Approximately 12-minute read time.

29

They found their dinner awaiting them in the usual alcove. Tildy saw only two place settings, to which she had grown accustomed, and they quickly tucked in. Marklin appeared more ravenous than usual, which Tildy attributed to the sweetness of the dishes. Not that she would complain. She loved it all: yams dusted with brown sugar, caramelized sweetroot, dancing fancy, burnt oranges, and honey pease. She even tried roasted pepperbean, which burned then soothed their tongues. Marklin left the table groaning, but she hadn’t eaten her fill, so she bid him goodbye.

She sat, contemplating a second pepperbean on her fork, when Lady Amaranth arrived. “Good evening, Tildy. My, but you do look comely in that dress.”

The sudden appearance caught Tildy by surprise, and she nearly choked. Not wanting to spray the baroness with food, she nodded enthusiastically and reached for her water goblet. The woman waited patiently for a proper greeting, which Tildy finally gave. “Good evening, lady. And thank you! Would you please join me?”

The baroness sat opposite her, though not in Marklin’s place, which she eyed distastefully before covering it with an unused cloth napkin. Her hair rose above her like a closed flower: blonde locks tucked within shorter hair dyed brown. Below that, a mauve dress, the upper half of which was covered by a beautiful flower motif in delicate lace of the same color. It was the loveliest one Tildy had yet seen.

Looking around the table, the woman said, “I see you have wolfed your supper. Your stomach has been better?”

“Much, thank you.”

Lady Amaranth nodded, offering a sly smile. “I trust the taste of that horrid peffelin is gone?” Tildy hesitated, prompting the baroness to chuckle. “It is a dreadful plant.”

“My adoptive mother has always said that ‘enjoyment is secondary to results’.”

The baroness tossed her head back and laughed with absolute delight. Her complicated knot of hair undid itself, allowing long golden curls to fall to her shoulders, intermingling with the dark tresses beneath. She looked less formal, which Tildy preferred. And younger: the woman didn’t seem so much older than Ramora. “Oh, my dear child, I apologize, but sometimes I think your witch knows little of raising children. She’s not very much like a mother, I can tell.” She assumed a somber tone. “Though you would not realize this, of course. But that does remind me,” she said, removing her small cutch from a hidden pocket, “I picked some plants for you.”

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She handed Tildy a narrow yellow leaf across the table. “Daubsweem is the first. For your next illness. It’s common enough, though generally considered a worthless weed.”

Tildy studied the herb. “We call this sweem, well, ‘dratted sweem’, actually. We let the rabbits eat it. The witch says it chokes out the crawling grumpus.”

“I’ve never heard of such a plant. How do you use it?”

Tildy screwed up her face as she thought. “I’m not sure. Mostly, it makes me giggle.” She sucked in her cheeks and flopped her arms like the plant’s distinctive vines. Together they laughed.

As they reached a lull in the conversation, Tildy racked her brain for another topic. Her eyes searched for a dish that Marklin and she had not decimated. “May I offer you something?”

“No, thank you. I have no appetite for food this evening.”

Tildy studied the woman’s face, which had become troubled. “What’s wrong?”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb your repast.”

Tildy removed her napkin from her lap and covered her plate. “It’s quite alright. If I eat anything more, I shall ruin this beautiful dress.”

The baroness offered a regretful smile. “There’s an old Dwarvish saying: ‘Be careful in choosing a wishing star, lest it fall upon your head.’” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing but the cares of a wife, living alone in a castle.”

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Tildy nearly said something about all the people in Southershard, but she knew that wasn’t what the woman meant. Instead, she said, “I’m sure the baron will return soon. From what I’ve heard, he is rather clever.”

Lady Amaranth did not seem to take comfort in this. Instead, she appeared to contemplate something. “Tildy, I have something to confess, though I am unsure there are any ears in the whole valley that should hear it.”

She was too surprised to hide her reaction and the baroness noticed.

“Yes, I thought you might be uncomfortable with such frankness,” she replied.

“No, no, it’s not that. But there’s no one, I mean, you have no other, I mean…” she paused, not quite finding the right words.

“Ah, you wonder why I do not share this with some trusted confidant.” It wasn’t a question. She gazed at Tildy with grey eyes that were like portals into a world of swirling smoke. Why hadn’t she thought of it that way before? The baroness interrupted, but her words came from a distance, growing closer as she spoke. “Or an adult?”

Tildy’s warm blush brought her out of the strange daze. The baroness smiled. “Yes, I know your mind because I would think very much the same in your shoes.” She stood and paced. “Truth to tell, Tildy, I have no one else. I am so very far away from my home, and here, well, here I am surrounded by servants. His servants,” she said sharply, and Tildy detected some a bitterness in her words.

Lady Amaranth produced a flower and contemplated its fuzzy yellow petals. “The second plant I picked for you.” Tildy recognized it from the garden, though she struggled to remember its name. That was odd, for the witch had taught her how to recall the names of hundreds of plants, even if she heard a name once. However, each recollection dissolved like mist before the wind. In alarm, she looked up, up, up into the baroness’s distant face, finding that the woman’s head sat further from her shoulders atop a neck of unusual length.

“Bewilderway,” the woman said, rolling the stem between her fingers, “one of the marvels of my garden. Yes, you have seen it before, though your mind isn’t certain.” She placed the flower in Tildy’s half-empty goblet and sat down again. “You have been under its influence each time you’ve entered the garden, drinking in my illusory words of confidence and friendship.”

The flower’s crimson eye stared back at Tildy until she could see nothing else in the world. She felt herself falling into its bloody depths. She yearned to focus on something – anything – else but could not wrench her eyes away. Something was very wrong, yet she ignored the nagging sense of danger that prickled her hairs.

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Lady Amaranth continued. “It makes the unwary mind susceptible to suggestion and is especially potent to Humans. That the effects do not last long with you is a minor curiosity.” Her eyes traced over Tildy’s face, as though seeking an answer there. Finding none, she said, “It lets me plant false seeds in furrow-minded fools like the baron, whom I greeted with a bouquet of bewilderway two springs ago.”

Horrified, Tildy tried to stand, but couldn’t. She tipped backwards, falling, falling, falling into some pit of forgetfulness. Yet she remained in her seat, captive to the words of the baroness. The woman grinned, her face splitting like the rind of a rotten fruit. “You will remember my tale, though you will forget my manipulation and betrayal.” Tildy stared at the flower as Lady Amaranth began sowing her deceit.

“I arrived two springs ago, a virtuous young maiden sent by her father, the Roseguard of Gardenstem. I was a token of promised allegiance with the baron, who was amassing power and influence to control the southern lands of Empyrelia. The death of the king was eleven years behind us, and the waning influence of the Steward in the North could not prevent the realm from disintegrating.

“The baron was well-pleased, of course, my shape and countenance being exactly what he sought in a wife. He quickly married me, much to the displeasure of some servants.” The baroness paused, a grin of bright teeth shining forth. “But disposable people are never missed, are they?”

Her face resumed its somber expression as she continued. “Not long after our betrothal, things changed, and the baron’s monstrous side was revealed to his innocent young wife. I—” she paused, reconsidering her words. To herself she said, “I stray too close to the truth. Rather, you shall recall,” she instructed Tildy, “that he was a cold, stern man.”

She sighed, back in character once again. “I am alone amongst strangers, receiving no news from my family. I reside in a place that is familiar, but not quite home. Many servants work here, and my words go from their ears to his. It is a minor thing – dressmaking and my selfish grumblings,” she said, smiling at Tildy’s indignation. “At least it had been.” She stared out the window and Tildy saw that darkness had arrived.

“I had him followed, with those pledged to me, but again, he is the lord of these lands, and fealty displaces all other loyalties. Nevertheless, stories of men and monsters reached my ears. Indeed, you yourself and your witch-mother brought

similar tales north with you.” She looked into Tildy’s eyes. “My agents tell me the

baron has witnessed the same things as you, and yet, he dismisses the subject when it’s mentioned.”

“But why?” something unknown compelled Tildy to ask.

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“Why indeed, when he cannot doubt his ears or eyes? He is neither witless nor coward. As you said, he is rather clever.” She paused, savoring her lie. “It is a curious question, is it not? When does an intelligent person not react to a surprise?”

Tildy thought the question hearkened back to an old riddle, and while she was pleased to answer, her participation felt wrong. “When they already knew about it.”

Lady Amaranth offered one of her indulgent smiles. “Very good.”

Pieces started to come together in Tildy’s head, and she spoke slowly to properly sequence them. “If he already knew, and did nothing, he thought they were no threat. If something is not a threat to you, it might be a friend.”

“Or an ally,” the baroness added.

“Who would align themselves with Slither-withers?” Tildy asked in horror.

“Who would fathom that but such a person? But ever are dark creatures drawn to one another, and the baron is darker than most men. At least, sometimes.” She touched her face, remembering some pain.

Tildy frowned, liking the baron less with each moment. His poor wife!

Lady Amaranth reached across the table and took her hands. “You trust your witch-mother, but would you please not mention these things to her? Not that I want you to have secrets – more than you already have – but she is a very wise woman and would likely dismiss my fears as the foolish thoughts of a young wife, uncertain in her betrothal.”

Tildy nodded. “Yes, Lady.” This new eagerness to connect with the baroness pushed aside any hesitation she might have otherwise had.

“Very good.” The baroness smiled, reminding her of Fietha when he was happy that an unfair deal went his way. She said her good-night, took something from the table, and departed.

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For a long while, Tildy sat at the table, her mind wandering amongst shapeless forms in the mist. When she finally came back to herself, it felt like stepping up to her reflection in the mirror, passing through, and entering her own world once again. Looking around, she noted something was missing. Perhaps a table decoration or flower arrangement? But of course, there were no flowers here. She got up to return to her room, accompanied on the stairs by a vague recollection of something about someone’s eyes and the feeling that once again she’d shared more than she normally would have.

Tildy and Marklin learn some things in the library before she recalls a crucial task that she mysteriously forgot in Chapter 30: A Map And A Destination.

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