Walking in the Gardens by Raiyana

Chapter 4

4

It’s been a full turn of the moon, and I haven’t missed a day yet, my small gift doing its best to brighten her day.

It doesn’t matter if she knows what they mean. Yellow is for friendship; she may be a princess, but surely friendly fondness is allowed?

I think she knows I listen when she sings in the morning – Findis rises from bed considerably later than I, there’s plenty of time for me to have breakfast and find a task to complete in the vicinity of her window, even as I tell myself that I am being pathetic and pining, pretending that she sings for me alone.

It’s not like she knows I exist, not really; I am but a gardener, and someone she has met only once.

It doesn’t matter what I tell myself, my feet bring me that way around the house nonetheless.

I like the way she smiles, it looks like a moment of freedom. Her songs change every day: some I have heard before, her accent noticeably softer than Ammë’s Noldorin, but not quite the same as my own Vanyarin lilt. Some are strange to me, and I wonder where she has learned them, words not quite familiar enough for me to understand the meaning.

Findis does not return to the gardens – gossip in this place is rampant, and word is Lady Indis’ grief takes up all of her time – and even though she smiles when she sings, brushing her hair, her smile carries strain around the edges.

I catch myself wanting to take the strain away, somehow.

The peas are ripe, the pods crisp and green between my fingers as I pull them from the trailing vines. I have bound them up on the thin trellises, making a cage almost as tall as Carastindo and picking them is a lot like standing in a green tunnel. Outside, the sound of a bird’s trill fills the air, but in here, as I slowly fill the large tub at my feet with green pods, I am reminded of the way Carastindo would lift me when I was young, convinced as I was that the best peas were the ones at the ceiling of the trellises he built. Ammë would laugh at me, but Carastindo solemnly agreed, carrying me on his back so I could reach while he held the tub.

Ecetindë is less angry, these days, it seems, even though I still haven’t spoken more than a few words to her; it makes Cormo’s kitchen a much nicer place to be. Humming to myself, I place the last pods carefully on the pile that wants to spill over the edge of the tub.

Making my way towards the kitchen, I keep my eyes on the pea pods, trying not to upset the tower; my bare feet are already streaked with soil, which won’t make Cormo pleased, but having to chase down wayward pods won’t make the kitchen maids pleased with me.

I’m too preoccupied to notice Findis – Lady Findis, I mean, the honorific hard to remember in my own mind – standing in my way until I’ve nearly tripped over her. A few pods tumble from their precarious perch.

I pay them no mind. Twined into the gold-and-gems clasp that holds her hair is a single bright yellow helin – my helin, my gift – and the sight makes me smile wide enough to hurt my cheeks until I remember that Findis doesn’t think of me, no matter what the flower claims.

Curtseying stiffly, I flee, ignoring her hesitant call of my name.

I don’t look back, ignoring the three pods that fall from my tub as I hurry away, my heart beating far too swiftly in my chest.

I want her to mean it.

I shouldn’t want her to mean it.

But I do.

Delivering my burden to Coimasiel, I retreat quickly, not even hearing the words she sends in my direction, my mind stuck on the image of the yellow flower shining so brightly against Findis’ dark hair.

She wears my gift; it’s like she’s mine, just a little, and I know how foolish that thought makes me, but knowing that doesn’t stop my foolish heart from longing for things I shouldn’t want.

In the morning, I pick her two flowers, resolutely not examining the motives behind my actions.

The indili near Findis’ window have never looked better, I know, struggling to find more tasks to justify showing up every morning – besides listening to her sing, that is.

It vexes me that I am unable to stop, even though I should know better than this.

Another thing that vexes me is the silly pumpkin.

I don’t even know why I didn’t go back and tear the vine out of the flowerbed – yes, I do – but it has taken root, now, growing slowly.

I’ve sent for Altorno; after Atto, he taught me all that I know about plants and their tending. He’ll know how to make sure it thrives while keeping it from killing my prized helini project, even if Findis has probably forgotten all about her protest by now. I’ve come to call it the Findis pumpkin in my head, and I’ve found that I like watching it grow among my flowers, even though I had to replant a lot of them to make space for it.

The first time I see Findis again after the incident with the peas, she is wearing another helin in her hair – the sight makes me blush, though I keep my face lowered so she won’t notice – and she asks me how the squashes are coming along. It’s an innocuous topic, but I like talking about my plants, and she seems genuinely interested, her eyes remaining on me, her attention unwavering even beyond the point where anyone who isn’t Altorno would have eyes that glazed over and feet that tripped over themselves to leave my presence.

Next day, it is a question about the water-indili in the small pond east of the house, and a story about her sister’s fondness for them.

I end up telling her a rambling story about the time Carastindo broke his arm climbing Ammë’s cordof tree and falling from the branches; she chuckles, and the sound is like a sip of tea on a cold morning, warm and soothing as it spreads through me.

Slowly – I don’t see her every day – I get to know small parts of Findis, not the Lady Findis, and I hoard every speck of knowledge like it is a treasure. I don’t even remember all the things I tell her in return, even if I mostly talk about the gardens and my work – I am helping Iorthon build a new beehive, for example – but she never seems to get bored.

She’s too nice. Too nice, by far, and I know I’m only falling harder with every conversation.