Walking in the Gardens by Raiyana

Chapter 2

The Hero encounters an enemy who turns out to be a friend.

2

The forward attendants and guards that travel with Lady Indis arrived last night. I had taken up position in one of the trees overlooking the front of the house, staring at the milling horses and stable-hands, handmaidens scurrying to order cases and chests filled with who knows what that a high-born Lady needs when travelling, stowed away tidily in the rooms that the servants have been preparing for days.

It was exhilarating, yet strange to watch; usually our lives here are quiet, removed from the capital as we are, and routines are rarely broken.

Lady Indis – along with her daughter, the Princess Findis – is supposed to arrive a few days from now, and everyone has been sent into a frenzy, trying to ensure that everything is just so for their arrival.

I smirk at the thought; my own duties have changed little, and I don’t expect them to. Lady Indis only cares that her view is nice to look at, so she is unlikely to interfere in my designs for the gardens, and I feel quite smug when I look at the flustered faces around me.

I’ve never met Herself, of course, but she is supposedly among the most beautiful Vanyarë in Aman. Judging by her attendants, she must be; such exotic beauty with their dark hair and golden-brown skin is enough to make me feel self-conscious about my plainness in passing. To willingly surround yourself with such beauty, to willingly invite comparison, Indis must be fairer than anyone I’ve seen.

I’m slightly ashamed that I mostly want to hide in the depths of the gardens, but they’re oddly intimidating, floating around he manor in their dresses, light and graceful like roses; never a spot on them or their clothes.

I imagine one of the handmaidens – I overheard her complain about her pillow being the wrong hue of blue last night, and instantly hated her – digging in the ground like I do, pulling up weeds or replanting flowers. The thought makes me laugh to myself; there is something to be said for my world over theirs, after all.

I had to get up early, but I managed to swing by the blueberry thicket on my way to the kitchen; carrying a half basket of plump ripe berries should be just the way to make Cormo happy – if he is at work already! – sure to win him favour with his lady-love. I smile, whistling a happy tune and ducking into the kitchen. Nodding a greeting at Coimasiel who seems more flustered today than usual, I place the basket on the counter, reaching for the pot of tea steeping.

“Oh, you!” Cormo exclaims, clapping his hands together and beaming. “You are my Queen, darling!” he continues, leaning in to peck my cheek as he accepts the offering. “What can I do to repay you?”

“Anything for my King,” I retort, giving him a cheeky wink to make him laugh. He is King of the Kitchens, after all, ruler of all he surveys. “Though I’d not say no to one of your kisseys if you’re so inclined.” The kisseys are a recent invention; they’re just small enough to pop into your mouth whole, a sort of dollop of airy merengue that has been baked to solidity but will crack with he slightest pressure. When we first tried them, we all tried not to crush them right away, and Cormo decided on the name watching four kitchen girls and myself puckering our lips to hold the small cakes in our mouths, trying to see who could go the longest before the sugary confection melted.

Cormo laughs, giving me a shrewd look. He knows I am far too fond of the kisseys, but he keeps some on hand in an air-tight tin anyway, I know, even if I’ve yet to worm its hiding place out of him.

“Very well, sweet girl,” he chuckles. “Close your eyes and I’ll give you a kissey.” Obediently – he’ll know if I peek, he always knows – I close my eyes.

The door opens, hitting the wall firmly. I jump, my head snapping towards the sound, staring at the pretty nissë standing in the doorway looking like she’d like to skewer me with her eyes. Confused, I tilt my head, looking at her. She’s vaguely familiar, dark brown locks tumbling down her shoulders. Her hand clenches at nothing by her hip, as though reaching for something usually there, her azure eyes boring into me with an intensity I don’t understand. Cormo, however, seems to forget my treat entirely, and I realise who she is when he pulls her close, kissing her lips gently. She is the one pulling him tighter, kissing him like… oh. I blush lightly, my mind spinning back through the past minutes. Cormo is rarely a quiet ner, after all, it’s likely she heard him coming down the hallway to the kitchens, and this… this is his wife. Who just heard him call me his queen and me ask him for a kissey – which she probably doesn’t know what is.

“Hello,” I smile, trying to be friendly, “I am Alálamë, the head gardener.”

“Ah, yes,” Cormo says, his cheeks flushed with something I can only call passion as he stares at his wife, blind to the way her eyes are still drilling spears into me. She’s pretty, even when she’s angry, flashes through my mind, making me flush slightly. “Alálamë, meet Ecetindë, my beloved wife.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I say, breezily ignoring the glare she’s still sending my way. “Thanks for breakfast Cormo, I’ll be by later with your beets!”

I’m not proud to admit that I practically flee the kitchen, but I am no warrior; bravery is not my trait, it’s just the thing that left me without family in this world, and I am better off being a complete coward, I’m sure.