Approximately 15-minute read time.

23

Tildy didn’t find Marklin that day, nor the next. He didn’t eat at the appointed times, nor did he answer any of the seventy-seven doors she pounded on in the barracks. More than once, she considered simply barging through each door, but that seemed an ill choice considering their broken trust. On the third day, she thought she spied him from her balcony as he practiced swords with the guards. By the time she reached the courtyard, however, he had disappeared yet again. Deciding that he was well and truly avoiding her, she decided to leave him be.

Meanwhile, she was in turn avoiding her adoptive mother, who had given her two ears full of reproachment, which felt completely unfair. The witch hadn’t listened to her explanation at all, despite the convincing outrage of her voice. Consequently, they were giving each other equal time alone. Tildy expected she was learning more about Southershard, especially the mysterious Thirsellion, which she refused to discuss. Mistreatments piled upon unfairness, she thought, pushing her protesting conscience into a closet and locking the door.

Two weeks later, she sat grumbling under the dead tree ignoring the irritating knocks of an elongated ochre woodpecker. She bounced pebbles off the weathered gravestones, giving herself points for hitting their inscribed emblems: one bore a tree and the other a spiral triskele. She paused as the witch emerged from the ravenswood doors, but before Tildy could call to her, Captain Stormshere of the guard-gate hailed her, and they found a quiet table for a chat. He told a story with grand gestures that made the witch laugh harder than Tildy had seen. This did nothing to warm her mood.

About to stomp inside, she turned as a shadow fell upon her.

* * * * *

Lady Amaranth stood there, her eyes reproachfully assessing Tildy’s favorite dress from collar to hem. While the woman’s own attire left something to be desired – it reminded her of enormous overlapping orange peels slightly browned over a cooking fire – she had a greater concern than fashion: approaching her unheard was a remarkable feat. In her foul mood she wanted to be annoyed further, but common sense pleaded for courtesy to the lady of the castle.

“I thought all my leech-lemon saplings were planted in the glass-garden,” Lady Amaranth said, gesturing toward her as she spoke. “And here I find one growing here, threatening to sour the very air around her. I ought to snip you and toss you over the wall.” Tildy’s eyes widened, but as the woman laughed, her own mood lightened, just a bit.

“Young lady, the day is far too beautiful for you to be the dark clouds over those you hold dear.”

“I beg your pardon, baroness, but I don’t think you’d understand.”

“No? One such as I couldn’t understand why you are mad at the friend you eavesdropped upon? Or how you could possibly be unhappy with the adoptive mother who rightly chastised you for it? No, perhaps I do not have such wisdom.” Her words were blunt but not said unkindly. “Since you are resolved to be a cloud, I desire your presence in my garden, so we might coax some rain from you. Up up!” Tildy considered staying put, but she found the warmth in the woman’s face both sympathetic and welcoming. She followed, noticing the witch had disappeared.

The baroness said little else as they entered the castle and ascended the stairs. This gave Tildy time to think about her words, but also about the garden she had not yet visited. She recalled something that thrilled and disturbed her. “Are we going to the poison garden?”

* * * * *

“Oh yes, though you should not worry. The name is more a harkening back to olden times than an accurate description of my current plants. We have only a few dangerous ones left, like toxitrots and weeping death, but they are well isolated from the paths. Have no fear.”

The woman’s casual dismissal of these lethal plants reminded Tildy of her early years with the witch. She recalled at least four instances where something in the Garden of Dappledown had nearly killed her. She shuddered at the memories. Lady Amaranth must have noticed her lack of response, for she added, “The snaptangle will keep you from getting too close.”

Tildy smiled at a memory. “Once in Wayfahren, I saw a fully grown snaptangle keep five people at bay for an hour with its whip-like vines. It covered them in welts before they’d wrestled it into a sack for a buyer clearly reconsidering his purchase.” They laughed together, a pleasant feeling after two disheartening weeks.

As they left the stairs at the fifth floor, Tildy’s eyes lingered on the library door. The baroness, however, was not to be sidetracked. “Today, we choose plants over books,” she said, pushing open the lacquered door with the terrifying skull. “Ignore the warning, dear.”

A hundred fragrances rushed outwards to greet them, borne upon a wave of heat that stole the breath from Tildy’s lungs. The hairs on her neck tingled, though as she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, the scents transported home. Dappledown. Lady Amaranth said, “If only a less important room than the baron’s library shared this floor, I could knock down the walls to expand my green’s patch.”

She opened her eyes to find the baroness watching her intently. The woman smiled broadly and said, “Truly, you should have been shown this when you first arrived! Come in and close the door! I have some marvels to amaze you.”

* * * * *

Color blazed from every corner of the room – even the ceiling! She recognized dozens of blossoms, and many others as unusual as the colors they displayed. And green, green, green everywhere! Behind it all, a translucent wall of quartz blocks curved up to the ceiling, admitting light and warmth. Together, they lost track of time as Lady Amaranth showed off many different flowers and herbs and other plants. Some Tildy only knew from books, while others were as unfamiliar as they were wondrous. The woman appeared as interested in growing things as the witch, if that was possible. She offered several splendicious fruits and leaves to eat, and Tildy found herself admiring the baroness more with each indulgent bite.

“Truth to tell, sometimes I empathize with my greenery,” Lady Amaranth said, holding up a forlorn looking droopywhoop. “Born elsewhere, then transplanted. Blossoming under the same sun but rooted in a new garden.”

Tildy realized they had this in common, and she felt compelled to share. “That’s not so different from me, though different enough, I suppose,” she said, causing the baroness to pause.

“Tell me.”

“I also have grown roots in a place that wasn’t my original home.” She noticed she had Lady Amaranth’s rapt attention, so for a few minutes she shared the fabricated story of her adoption by the witch and growing up in Wayfahren. Out of habit, she did not mention the cottage in Dappledown. Telling people where you live is the best way to get uninvited guests, the witch had always said. “Unlike you, I don’t remember what I’ve lost; however, I do know how often the thoughts come to mind. Like niggling nuisances at the edge of memory. I’ve never doubted that all my questions would have answers one day, even if I’m not thinking of them as frequently as I once did.” She sighed, having said a lot more than she intended. She expected that a lady such as the baroness was not accustomed to such childish ramblings, but she hadn’t been able to help herself.

* * * * *

“You comfort me, Tildy. I suspect you will ever do so for others. Moreover, you have made up my mind. We shall do what we can to remind you of home whilst you are here. Together we shall tend my garden, if you like, and perhaps you will share more stories of your wondrous home.”

Tildy smiled. She’d love to tell her all about Dappledown, but a small voice between her ears warned against it.

The baroness took her smile as agreement. “Good! Now, here is a special treat. Aphrodendron,” she said proudly, as though she had saved her favorite for last. She held up a pot from which pale-yellow stalks grew in tumbling curlicues. “One of my secrets.” She winked at Tildy. “The secretion from a broken stem can smooth the lines of an aged face.”

“A wrinkles cream?” Tildy asked, half-amused. As she wiped sweat from her forehead, she wondered if she would need it thanks to the garden’s humidity.

The baroness laughed. “Long years have I lived, though perhaps I hide it better than some,” she said. “Humans want to be beautiful or look at beautiful things – nothing do they desire as much! The repulsive majority will tell you they disagree, but they are liars. To others. To themselves. They have settled for less, whereas the splendid few pursue it endlessly, for beauty is a thing that slips through the fingers like water, if one is unwary.” She held out a clutching hand. “I would not be as fair as you see me today had I not relentlessly sought to transform myself. I seek nothing less than perfection, and not even the mightiest god could stand in my way.” She laughed again, though it sounded forced.

Surprisingly, however, she found herself agreeing with the woman, almost against her will. What the baroness said made sense, suggested an unfamiliar voice in her head. Had she not seen the vanity of people in Wayfahren, and not just Humans? The perfection of the Desmodanes came to mind immediately, but other peoples, too. Even the gruff Dwarves enjoyed showing off their gold and jewels. Perhaps striving to be as beautiful as the baroness was a very noble goal, said the voice, though a smaller one contradicted, reminding her of the nagweeds of home. “Lady, do you have ellinistle here?” she asked, using the Elvish name.

Shaking her head, the baroness returned the aphrodendron to its assigned place. “I cannot bear the vile little plant with its unceasing barrage of criticism. It makes me feel I do nothing but evil.” Normally Tildy found the nagweed charming, but here in Lady Amaranth’s garden, it would have been a malignance, repressive in its desire to smother more beautiful plants with its criticisms.

Looking at the sun through the quartz wall, the baroness exclaimed, “Dear me! The dinner hour comes and nearly goes whilst we chatter about in the dirt like old farmers. We shall clean up and eat together, if you like.”

“Yes, please!” Tildy consented. She had learned much today, though she had at least three more questions for every plant she’d been shown. And several more about those she hadn’t. Besides, it would be nice to eat with someone who wasn’t unhappy with her. A perfect someone at that.

* * * * *

As they left the poison garden behind, Fillofillo padded up to them. “My lady?”

The baroness sighed and held up a hand to interrupt him. “The emissary beckons at such inconvenient times.” As though struck by a thought, she looked down at the Obsequiant to scrutinize him.

He bowed. “Most apologies. I could not dissuade him, though I am often more capable, ullanow-ullanow,” he said with another bow.

“Some guests are more tedious than others,” she said to Tildy, briefly offering a resigned smile. “We shall dine together another time. Nor will this be our last visit to my garden, I promise!” With that, the baroness and castellan walked to the stairs and disappeared with their ascent.

The woman’s departure was like the sun failing behind a thundercloud. Tildy exhaled deeply, her head clearing the room’s last influence. Her gloom returned, effectively silencing the tingling in her neck hairs that she’d been ignoring. She decided she wasn’t hungry enough to face Marklin or the witch. As she ascended to the twelfth floor, intending to go to bed early with a good book, her mind drifted back to the discussion of the last hours. However, all she could remember were fond memories of a strange garden tended by a maternal figure who wanted to love her. Any other conversation was left behind in the room, perhaps to be recalled on some later day.

Tildy begins to understand how much she can trust the occupants of Southershard in Chapter 24 – Peas In A Pod.

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