and stroked the silvery stubble that frosted his chin. “How is the queen these days?”

  The sudden change of subject made me do a double take. He waited.

  “She’s well enough, I suppose,” I said after a moment. “A bit under the weather right now.” King Alder’s strange behavior of the day before ran through my mind. “I don’t think it’s serious,” I added.

  “I’d start there if I were you,” Hedley said.

  “With the queen? You think she’s causing the problem?”

  The thought was laughable. Ludicrous. Maybe treasonous. Either I knew nothing about the world, or retirement had turned Hedley mad.

  But he shook his head. “Queen Rapunzel wouldn’t hurt a daisy in those gardens, let alone one of her prized tulips. Even so, you ought to look to her for answers to your problem. The world is a far more interesting place than you give it credit for, and the queen is a far more complicated woman. Not to mention that magnificent hair of hers, which I firmly believe gives life to all around it.” He winked. “And now, you’d best get on this train before it leaves without you.”

  I realized with a jolt that we were already at the station. Steam billowed from where the train sat behind the small office, and the activity on the platform told me I had only a few minutes to get aboard if I didn’t want to spend the night in Goldenrod.

  Part of me did want to spend the night in this relaxed little country town, far from the stress of the festival and the disease that was spreading through my gardens. But I knew what Lilian would say if she saw me shirking my responsibilities, and that was enough to get me moving.

  I shook Hedley’s hand, and he pulled me in for a warm hug.

  “I’ll let you know if I learn anything new about the rot,” he promised. “In the meantime, you keep your eyes on the gardens and away from the princess until she’s well and married. Honest work will ease a world of heartaches.”

  He waited as I boarded the train and waved as it pulled away. I waved back from the window of my carriage and watched him standing there until he was only a smudge in the distance.

  Hedley’s advice to stay away from Lilian and focus on the festival was solid. That didn’t mean I was capable of following it. Seeing Hyacinth in the cottage with him had woken a sharp, sweet pain deep in my soul. They were happy together. They’d always been happy, and I figured they always would be.

  I remembered when Hedley ha
d first started seeing Hyacinth, back when I was thirteen and had only been apprenticing for a few years. Hedley’s mood had changed first. He’d always been a calm, pleasant man, but that summer, he’d seemed downright jovial. I’d caught him lingering in the kitchen a few times before I’d realized he’d come to steal time with Hyacinth rather than the raisin buns or rosemary bread she baked, and I’d noticed that she called him “Sheldon” instead of “Hedley” like everyone else, but it had still taken overhearing the housemaids gossiping about the two of them before I’d put the pieces together and realized she was the reason he’d taken up humming as he worked. When they’d married a few years later, his happiness had only seemed to grow, and the love in their cottage today had been palpable.

  I would never have that with Lilian.

  A small shelving rack at the front of my train carriage held the usual smattering of dog-eared books and faded magazines, entertainment for passengers who hadn’t brought their own. The rack also held a stack of cheap paper and a collection of cheap ink pens, next to a sign that read Help yourself to paper. Please replace pens after use! I usually ignored the rack and everything on it, preferring instead to look out the window at the beautiful Florian landscape. Now, my attention snagged on the pens.

  Finally, I retrieved one, along with a few sheets of paper, and pulled down the flimsy writing desk set into the wall beside my seat. This carriage was mostly empty and brightly lit with lamps against the fading dusk outside. Aside from the rocking of the train, it was the perfect environment for composing a letter.

  I touched the ink to paper and began to write.

  Dearest Lilian,

  You are my dearest, and always will be.

  It seems a bold claim to make that any one person in this world could be crowned best, most wonderful, most loved. There are more people across all the kingdoms than I can comprehend, and yet, I can announce with absolute certainty that you are the queen of them all. Whether we were born a perfect match for one another or not, we grew alongside one another like those sweet peas you love so much, twisting and tangling with every shared lesson and inside joke until no gardener in the world would dare to separate us. And yet, we are being separated, as we knew we always would be one day. There are times I don’t think I’ll survive being torn from you.