Ma is my family. She took me in, and gave me a home. If I lose her—
“She’s all I have,” I whisper, because there’s no one here but me and the vines. I don’t have to be strong for anyone.
A sweet scent rises in front of my face. I open my eyes. A flower has appeared on the closest vine. It’s shaped like a typical Earth rose but has more petals, which are an amazing ombre hue that go from pink in the center to the darkest, richest wine red on the tips. The smell is delicious enough to bowl me over. And it definitely wasn’t there before.
Without thinking, I touch it with my right hand. My hurt and bloody hand. And all around me, more flowers burst open, filling the tight space with an airy sweetness.
Once a year, at tithe time, the moonflowers bloom on the vines, and when they do, they guide the way to the king’s castle. That was the legend Leelah told me. The fairytale.
I rise to my feet slowly. Ahead, the stalks part as if a giant, invisible hand swept them back. There’s enough space for me to walk without my clothes catching on the thorns—or the flowers. My feet find the worn cobblestone path, and I creep up towards the castle ruins.
The suns are now nothing but a memory shimmering beyond the horizon, but the five moons are rising and their light is enough for me to find my way. Even if I couldn’t see, I could follow the rich scent of blooming flowers.
The wind gusts under my cloak, making the fabric billow and tug me forward. The brambles around me are writhing like they’re alive, moving and parting in front of me. Maybe that’s just an illusion. Maybe this is all a dream.
But when I stagger out of the thicket and crash with a thump into the high stone walls of the ruined castle, I know it’s real. I grope along the wall—the vines at my back pushing me forward—and flinch when my fingertips find the massive wooden gate. It’s half covered in what looks like moss, but it’s sturdy enough, with a knocker set high above my head. Easy for an Alpha to reach but not a human. I go up to my tiptoes, and my fingers graze the rusty ring. Something pricks my palm. I gasp and snatch my hand back. Ugh, I got a dang splinter, this time on my other hand.
Just what I needed. More injuries. I hiss and pull it out, letting the sliver of wood drop.
All hell breaks loose. The ground shakes underneath my feet. I reach out to steady myself, but the gate before me shudders and sweeps open. Afraid, I jerk back from the castle entrance, but the vines behind me writhe and form a net mesh to stop my retreat. The ground rolls again and I surge forward, riding the moving grassy wave like a surfer. I’m pitched through the gates and into the castle grounds. I land on my face on the soft turf.
Behind me, the gates slam shut with an echoing thud.
Oh god. That’s not creepy at all. I scramble back to my feet. The good news is, I’m in a beautiful garden, and up close, the looming castle doesn’t look half bad. The walls and turrets are a bit weathered, the stone a romantic gray-green that reminds me of Edinburgh Castle back on Earth—but the broken walls and the half-ruined tower I was able to see from the market? Gone. In their place loom high, impenetrable walls, and a whole and intact tower, solid enough to intimidate the most organized medieval army.
It doesn’t look like the same castle I see every day from the village at all.
Things aren’t always what they seem, Leelah said.
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter. Instead of more bracken and thorny stalks, I’m lying on a well-trimmed lawn in a lush garden. Whatever the king’s landscaping crew is using to keep the vines at bay, it’s working.
I’m keeping my knife with me, just in case. I’m not happy about the gate suddenly opening and closing like a trap door, but the castle looks like less of a horror show than I expected, and now I’m too curious to do anything but keep moving. I find a path and tiptoe through the moonlit garden, careful to keep my cloak from catching on a stray branch. The air is rich with the cloying perfume of flowers, tempered by the spicy scents of herbs. I come across a patch of dola. The leaves are so much bigger than the plants that grow in Ma’s garden. If she were here, she’d demand to know what sort of fish heads they’re using as fertilizer.
Ma. I pick up my pace. I need to get this cure, and get back to her in time. There has to be someone around here, someone I can rope into my quest to petition the king.
I cross what feels like acres of garden, the hem of my skirt getting soaked with dew. The path I’m following leads to a large hedge, a maze of some sort. I wind my way through it and end up on a paved patio. From this side, the castle looks more like a palace, with columns gleaming white in the moonlight. The vines are taking over here, too, overgrowing their trellises to twine up the columns. Every time I pass, the flowers blossom, dumping another wave of floral perfume into the air. It's getting kind of annoying.
My footsteps echo on the flagstones. There’s no one around. With the grounds being kept as well as they are, I’m sure I should have come across a gardener—or twelve. Maybe everyone’s asleep—but it’s barely past dusk.
Another scent hits me, cutting through the intense floral aromas. This one is clean and sharp, like cedar wood or pine. I stop, and breathe deep. A rush of warmth suffuses my whole body, melting all my aches and tension away. Finally, the endorphins from my hike have kicked in.
The sharp scent is strong but welcoming, like freshly baked bread or cinnamon rolls. I follow it past the line of white columns towards a door, which drifts open as I approach. It’s clearly not the main entrance, so I’m sneaking in, but maybe inside I’ll find someone to talk to. Leelah said the king shut himself away from the world, but who is doing the gardening and keeping the palace lovely? Someone must be.
A gust of wind rushes past me, stirring the flowers. It whips the fallen petals into a mini tornado and spreads them out in front of me to form a long, black-red carpet leading to the side door.
All righty then.
“Magic isn’t real,” I mutter. The wind stirs the petals at my toes as if in rebuttal. But I catch a bigger whiff of the enticing cedar scent and can’t stop myself from hurrying forward, through the door and into the castle.
“Hello?” I'm in a vast space, a ballroom of some sort. There are gilt-framed portraits and shadowy shapes of furniture lining the walls. The scent here is stronger, more concentrated.
The further I venture into the ballroom, the brighter it gets. The light is emanating from the ceiling, where a thousand tiny points glow like stars. Beneath the cedar scent, the space smells clean. This isn’t a ruin at all.
A huge statue looms in the center of the room. It seems to depict two figures standing side by side, and one has a hand on a third, smaller figure between them. Two parents and their child? The statues’ heads have fallen off, and there's no sign of them.
Something moves in my peripheral vision, but when I turn, there’s nothing there. I grip my knife tighter and swallow past my suddenly parched throat.
“Is anyone there?” The wind picks up, tugging at my skirts.
At the end of the ballroom, what feels like miles away and up the stairs, a door slams.
That's not creepy at all. Goosebumps run up and down my legs and arms.
Why did I think this was a good idea? What did I think I was going to do? March up to the castle and find an information booth? Submit a petition?