She cocked her head at the blank brick wall at the back of the kitchen. “There’s an ingredient I seem to be missing. The pottage is nearly done. Will you retrieve it for me in the cellar?”
Lilac glanced around. “And… where is this cellar?”
“Move the rug.”
She shifted the corner of the woven gold and maroon rug aside to reveal a wooden panel—a square of embedded into the floor. A single rung lay flush against it. A door.
“Oh,” she said, attempting to hide her grimace behind a smile. “Could I maybe stir the pot for you?”
“No. My repetition spell has been set on the spoon, and it will stir itself every few minutes until it’s of the perfect consistency, which,ifI get that ingredient, should be around the time everyone starts arriving.” She smiled. “We have time, but I do have to keep a close eye on it.Andfinish those potatoes.”
What was the point of a spell to stir the soup for her if she couldn’t leave the cauldron?But Lorietta wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Lilac lifted the rung and opened the door, resting it gently on the wall. Shallow stone steps led down into the cellar, which seemed well-lit. It was hard to tell; the stairwell bent off to the right.
“And what is it I’m looking for?”
“You’ll know. It’s hard to miss.”
She bent, bracing herself on the floorboards as she lowered herself down the first few steps. She had to duck after nearly whacking her head on the ceiling of the cellar, and as she descended, the glow of a flame grew brighter. It was much too bright to belong to a torch, or even several.
The steps led into a thin passageway. Lilac continued along it, hands on each side of the wall, until she finally came to a sharp corner.
When the room opened up, there was neither barrel nor bottle in sight.
4
Garin sat in a large, faded green armchair that looked like it had seen better years. Or centuries. In front of him crackled a cheery fire in a corner fireplace, the light gleaming the waves of his blue-black hair. She wondered, distantly, if his hair ever grew.
There was a neatly made bed across the fire, lush cream undersheets beneath a black duvet, and next to it, a short shelf containing books and several manually bound stacks of parchment. At the center of the room was a patchwork rug that appeared similar to the korikaned tents. His prized longsword from Sinclair was perched on a wall rack before her, and to the right of that, across the foot of his bed, was a thin door. A sort of cane with a silver animal glinting at the tip leaned next to it.
In the corner nearest her, a mounted shelf hanging with thick twine bore an array of strange potted plants, kinds she’d never seen before. She couldn’t tell if they were from a different continent—or the Low Forest. It was hard to tell if any of them glowed in the flickering light. On the top shelf sat three of them, various shades of a gradient blue ranging from royal to periwinkle; they hadmouths, or at least two prominent leaves that looked like mouths. On the shelf under them were three more dirt-filled pots with small green buds poking out of the soil. She could’ve sworn one of the blue ones craned in her direction.
Stepping further into the room and promptly away from the plants, Lilac cleared her throat. “Nice of you to share your space with Lorietta.”
Garin looked up from the small, green leather book in his palm, turned so she could see his sharp profile against the hearth before him, and said, sounding alarmed, “What makes you think she shares my room?”
“Her plants make for some interesting decor, that’s all.”
He turned back to the fire. She waited while he finished his page, marked it with the ribbon protruding from the top of the book, and slid it into his pant pocket.
Garin stood, stretched, and sauntered over. She braced herself, waiting for the tender scorch of his touch, but he only brushed against her as he passed her and tugged at a string hanging from the plant wall.
There was a fluttering sound, and the shelves of pots were suddenly cast in a patch of soft, silver light. Above them was a rectangular ceiling window. The insides of the glass panes were covered in a thin layer of moisture, the outside flecked with soil and leaves framing a stunning scene of the moon and starlit sky beyond the canopy.
“How beautiful,” she mouthed.
“Indeed,” Garin whispered, a smirk ghosting his lips as he pulled back. “And they’re mine.”
“Yours?” She slowly turned to look at him, then back at the window, dubious.
“We only burn in direct light,” Garin said, retreating. “Sometimes I’d open the window, lay back on my bed, and watch for hours when I couldn’t sleep between shifts at the bar. It was once nice to see the sunlight helping my plants thrive, instead of fearing its ability to desecrate and burn. Now, it’s not a problem for me.”
His gaze was far away. She wondered what he was thinking about—if he was remembering the dramatic moment just before he realized he could walk in the day.
“Lorietta does have her garden, though. Just beyond the window here. We built it together. Well, she had the korikaned build the trellises and boxes, but we planted everything.”
She remembered the way he’d critiqued Sable and Jeanare’s overwatered carrots. It made sense he might share his parents’ interests in botany, butthis still surprised her. “Gardening seems like a reasonable way to keep necessary crops for an inn.”
“It is. Meriam had mentioned starting one several years after I started living here, but she had no idea where to start. So, I brought Lorietta out there with me every evening, and we tended the garden together that way until she understood what to do. She’s skilled now.”
