Wildflower

Chapter One

I saw a woman crying today, the bouquet of mourning flowers cradled in her arms like the son she lost. I’d made the bouquet myself—a cluster of fiery-orange marigolds nestled alongside dahlias in orbs of peaches and pinks, each pleated petal simmering with grief. The whole lower square is an overwhelming explosion of color and sorrow, as expected when a Guard of Alrick loses their life. Even more so when the guard was so young. Queen Fern had commissioned me last week after the rebel attack in the forest and I’d spent hours poring over the marigolds I’d had in stock, enticing the magic within them to the surface. The same flowers Simon’s mother now weeps over, tears streaming like the fountain at her back.

My bouquets are more than a message. I enchant them so the receiver feels the message within, as each flower has its own emotion that I can amplify. I dive into the depths of the petals, search the stems, consider each leaf and thorn and stamen, until the magic is coaxed out and confessing the deepest of sentiments. The marigolds and dahlias in Simon’s mother’s hands, the ones that cover the fountain and decorate the square, they understand her. They sing of sadness and eternal love, and, if I’ve done my job right, they will help her heal.

It also means that my shop has run out of funeral flowers, which is why I’ve dragged Cardamine out this morning to stock up. Tall dahlias grow just outside the citadel walls, not far past the lake to the south, so with the clear spring sky stretched above and the smell of fresh grass in the breeze, I kneel on the skirt of my pastel dress, clipping away at the flowers in the meadow and collecting them into my basket.

Cardamine lounges on his back a few feet away, his tousled ash-blond hair fallen to one side and an open book lifted to block the light, that familiar focus on his heart-shaped face. His rolled-up sleeves in the sun reveal the freckles on his skin as he scans the pages with sharp cerulean eyes. It’s a peace I think he needs. His wedding planning has been taking up every spare minute recently, and as he keeps reminding me, it’s not just any wedding. It’s a royal wedding. In six weeks’ time, he’s marrying the crown prince of the Kingdom of Alrick, and soon my best friend will have the queen as his mother-in-law. If I could be sarcastic, I’d say that I was thrilled for him.

But I can’t.

Because I can’t lie.

I’m cursed to tell the truth.

“I think I’ve got enough,” I say, and place the last dahlia in my basket.

Card snaps his book closed. “Let’s make a move, then!”

He leaps up, changing pace like the rolling waves at sea. As I try to do the same, my basket catches my long skirt and, unsurprisingly, I stumble.

“Fliss, my dearest, I’m not having my maid of honor covered in even more bruises,” Card says, steadying me. “Perhaps we need to put you in armor until the wedding. Could you do that for the next month and a half?”

If I could, I’d make a joke back. I’d protest. I’d say I’m not that clumsy, that he’s exaggerating and I haven’t fallen over in ages. Instead, I carefully choose each word and say, “I don’t think armor is my style. And I’m shorter than the average guard.”

“I’ll get a cute suit commissioned for you. Perks of being a prince’s husband.”

“Husband-to-be,” I correct him, and my throat relaxes in relief, like it does every time I manage to speak without aggravating the magic that binds my voice.

“Not for much longer!” Card takes my hands to help me onto the path like I’m a fragile toddler. “Come on, you. One step at a time, there you are, good job.”

“Card.”

“All right, all right,” he says, freckles scrunched up by his grin. “Anyway, did I tell you I have a meeting later today with the fashion designer? He said he’d sourced a few different laces from the Kingdom of Lucan, so you absolutely have to take a look. Maybe later this week? I need you to tell me which one I should choose. We can use it on the trim of your dress too, then we’ll match.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

I smile up at my best friend, noting the confidence in his tone, the poised line of his shoulders. You’d think he was the royal one in this relationship—that he’d been born to rule. He fits right in at the castle without much effort. Then again, he fits in anywhere. Cardamine makes friends like a flower attracting bees. In fact, he can make conversation in no less than eight languages and doesn’t show signs of slowing down. He has skills that are so foreign to me, I doubt I’ll ever stop being in awe.

While we walk, Card plunges into a lengthy explanation of how they could incorporate a Dreyan poetry book he’s reading into the wedding ceremony, and I’m happy to listen. This dynamic is one of the reasons Card and I get along so well. He loves to talk, which frees me from the obligation. Around him, I get to relax. Card is my best friend for a reason—he’s my only friend.

When we first met at seven years old, I’d already learned the hard way that being cursed to tell the truth doesn’t help you make friends easily. I’d spent most of my school life hiding away in the tiny library, tucked under the window among the bookshelves and dust. Then entered Card, fresh to the citadel from a small village, who’d plonked himself cross-legged before me without even introducing himself.

“What are you reading?” had been his first words to me. He’d glanced at the book about butterflies in my hands and barreled on without waiting for an answer. “I think I’ve read that one. Anyway, look what I found. Have you seen this? It has some ancient Alrickan language in it.” He’d held up an atlas of the eight kingdoms of Calla and pointed at an illustration of our own Kingdom of Alrick. “See here. This is the citadel, but they’ve labeled it carhfel. And this is where I just moved from—Valeth. Do you know it? Probably not; it’s inland and really small and boring. But not as inland as the Library of Heris. They have hundreds—no, thousands—of books there, and I’m going to read them all.”

On he’d spoken, telling me about his family, his home, his interest in languages and libraries, until the sound of the handbell signaled the start of class. I’d been wide-eyed and curious as he approached our classmates in a similarly open manner, but when it came time to take seats, he’d chosen the empty one beside mine. Either he didn’t notice or didn’t care that everyone else excluded me. The next day he’d brought me a book on woodland insects, and he hasn’t left my side since.

Even now, as we head back to the castle in step, there’s barely a break in his nonstop chatter. The only diversion is when I’m drawn off the path toward the daisies in the grass. If there are flowers nearby, I can sense them. It’s a flutter of intuition rather than studied sorcery, a warm greeting in my chest. Some people in Alrick are born with a natural sense for magic, like my connection with flowers, whereas some have to use books to learn spells. Others, like Card, couldn’t care less about magic—something I think his fiancé is grateful for. Prince Bastion’s lack of magic has always been a sore point.

I pluck some of the daisies and braid them as we wander through the guardhouse at the edge of the lake—one of the only breaks in the tall stone walls that surround the citadel—then around the side of Alrick castle. If the kingdom were a flower head, our circular-shaped citadel would be the seeds in the center, with the castle inside, watching over the town from its southern viewpoint. When Card finally takes a breath, I hold up the finished flower crown.

“Here,” I say.

He smiles. “Cute. I’ll give it to Bash. He’s been so stressed about the rebels and his father’s illness. His mother has been piling on the pressure, as usual. Ugh, not to mention that Willoh Vane keeps showing his face lately, and he always knows how to make matters worse.”

The scandals surrounding the sorcerer Willoh Vane are not something I ever intentionally stick my nose into. He used to be Prince Bastion’s best friend, and now he’s the citadel pariah because of an incident involving black magic about five years ago. It’s a tangled mess, and because of my curse, it’s best not to get involved, so I smile and say nothing.

In the castle courtyard, with courtiers already flocking for his attention, Card waves goodbye and I’m alone once more. How I always am without him. I head up the citadel’s muddy cobbled streets, past cream-stone houses fortified with dark-wood panels and plumes of smoke from slate roofs; past clattering carts carrying wheat, fruit, vegetables, and valuables we’ve traded with the bordering kingdoms; past people I’ve known all my life, some laden with fresh laundry or carrying children.

My stomach tugs with discomfort as eyes turn aside and voices hush, lest I overhear even the most mundane of conversations and then be compelled to report them to the queen. I should be used to it by now. Being avoided, I mean. But I’m not. Each time is a fresh hornet sting of hurt.