Tales From The Briar Court

Stories, ficlets, and serials from the fantasy world of Iris. [A spinoff Alternate Universe of the Delicious Friends Roleplaying Group.]

[thebriarcourt]

Blood Tells

As much as he had wanted to rush immediately to speak to Armand, Janus had been held back by fear and the thousand excuses it brought with it. For a bit over a week, he found project upon project to work on, just to keep his mind racing, his gloved hands busy, and his lab full of bubbling vats ... and acrid smoke?

Oh, fuck.

With a frantic flick of the wrist the door slammed open and the window swung outward as well, allowing the fumes to escape. They weren’t dangerous when allowed to disperse like that, there would have been other procedures to follow if they were, but still, it stank to high heaven and it was by no means easy to breathe. The court alchemist emerged from his laboratory coughing and spluttering, extinguishing burners and getting air magic moving simply by knocking in a certain way on runes in the doorframe as he left. Standard features of alchemy labs, one of the first things he’d learned to use at school.

Stumbling a good 15 feet forward, Janus felt he’d gotten enough space between himself and the billowing doorway to pause, turn back and examine his mishap. He knew exactly what he’d done wrong, and what had caused it - Alchemy was a discipline of magic that required constant close attention. Perhaps it was time he took a break, a walk to clear his head - not that he thought he’d make that much of a headway with the mess of rubble his thoughts currently were, but he needed to kill time now anyhow. Even with the magic aiding the draft, he wanted to give it a good hour or two before returning to his workspace.

He had few options right now - his to-do list had been very effectively cleared by the frenzy. He no longer had an excuse to not go to see Armand. Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he slowly but determinedly set off. However, he only got about 10 steps, a passing courtier having seen the smoke and offering some quickly waved off concern, and another 5 steps after that for him to remember one last excuse he could use to put the problem off for a minute or ten - on a nightstand repurposed as a storage unit, right beside the door of the lab, there was a bottle of glass cleaner that he’d meant to deliver to the astronomer. Despite the masses of snow that had fallen in the past few days, it didn’t take Janus long to trudge to the observatory. This was a very unassuming, round two story building that became notable through the massive spire that jutted out the back of it. Ivy climbed it’s walls, not out of meaning, but purely for the aesthetic of it. The door was made from some dark wood, it’s fittings and knob where metal. Janus couldn’t help but worry that it was iron. However, he was still wearing his heavy-duty work gloves, so it wouldn’t be a problem, he hoped.. He knocked.

“Gwynn!” A voice inside cried out, probably belonging to the cat. Their response was too muffled for him to hear. “Visitor!”

There was a pause.

“They said you can come in, it’s open!” Janus followed the invitation into a surprisingly rectangular room. It’s walls were lined with shelves, cluttered with rolled up charts, wax myrtle branches, nasturtiums,seashells, bottles containing model ships or sand, white lavender, various service medals, bunches of Daffodils, and other assorted trinkets.

The rest of the room was a similar mess. There was a half-eaten meal on the table, surrounded by sheets of paper, the various chairs around the room where almost all laden with miscellaneous objects. The floor, at least, was for the most part clean, but it was still cluttered with enough debris that you could very well trip if you weren’t paying attention. In short, the place looked like a storm had raged in it. And in the middle of it all, sat Mirage.

“Stop staring.” The panther kitten, who had, if stories were to be believed, been a kitten for longer than Janus had been alive, growled, and then continued in a low hiss. “They’ve had a bad week, okay?”

Before Janus could respond in any way shape or form, there was a call from upstairs.

“I’m coming!” This was followed by dangerously fast footsteps thundering down wooden stairs, and the lanky figure of Gwynn Nichols appearing in a doorway towards the back of the room. Mirage was right, and quite obviously so - they looked a mess. Dark rings under their eyes proved of too little sleep, if their hair had seen a comb at all recently, the rendezvous must have been incredibly haphazard, and, overall, they just looked ... hagard. Even the magnificently beautiful robes that had looked marvelous on Elizabeth’s workbench and even better on its recipient didn’t restore too much dignity.

“Ah, Mr. Darnel,” Gwynn  gave him a tired but friendly smile. “How can I help you?”

“Uh... I just... finished your order.”

“... Oh.” Their expression was hard to read. For some reason, they didn’t seem as pleased as Janus had expected them to be, even if it was only glass cleaner. While they were clearly doing their best to smile wide, it was also clear that it required effort, and quite frankly they were way too tense. They opened their mouth, but before they could speak, Mirage had bound up to them, and beaten them to it as she rubbed comfortingly against their legs. They seemed to soften a little. “Sorry, It’s just…”

“... been a hard week, he knows, I told him!” The cub sounded chipper, but she shot him a look that made it hard for him not to flinch despite her not even reaching up to his knees.

“Thanks, I guess.” Mirage seemed shaken by the disheartened response, but Janus wasn’t about to admit he’d noticed that. Clearly she’d been expecting more genuine gratitude. “Look, how bout you go wait for me upstairs? And help me dig out the cleaning cloths?” “Sure!” The split seconds worth of hesitation seemed to last forever, but the panther did bound out of view and sound. Gwynn’s shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh.

“I hope she wasn’t too much trouble?” They said, as Janus hesitantly approached them, holding out the bottle. “It’s just… the anniversary of my discharge from the Navy.”

Oh. That would most certainly do it. Janus didn’t know too much about the astronomer, but it was common knowledge at the court that they’d only come there after they could no longer serve in Iris’ navy due to losing use of their left arm to injury. They’d grown up at sea even before they enlisted, and the ocean clearly still remained in their veins - it was evident from the decor. Janus looked them in the eye as they took the bottle from him, and it hit him. They were grieving. For the sea, for their home.

“She knows it's a difficult time, and kind of… overcompensates in defensiveness.” Gwynn didn’t want to let on that they were grateful for that - right now, they seemed quite frankly embarrassed.

“Oh, no,” Janus laughed, tinkling and lighthearted, trying to ease the weight of the situation as the astronomer placed down the bottle and started digging for coins in a leather pouch that hung from their belt. “It’s perfectly all right. No harm done, on the contrary, I hope I didn’t cause any trouble for you?” Gwynn opened their mouth to answer, but Janus beat them to it with an afterthought.

“You know what, this one’s on me. You seem like you could use it, and the ingredients are inexpensive stuff I had in storage anyway, so it’s hardly an imposition for me.”

“R-really?” Gwynn’s disbelief startled the alchemist. It wasn’t until they continued that he realized it was gratitude. “That would be very nice. Every little thing helps keeps these times bearable, you know?” This was the warmest smile he’d seen on their face since his arrival.

“Sure thing! Glad to be- “ Janus was interrupted by an echo of a clatter and a sharp meow, followed by a softly murmured swear from the astronomer.

“Seems like I best be going. Thanks again, Mr. Darnel.” “Pleasure’s all mine, Mx. Nichols.” Janus was already in the middle of turning away, so it was only in the corner of his eye that he caught the motion, but he could have almost sworn that Gwynn flinched at the mention of their name.

-x-x-x-

For what felt like the hundredth time since he’d opened that box of rowan leaves, Janus stood frozen in front of a door. He’d already raised his hand to knock three times, but lowered it before he actually could. His knees were shaking. From the muffled voices, it seemed Armand wasn’t alone, either, which complicated matters. His sister, probably. Either that, or Armand was practicing illusions, but there was no way to tell from out here.

Finally, Janus inhaled, and tapped the door gently but decisively. He could hear himself being noticed, a shift in the conversation, footsteps…

“Yes?” It was Armand himself who opened the door. “Ah, Mr. Darnel! How can I be of assistance?”

“Uh- Uhm…” Janus immediately felt the urge to mutter some excuse and rush off rise in him as he was failed by words. He’d rehearsed this scene so many times in his head over the past week, and here he was, unable to even bring out the sentence Could I talk to you alone, maybe?

“Mr. Darnel?” He’d raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in concern, but still didn’t lose that faint sense of radiance that he always displayed - Armand was definitely someone who cared about his appearance, particularly the visual, but surely also the personal and social. Janus could definitely not see him being too pleased to hear what he’d seen in the basement. “Is there a problem?”

“No- Yes- n- … Uh- I- Sorry, I was just…” The alchemist looked down as he felt himself going red, “I was just wondering if, uh, maybe, uh, we could … talk in private? One on one?”

“Why?” Shit.

“I- uh, It’s important!” The shrill squeak his voice had risen to was almost an embarrassment on it’s own right, but he didn’t have the capacity to worry about that now, with the sheer weight of the potential conversation to-be looming over him.

“... I can certainly tell that.” Armand was beginning to have his suspicions about what Janus wanted to talk about, though not anywhere near the truth. “If you’re so intent on privacy, your laboratory might be a good place to speak-” “I… I’d agree,” Janus stared at his feet, “If the air there was breathable at the moment.”

“... I see.” Armand smiled, and even though he didn’t show his teeth, something about it was dazzling. “If you’ll give me a moment to tell my sister I’ll be out, I know just the place.”

-x-x-x-

Not long afterwards, Janus and Armand were standing in the dungeons of the castle. A bit of a misnomer, really, it was more of an extended storage space. Janus came down here on a fairly regular basis - there weren’t many reagents stored here per se, save for a handful that prefered the cold, damp darkness, but there was some flora and a plethora of creepy crawlies to be found down here, which sometimes proved useful. Besides, it was a very calm place, barely anyone bothered to come down here, making it an excellent place to sort one’s thoughts.

A lot of people disliked the place, given its atmosphere and name, but Janus wasn’t one of them. At least, usually. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only one who was attracted to the peace and quiet… and the privacy. There was a certain memory, pertaining to Armand, that the alchemist couldn’t get out of his head, particularly not now, in its location, about to address its contents. He was scared, but knew there was no turning back now.

“So, what is it?” Armand’s smile didn’t make anything less terrifying. Quite the opposite, in fact. “If you have a crush on me, I’m afraid I-” “NO!” Janus had been fairly certain he couldn’t have gotten any more nervous. He was definitely shaking now. “No, that’s not it, It’s…. I have a problem, and I think you can help and and…” “... Calm down.” The illusionist placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take your time. What is it? Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Now or never, Janus told himself, taking deep breath after deep breath, trying to get his breathing under control again. It wasn’t working.

“I’mprettycertainI’machangelingandIdon’tknowwhattodoaboutitandIcametoyoubecauseIknowyou’reavampireandprobablywon’ttellGreeneaboutme.”

He flinched, closing one eye and keeping the other only very slightly open, to watch Armand. The illusionist had frozen in place, his face unreadable, and for a split second, time seemed to stand still, even the usual glamour around the vampire seemed to have vanished. But then, it all returned as fast as it had disappeared, with only the slightest headshake on Armand’s part, and he smiled, the same wide, gleaming grin as usual. “Mr. Darnel, really, I would have thought that you, as person of higher education, would know better than to fall for such ru-” “Isawyoudrink”

“....What.” Now, everything seemed to  be TRULY gone from Armand, and he appeared the defensive sort of frightened, the kind where you try to build yourself up as tall as you can to try and hide that you’re scared. Given his position as the court illusionist, Armand was doing a significantly good  job of it.

“I- I saw you drink.” Janus’ was trying his best to show his fear - not that it needed much work, given that he was one step up from wetting himself. “B-but I-”

“When. Where.” They were less questions than demands, and the alchemist couldn’t really blame Armand. “D-Down here, and I c-can’t remember exactly? A few m-months back, I think?” It had been early summer, but the exact date didn’t come to mind amid his jittering nerves. “And no one else knows?” Suddenly, it occurred to Janus that heading out to do this without telling anyone where he was going or who he was planning to talk to was a rather terrible idea. Surely, Armand wouldn’t…. ? “No.” There was no point in lying. This was half the point of talking to Armand of all people, even if the flaws in the plan were starting to show. “No one. Not about me, I hope, and not about you.”

Armand took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

“What do you want for the information, keeping the secret?”

Janus was stunned, and it showed. He wasn’t hurt, for it was only now that he considered how he must have sounded, with only a stutter half-given as an explanation.

“I- I’m sorry, no, nothing, that’s not… that’s not what I meant, how I meant this.” He looked at his feet, unwilling to see Armand’s face, fearful of its expression, but finally raised his chin. He had to look him in the eye if he wanted to be taken by his word. “No, it’s just… We both have secrets to keep, and I figured I could trust you with mine because… I… I don’t know. I guess, mutual reassurance. If one of us gives away the secret, the other has something to fire back with… I guess.” The vampire sighed heavily.

“Alright, you’ve told me, and you know. I guess we’ve reached an agreement here, for better or for worse. Now, what is it you need from me?” “I… I’m not sure yet.” Janus looked at his feet again, regretting this whole thing more with every moment. “Mostly I just felt I needed to tell someone. A confidant. It’s… a very heavy secret to bear.”

“... I understand. In that case, I think we both have our respective duties to get back to.” Under other circumstances, Janus would have made a joke about how neither of them seemed to have anything to get back to  - his lab was probably still a biohazard and he didn’t really think Armand had been doing anything but talking to his sister when Janus had called.

But as it was, he was all to glad to leave.

“Sounds good to me!” He smiled, trying not to show that he was still incredibly nervous.

Armand turned towards the stairs, leaving Janus behind. The alchemist made sure to wait until he was out of earshot (though who knew, perhaps vampires had better hearing) before he started hyperventilating. It wasn’t until a few hours later that he would emerge, enough time for the smoke to have cleared from his lab. That, at least, had a lockable door.

Janus may have found an ally, but he was all too aware of the many potential enemies still surrounding him as he set to tidying his workspace in a nervous frenzy.

The sound of curses over broken glass filled the rest of the night at uneven interims.

[thebriarcourt]

A Gift

The wind howled outside the palace.  Snow piled up where wards had not been set against it; while the great glass dome over the throne room sported not a single drift, frost and ice crowded almost every other window.

Elizabeth spared a thought of thanks for the runes warming the staircase up to the observatory.  Every time she passed a window, she could hear the wind roaring behind it, though it was impossible to see more than a foot or two beyond the blizzard outside.

She shifted the bundle she was carrying from one arm to another.  Monarch Casey had commissioned Elizabeth to create a set of robes for the Royal Astronomer months ago; while she’d finished it last week, for some reason no one had gotten around to delivering it.  Elizabeth guessed that it was the weather.  It seemed as if half of the court became all but useless during the peak of winter, withdrawing to the comfort of warm rooms and warmer blankets rather than endure the mild chill of some of the hallways.

The ascent to the observatory had proven more tiring than she’d anticipated.  After what had to have been more than a hundred stairs, she’d finally reached the huge oak door that opened into the highest room in the entire palace.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Elizabeth smoothed her dress with a gesture, and went to knock.

She heard a voice on the other side that made her freeze.

“-frustrating, yes, but there’s nothing I can really do about that.”

What was her mother doing here?  She fought off the urge to eavesdrop, and knocked smartly on the door.  There was mumbling on the other side.

“Other guests?”

“I certainly didn’t invite any.  Ah, well... you’ll scare them off fast enough.”  Elizabeth recognized the Royal Astronomer’s voice; smooth, sometimes a little hoarse.  A moment later, the door opened.

Elizabeth looked up into the eyes of the royal astronomer.  They were rather good-looking, by Elizabeth’s admittedly relaxed standards; long blonde hair, not yet going grey, with the occasional wrinkle on a mildly androgynous face.  

“Uh... Hello, Ser Gwynn!  I was just taking care of a small errand...”

“Ah, the young Lady Elizabeth!  Come in, come in.  And what would this errand be?”

Elizabeth’s eyes flickered around the tower.  Star charts, a grand telescope, plenty of tapestries and torches to aid the magic charms keeping the cold out of the lonely tower...

And her mother, seated in one of two comfortable chairs, with a small black kitten resting in her lap.  To Elizabeth’s surprise, there was a small smile on the normally terse woman’s lips, and a glass of some dark-colored liquid in her armored hand.  Elizabeth tore her eyes from the sight and focused back on the Royal Astronomer.

“Er, well... I’m certain you’ve heard a rumor or two, but...”

She yanked at the ribbon containing the bundle and, with a gesture of both her hands and her magic, unfurled it dramatically.

Carefully shaped beads of glass immediately caught the firelight, standing out against the midnight-blue silk. Threads of spelled silver shined in just the right way to emphasize the shape of one constellation or the other.  It was as if some god had whipped the night sky off of the roof of the world and twirled it round, before the entire gift settled into the shape of a magnificent cloak.

“Our Monarch would like to thank you for your service to crown and country, Ser Gwynn.”  Elizabeth felt a rush as she watched the aging astronomer’s face; it went from marvelling at the mere sight of the robe, to shock, before they raised a trembling hand to touch the fabric.  This, perhaps more than the joy of the actual craft, was why she loved what she did.

Elizabeth smiled brightly at Gwynn.  “Would you like help donning it?”

The astronomer nodded wordlessly; with practice and care, Elizabeth helped them slip an arm into each sleeve and then let the cloak fall.  It fit perfectly, as Elizabeth expected of any outfit she crafted.  She jumped a little at the sound of someone clapping, and turned to see her mother smiling widely.

“You cut quite a figure in that, Captain.”  Jane grasped her drink again, and returned her other hand to stroking the kitten when it protested at the lack of attention. “You have to admit life in the capital has its perks now, I imagine.”

Gwynn smiled weakly but earnestly. “Honestly, I’m worried that some poor bird is going to run smack into me, but it is marvelously comfortable.  Elizabeth...”

The royal seamstress turned, blushing slightly when Gwynn took her hand and kissed the back of it.

“I would like to thank you, and our Monarch, for this incredible gift.  I swear to treasure it always.”

Elizabeth felt a tingle run up her back. “It was my pleasure, Ser Gwynn.  Please, if you ever need a repair or adjustment to any of your clothing, do not hesitate to pay me a visit.”  She glanced at her mother. “I... hope the two of you enjoy the rest of your evening.”  With a bow, she politely excused herself from the tower, collecting the ribbon and cloth she had brought the robe in and shutting the door carefully behind her.  As she descended, she placed a bit of her mind in the robe of stars she’d just left behind.  It was flagrant eavesdropping, but she could no longer resist the urge.

“-bsolutely magnificent.  You must be immensely proud of your daughter.”

“She has a calling, certainly.  I just...”

Elizabeth nearly slipped on one of the steps when she heard her mother sigh.  She cursed under her breath as she clinged to the railing of the stairs, trying to focus on the conversation going on far above her and not her pounding heart.

“-oesn’t seem to realize the danger she courts.”

“That danger isn’t exactly her fault, Jane.”

“Believe me, I know that.  And at least she hasn’t followed in Maria’s footsteps.”

Elizabeth froze at the mention of her twin sister, foot hovering over the next step.

“Ah.  That was a bit before I got to know you.”

There was silence.  Elizabeth thought she could hear breathing; possibly her mother was having a drink.

“I shouldn’t have- It’s not something I like to talk about.  Maybe some other time, Gwynn.”

The conversation moved on to old naval campaigns.  Elizabeth sighed, and ended her eavesdropping spell.  She rubbed at one of her eyes.  It was probably about time for her to try writing another letter to her sister.

[thebriarcourt]

Crowns

“Have you thought about what flowers you’ll bring to the spring festival?”

Travertine looked back over her shoulder at Armand, who was watching her expectantly from his perch in the window seat. It would never cease to puzzle her that he seemed to care so little about sunlight. True, even if it weren’t for their protective charms, there were heavy velvet curtains between him and the glass, and only the barest hint of light leaked into the dimness of her guest chambers. But it was still unnerving; swords didn’t stop being dangerous just because you were wearing armour.

She turned back to the wardrobe, where she was occupied in arranging the dresses she had only just gotten around to unpacking. “I put in an order to the gardens yesterday,” she said. “A basket each of snowdrops and celandine, for hope and future happiness. I thought they’d be appropriate, since I’ve only just arrived and I don’t know anyone yet.”

Armand made an approving noise. “Topical, yet nonspecific; flattering if someone wants to take it that way, but very difficult to twist into something offensive. Excellent choices. But what I meant was, are you planning to pick out anything more specific for anyone’s crown?”

“Oh!” Travertine drew her hands away from their inspection of a wrinkled silk gown and turned to face her brother properly. “No, I hadn’t thought about that. Should I have been?”

“You’d probably be all right just handing out the same things to everyone,” he said with a shrug. “Since you’re so new to the capital, I doubt anyone will expect much else. I was just curious.”

Travertine started to answer, then stopped herself mid-word. She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Armand met her gaze with impassive innocence.

“You’re trying to find out if I fancy anyone yet,” she accused.

“Nothing of the sort,” Armand said demurely. “I’m trying to find out whether you’ve met anyone yet that you think you could be friendly with. I worry that you’ll get lonely; I have work to do and I don’t like leaving you alone all day. It’ll be good for you to make new friends.”

Travertine sighed loudly and gave her brother a weary smile. “I had a very nice chat with Lady Greene and the Majordomo yesterday. They’re quite a pleasant pair, and they were quite welcoming. Perhaps I’ll pick out some flowers for them, if we happen to meet during the festival.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. The court can surprise you with how small it is, at times.”

“What about you?” Travertine countered. “What are you handing out?”

“Apple blossom, mostly.” Armand lifted one hand and toyed with the fringe on the curtains, twisting it around his finger. “One of the most popular flowers for the new year. Everyone appreciates a good-luck wish, and it looks good no matter what else you’ve got in your crown already. Sage for our wise monarch, garlic for their strong right hand, and parsley for the useful knowledge that the left hand provides.”

“Are you trying to flatter them, or serve them up for dinner?” Travertine laughed.

“It’s not my fault that so many of the flowers of great virtues also happen to be delicious,” he replied with a grin. “I think the combination will amuse the three of them, anyway. At least, I hope so, or we may both be sent packing back home. Scarlet lobelia for Elizabeth, clematis for Janus, and… well, something else for one or two of the knights. People you wouldn’t have met.”

Her eyebrows rose. Travertine might not have seen her brother in more years than she could care to count, but she remembered that mid-word catch in his voice, the slight flicker of his eyes to one side that meant he’d just censored something he had realized he shouldn’t or didn’t want to say.

“One or two of the knights?” she said slowly, a grin spreading across her face. “Why do I get the impression that it’s more a matter of one specific knight?”

Armand couldn’t blush, but the way his mouth pinched spoke clearly enough. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said firmly.

Travertine laughed. “Don’t you, now? Oh, Armand.” She crossed the room and sat down next to him in the window, placing one hand on his knee. Armand looked down at his sister’s slender fingers as he slowly rubbed his own hand across his neck. “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Nothing would make me happier than hearing that you’d found someone to be close to, truly. I worry about you, too, you know.”

He relaxed his shoulders a little. “It’s not really like that,” he sighed. “Though I certainly wouldn’t object if he ever… well, I mean, I’d love to… he’s a very sweet and handsome young man. But we’re just friends.”

Travertine sat back against a cushion and beamed. “Anyone I would have met yet?”

“I don’t think so. His name is Echo; he’s a knight-initiate. He spends a lot of time working with the horses.” A gentle smile started to ease Armand’s face as he spoke. “Charming, but shy. When he first came to court, he gave a periwinkle to just about every single person here, to show that he wanted to make friends. It was one of the sweetest and most honest uses of floriography that I’ve ever seen.”

“I’d like to meet him,” Travertine said. “He sounds nice.”

“I’ll have to be sure to introduce the two of you.” Armand wrapped his hand around his sister’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We haven’t spoken much,” he admitted, “but what else is the festival for, if not starting new things and making changes? It’s as good a time as any to start trying to get to know people better.”

“Hear, hear. So, what are you going to give him, then?”

“Edelweiss, I think.”

“Courage and purity.” Travertine nodded. “A good flower for a knight. I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

“I hope so.” Armand smiled, leaning forward and kissing Travertine’s forehead. “And I’m sure that whatever you decide to give Sereno and Elizabeth, they’ll be just as delighted.”

“Well, as you said.” Travertine stood up and went back to the wardrobe to resume unpacking. “It’s an auspicious time for new friendships. I have a good feeling that we’ll both get what we’re hoping for.”

[thebriarcourt]

A Little Lonely

“Aaah, Mr. Blackwood.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”  Vincent Abrams, the Duke of Lotar, gave the Majordomo a friendly smile.  The young courtier he was speaking to bit his lip in impatience; it was clear to Sereno that he had just interrupted an interesting conversation.  Well, it could wait.

Sereno eyed the small brooch of oak leaves, peppermint, and cattleya's hovering over the Duke’s heart, before returning the smile.  “The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.  As you know, I prefer to see to some of the arrangements involving the Spring Festival a few months early, and I feel that it is especially important when it comes to the saplings your lands provide during that time.  I was hoping we could have a brief discussion about some of the particulars... the paperwork is all but done, of course, but your personal oversight is needed for one or two details.”

“Of course, of course.  We’ll be just a moment, Brian.  After all, I can hardly help you find a good marriage if we don’t have a good tree to bless it, can I?”  The Duke patted the courtier’s shoulder and followed after the Majordomo.

Sereno ducked into a side hallway, made certain that he was out of sight, and let himself lean into the cover of an archway, rubbing his forehead in exhaustion.  Speaking with Duke Abrams always left him a bit uneasy... like the man was always looking for an angle, something he could latch onto for influence or power... but this conversation had proven particularly exhausting.  Arranging the delivery of certain saplings in time for the Spring Festival was a matter of immense personal importance, and it had been difficult to make the requests he needed of the duke without letting that on.

Of course, it wasn’t that he had any shame in his heritage, or considered it an important secret.  Still, the Duke had a way of twisting things like that around for his own benefit.

Thankfully, his next stop on the day’s schedule was significantly more pleasant.

Sereno gently rapped on Elizabeth’s door.  He was a little surprised when, instead of being welcomed, he heard hurried muttering behind it, before the seamstresses voice called out to him.

“Just a moment!”

A few seconds later, Elizabeth opened the door and beamed up at him. “Mr. Blackwood!  Now this is a pleasant surprise.  Come in, I just finished Lady le Boucher’s measurements.”

Sereno looked into the room and saw a pale, lavender-haired noblewoman collecting her flower brooch, prominently decorated with violets, off a nearby table.  She looked mildly flustered, although she probably hadn’t had to deal with anything too untoward from the flirtatious Elizabeth; there wasn’t a hint of a blush on her features.

“Travertine, may I introduce you to the illustrious Sereno Blackwood, our Majordomo?”  Elizabeth nabbed Sereno’s hand and dragged him into the room.  He tried his best to smile non threateningly, but the noblewoman still seemed a little unnerved.

“Um.  Yes.  Pleasure to meet you.”  Travertine curtsied, and Sereno bowed in turn.

“The pleasure is mine, good Lady.  I just had some business to see to with Miss Greene here-”

“Oh, I’m sorry... I’ll excuse myself then-”

“No, it’s my fault for interrupting.  I can see to my business later-”

As both Sereno and Travertine turned toward the door, the Majordomo felt a slight tug at his sleeve, as if someone had gently gripped it between their fingers.  He turned towards Elizabeth, noting that Travertine mimicked his movement.

The mistress of wardrobe was standing at a table set against the wall, smiling a little nervously. “I... don’t suppose both of you would like to stay?  I have wine.”  

Sereno’s eyes felt drawn to Travertine’s.  The noblewoman seemed a touch uncertain, but...

“If Elizabeth made the selection, I’m sure it’s excellent.”  Sereno did his best to smile comfortingly. “And frankly I wouldn’t mind having a seat.  It’s been a long day.”

“I... suppose I don’t have any immediate engagements.”  Travertine returned the smile, the uncertainty on her face dissipating.

---

“So, you’ve never experienced a Spring Festival at the capital?  You’re in for quite a treat.”  

“I haven’t, no.  I’ve been cooped up on my father’s estate for most of my life.” Travertine felt herself warming to the Majordomo.  He was a little hard to read, and she was puzzled at his lack of floral decor, but he lacked the overwhelming intensity of Elizabeth’s presence.  In fact, he seemed to form a natural balance with the woman; his calm nature took the edge off of Elizabeth’s constant questions and flirtations.

“I can certainly sympathize there.  My mother rarely lets me come with her on whatever business she has outside the capital.”  Elizabeth replied, her mouth wet by a long sip of wine.  Travertine had noted that the seamstress seemed quite fond of her drink; she’d probably had more than half of the bottle they were all supposed to be sharing.

“Miss Greene, that is all but certainly because of the multitude of attempted kidnappings and assassinations.”  Sereno replied, pouring himself another small measure of wine.  Travertine caught his eyes, and the Majordomo winked. “As the daughter of our mildly infamous Knight-General, Miss Greene-”

“-can take care of herself, no matter what my mother might believe.”  Elizabeth interrupted grumpily.  

Travertine found herself suppressing a giggle as she studied Elizabeth’s knit brows.  There was something childishly charming in the angry expression, one Travertine remembered her brother wearing during his arguments with their father.

The Mistress of Wardrobe let out a frustrated sigh upon discovering the bottle of wine was empty. “Still, I can’t really complain.  I know how... ‘popular’ my mother is.  People are going to try to use me to get to her.  I just...”

She was interrupted by a knock at the door.  There was a heavier quality to it, as if the knocker was respecting the privacy of those on the other side, while still intending to enter anyway.

Travertine had to choke back a laugh at the way Elizabeth rolled her eyes.  The movement was incredibly exaggerated, as if she were a stage actress.  With a flip of her hair, Elizabeth stood and called out to the door. “It’s open, mother!  I’m afraid the wine’s all gone, though.”

The door opened, the intimidating woman that Travertine had seen at the Monarch’s right hand stepping into the room with one hand firmly on the handle.  A fierce brown eye scanned the occupants, and the young noblewoman found herself shivering underneath its gaze, like she was being sized up as a threat.

Apparently she wasn’t much of one, because the Knight-General’s expression relaxed slightly. “Mr. Blackwood, Monarch Casey was hoping to speak with both you and my daughter about some of your preparations.  Apparently that old badger Abrams is fussing about some of your requests.”

“Of course he is.”  Sereno pushed out of his seat, glancing at Travertine as he did so. “Would you join us, Lady le Boucher?  The conversation could be informative, if nothing else.”

Why not? Travertine thought to herself.  Sereno and Elizabeth had proven to be pleasant company, and they had positions in court which held both safety and influence. “I’d be honored for another chance to be in the Monarch’s presence, of course.”  She stood and offered a curtsy to the Knight-General, who nodded in response.

She trailed behind Elizabeth as she left the room, looking back at the assortment of tables, cloth, and tools, and the table which held the remains of their conversation.  A smile grew across her face, and she followed quickly after the other noblewoman.

[thebriarcourt]

Care

Janus bent over the gently bubbling liquid, so intent on watching the cloudy precipitate settle out that he barely registered the soft footsteps in the hall. A timid knock on his door intruded slightly on his concentration, but not enough for him to do more than mutter “come in” and wave distractedly for the door to open.

He only looked up at the sound of a soft yelp, followed by a sharp noise of collision and some frantic fumbling. That sounded a bit more fragile than the usual soft “clunk” of door against forehead. He belatedly remembered that he had sent a messenger down to the garden for some reagents earlier.

“Sorry,” he called, wincing as he moved his mixture off the heat and turned around. “Nothing broken, I hope…?”

The slight, disheveled figure in the doorway shook their head. They had a few fingers of their left hand in their mouth, nursing scraped knuckles with no apparent care for the soil and dust that thickly coated their skin. The other hand was cradling a clay pot, from which sprouted several thick, rounded stalks with curious spiky protrusions.

“It’s all right,” the stranger said, drawing their now-muddy fingers out of their mouth. “My fingers were between the pot and the door. You’re, uh, Janus Darnel, the court alchemist?”

The gardener glanced around the lab, as if the shelves full of ingredients, bottles of finished potions, and strange-smelling liquids in beakers and test tubes could leave some doubt as to his occupation.

“That’s right.” Janus pulled off his work gloves and began clearing off a space on a table near the window. “That’s the plant I requested? The, uh…”

“Rose’s Fly Trap.” The gardener nodded and took one more nervous look around before stepping into the room. The held the potted plant close to their chest as they crossed the room with nervous, halting strides. Janus bent over to examine it as the gardener placed it on the table.

“Perfect. Thank you for bringing it up so promptly. Ordinarily the timing wouldn’t matter as much, but I need to use these fresh. Can’t wait too long between harvesting them and adding to the potion, or they’ll have no effect at all.”

The gardener blinked. “Oh, I see. Um… if you don’t mind me asking, what do you use these for? We grow them in the greenhouse as curiosities, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them being used as a potion ingredient.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Janus leaned over and tapped one finger on the side of a beaker of some thick, greyish mixture that was cooling on a cloth nearby. “You may know that certain kinds of potions can be turned into bombs - thrown or ignited to spread their effects over a larger area. Adding the head of a fly trap, along with a few other tricks, means that these bombs can be induced to go off when someone comes close to them, rather than needing to be set off manually.” He bent over the plant again, picking up a small pair of tweezers. “Not as precise as some methods, but faster to prepare, and the Scout-General needs these sooner rather than later.” He punctuated the statement by tapping the tweezers against the inside of one of the little pink mouths, causing the plant to snap shut around them.

Curiously, the gardener flinched at the same time, as though they had been the one prodded with a foreign implement. Janus looked up and blinked. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah…” The gardener looked away, cheeks turning a dull pink under a layer of dirt. “Nothing. It’s just… if you’re going to want to keep the plant alive for a while, you should be careful.”

They reached over and took the tweezers in one hand. Janus relinquished them and stepped aside, watching as the gardener gently eased the tool out of the trap. “Plants aren’t made to move around much,” they said apologetically. “Even plants like this, that can move parts of themselves more quickly. It costs them a lot of energy.” They set the tweezers aside and patted the side of the pot, as if reassuring the plant. “Fly traps are surprisingly fragile. Even flowering and making seeds takes a lot out of them. If they get activated and use a burst of energy like that, and then don’t get anything to eat to show for it…”

“I see.” Janus nodded sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful.”

The gardener looked up, then seemed to shrink inward as though they had just remembered they were talking to someone much higher in rank. “It should be all right,” they added in a rush. “Especially if you only need to keep it a few days, they’re not quite that fragile…”

Janus waved his hands. “No, no, I’m glad you said something. After all, healthier plants make higher quality potions.” He ventured an awkward smile. “...Is there anything else I should know?”

The gardener’s shoulders slowly began to relax. “Well… you should give it as much sunlight as you can,” they said timidly. “They grow naturally in very hot places. Don’t overwater it; keep the soil damp, but not wet.” They poked one finger into the pot to show Janus the consistency of the earth around the plant. “About like this. But don’t let it get too dry, either.”

Janus nodded, noting down each point in his head. “Understood.”

“Don’t fertilize it, under any circumstances,” they went on, warming to the topic. “That’s one of the fastest ways to kill these. And if you can, only use pure water, without any minerals or contaminants.” They trailed their fingers along the plant’s leaves, lips moving silently as they tried to remember any other important details. “That should be more or less it, since you’re not planning to keep it long term.”

“That should be easy enough, then. Thank you.” Janus inclined his head. “If I have any problems, I’ll send for you again. Oh-” He held up a hand. The gardener, who had already half turned to go, stopped in their tracks and looked back at him. “I nearly forgot, who should I ask for? What’s your name?”

“Oh… Cecile Strand. Just ask for the head gardener, they’ll know me.” Cecilie bowed and touched one finger to their forehead.

“Strand. All right, thank you.”

The two exchanged polite smiles and then turned away, each returning to their own work.

[thebriarcourt]

Bones Hop

The one they called Snakeman only faintly remembers when he first raised the dead.

“I just wanted a friend.” He would say, when asked. Even as he grew older and wiser and even during the times when he forgot he could smile. “So I built one.”

It was a story only a decade or so old. About a young boy with feared eyes with difficulty making friends, and a little about the adoptive family that grew distant. The father was disdainful of the reputation the boy brought, and the mother waved off his presence, focused on letting things explode in her room. Echo hesitates to call her antics alchemy, the ever more he learns from Janus.

And then there was Ignatius and their want for dresses, and their smoke for hair with eyes a purple that burned. With jealousy at others, and anger, passion fitting their name. Echo always associated them with sunflowers when he spoke, and this person brought a rare smile to his face.

He finds it fitting it was in a jealousy fueled spat of theirs that made the little boy running off into the woods a little after one early spring festival, tears and snot on his face. He ran as far as his little legs dared, hesitance from warnings of the fae, and came to stare into the gnarled roots of a large dead oak a stone’s toss from home.

Winter tended to be harsh, even in the temperate land they have moved to. He feels pain deep in his slowing blood all through the season, and the casualty this time was the family pet; a small whimpering rabbit, who finally fell to the combination of cold and age. It’s snowy body had been buried right at the roots as a job shared between the two children, one crying, the other not.

The one who didn't did now, at the same place, sharp words twisting like the roots at his feet and digging in painfully. Echo had turned to the little marked grave as his sleeves wiped at his face, tears dripping into the soil. He patted it mournfully and got himself dirty, wishing dearly for a companion.

The one they call Snakeman had already forgotten details of the time when he first raised the dead.

There was a curl inside him and a bloody scratch from rough bark, and a crackle snap pop in his hands that reached out. Something sent out the call, something the sad pile of mismatched skeleton and months old fur returned.

Aptly named Snowball the undead rabbit was missing all teeth and a leg, and when Echo twitched in surprise its jaw followed suit with a odd sounding crack. It was misshapen, missing bones and twisted into a strange rabbit shape. It smelled musty too.

And this he said, was a suitable friend for a very long time.

[thebriarcourt]

Doorways

Janus Darnel had spent all day scuttering around the castle lying to people. So far, his thesis for this experiment was holding up rather nicely, and it absolutely terrified him. He was more nervous than he’d ever been in his entire time at the court, and it was purely a scientific resolve that stopped him from giving in early and rushing to find the person he hoped to talk things out with if the experiment was a success.

Well, for a certain value of success, anyway. He wouldn’t call having some concrete proof that he may be a changeling a success. He’d felt pangs of unpleasantness walking through certain doorways for as long as he could remember, but it was only now, after Roland had been to see him about the fae issue, and his subsequent rather-closer-than-he-would-have-liked encounter with a box of rowantree parts - that he clued in on what was different about the doorways he disliked - they were the ones guarded against the otherworldly.

This was why he’d been standing outside the door of Elizabeth’s workshop for a good minute. Aside from being the Mistress of the Wardrobe, she was also the daughter of the Knight-General. And if the latter’s reputation was anything to go by, this doorway could quite possibly be the most well protected one in the castle.

With this in mind Janus dreaded having to pass through it. It took him another few seconds to steady his breathing, gather himself, and make sure none of his fear was showing. Finally, he raised his hand and knocked.

“Miss Greene?” Janus almost hoped no one would answer, that she wasn’t in, any reason to be able to convince himself to stop this now.

“Come in!” No such luck. There was nothing for it - time to put the theory to the test one last time and heed the invitation.

He took one more deep breath, braced himself, and stepped in. As he predicted, a massively unpleasant feeling hit him like a brick wall, all at once, and it was all he could do not to flinch or cry out. Having expected this didn’t help one bit, nor had bracing. How could you, really? A protection wasn’t much use if it was as easy as that to bypass.

“Ah, Janus!” He’d caught the young woman in the heart of her work; she was sewing a dress - no, on second glance, those were robes, night blue with embroidered constellations that had flowers for stars. Come to think of it, it was the embroidery she had been working on. “Did you come to take me up on my offer?”

Silence. Janus had completely forgotten that - a while back, Elizabeth had tried to talk him into replacing his work clothes with a new set that wasn’t covered with more alchemical stains than a tiger lily had spots.  He wasn’t particularly interested - his old clothes were comfortable and it wasn’t as if he was trying to impress anyone with them. They fulfilled their job as protective garment well enough, he didn’t see any need to retire them.

“Oh. No, actually.” His answer seemed to disappoint the seamstress but he stood by his decision and would likely do so until his current set of robes fell apart completely.

"Pity," she frowned a little, mostly in jest, but it was quickly replaced with a wide playful grin. "So you just wanted to see me? That's very sweet of you. I'm flattered. It’s nice to see you, too."

"Uh..." Janus stopped, flustered like a startled deer. Was she flirting with him? Then again this was Elizabeth Greene they were talking about, so she probably was.

She laughed. “All right, all right, what really brings you here?”

“Ah!” Janus immediately lit up, glad to be back in his element. “See, what with the rumors of fae activity rather far within the kingdom, I’ve been looking into defenses. Everyone has their own methods that are tried and true, so I’m conducting... well, I suppose you could call it a survey of sorts, as a first step. Can you tell me anything about that? Like, protections, or fae in general. Anything helps.”

There was a brief pause as Elizabeth cut off a thread (the sound of the snip seemed to echo. Only ever so slightly, but Janus feared it carried meaning, anyway.) and reached for a new colour. Then, she looked up at him, thoughtfully, as if deciding whether or not to tell him something.

“You know,” Evidently, this decision had fallen in his favour, even if she didn’t stop sewing as she talked. “I got kidnapped by the true fae once.”

She looked up again, presumably to gauge his reaction - it DID end up being rather a sight to behold.

“You WHAT?” He stumbled back, stopping just short of the door. Every muscle in his face showed utter confusion and perhaps incredulity. If she’d been kidnapped by the fae of all beings, how in the world was she still here? The Fair Folk were not exactly well known for returning their quarry.  “Wh- how? How are you...”

Elizabeth seemed highly amused, judging by her giggling. “How am I still here? Well, you know my mother...”

“... Don’t tell me she....”

“She chased down my would-be kidnapper and got me back.” The tone with which she spoke, and the way she was once again more focused on her sewing carried a disturbing air of normalcy, as if this had happened a just a few times too often.

“.... she didn’t.” Janus was stunned. Surely, Elizabeth couldn’t be serious.

“Have you met my mother, Janus?” This was, he had to admit, a rather good point.

“.... that’s fair.” If ANYONE could literally hunt down the fae and grab back something they took, be it a kid or anything else, it would have to be Knight-General Jane Greene.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know, actually.” The detail Elizabeth was adding must have been rather small, as she reached for the scissors again, to finish the thread.Putting aside her sewing equipment, she lifted up the robes to give them a good look, vanishing behind them as she stood. They were evidently for someone taller than her. “It’s one of the more well known stories.”

“I.. may have.” A weak memory stirred in Janus. It was the type he’d been trying to forget, and soon enough he knew why - that wasn’t the end of the story. “But truth be told, I probably passed it off as a rumor.”

Elizabeth laughed a little. “That happens a lot.”

Janus waited, wondering if she would finish this story. He was remembering more and more of it, and he really couldn't blame her for not being candid about the rest of it. He, for one, would not want to talk about it if someone had tried to sell HIM to the true fae as a child (he tried hard not to think about how it was becoming increasingly likely that he’d been the price the fae had payed for a human) and he’d probably have remained silent about the execution of the guy who’d tried to sell him, too. This was the part of the story he would have been all to happy to never recall - Jane herself had carried out the sentence, killing the traitorous human with a cold iron blade.

The concept of cold iron had always amazed Janus a bit, but his fascination was rather outweighed by his terror. He’d always felt a strange sort of primal fear of it, but he’d always thought it was unfounded - until now. The revelation shook Janus a little, giving him goosebumps. He was thankful for his long-sleeved attire.

He agreed that someone willing to sell out any citizen of the kingdom, regardless of position, to the true fae had it coming, but the story still made him uneasy.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, had turned the robes around, nodding at her work. She folded them up, neatly as only well-practiced precision could.

“I know Roland went to talk to you about the situation in Count Luske’s land.” Placing the finished garment off to the side, she caught Janus entirely off-guard. “Are you nervous?”

“O-oh! No! ... no, not really.” This was a lie, if not for the reasons that Elizabeth might think it to be - he wasn’t nervous about the fae being this far into the country, he was worried about being fae which would be far more devastating to him, personally. This was not, of course, to say that a fae invasion wouldn’t be devastating but at least, he wouldn’t be in it alone.

Elizabeth scoffed amusedly, evidently not buying it. But on the upside, she didn’t directly call him out on it. “You know, you could quite easily get better defenses for your lab.”

Her voice had the air of a suggestion, like she could recommend him a person or way- yes, there it was.

“My mother, for instance,” She fixed her gaze above the door, and Janus was surprised to hear just a tinge of otherwise well hidden resentment in this, an unvoiced argument about protection and self-defence, even if he didn't know this and had no way of inferring this. “Saw to it that this room and my quarters were very well warded.”

Janus was flustered, and found himself having to hold himself back from blurting out something along the lines of yeah, I noticed. He shook his head and waved his hand a little, in some sort of noncommittal rejection (or at least, that’s what he was trying for).

“No, really, I’m okay.” Another lie, by this point, but a far more convincing one, even if the words tasted like an over-salted dish. He’d never liked salt. “It is, however, nice to know that there are places I can turn if I change my mind.”

“Well, that’s good to hear! Is there anything else I can help you with?” If Elizabeth had caught him out, she wasn’t letting it on. Janus was grateful for the opportunity of closure.

“No, don’t think so, thank you!” He smiled wide. “I still need to go see someone else about this whole survey thing.”

That, at least, was the truth, if a bit twisted.

“Oh! Is it Gwynn?”  She seemed aware that this was quite out-on-a-limb given how many people there were at the court, but it didn't seem to bother her, either. “Because, well, I got done with their robes and it would be great if you could let them know!”

That, in retrospect, made a lot of sense. Of course a garment full of constellations and white lavender was for the court’s very own astronomer.

“No, sorry, it’s actually Armand. And his sister, I suppose. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve met her yet! What an introduction that will be!” Janus laughed, uneasily. What an introduction, indeed... However, he was quick to perk up, perhaps a little too quick, a disguise donned too obviously. “But if I go past the observatorium today, I’ll make sure to poke my head in and tell them.”

“Thanks, that would be great!” Elizabeth smiled.

“Anyway, I’ll be off then!” Janus grinned and turned just as soon as the seamstress had returned the goodbye.

Exiting took a bit less of a toll, but maybe that was just because he knew what to expect. But still, it was unpleasant. He doubted he’d be back anytime soon.

Even without the feeling of having just walked through a brick wall to worry about, Janus heart was racing. His fears were confirming themselves way too fast for his liking. He had to get this off his shoulders, if not gather advice.

There was only one thing for it: find another nonhuman to trade secrets with.

Armand.

[thebriarcourt]

“No, Iris did not make it so it would be spring forever. Seasons change, and plants change, and the tree’s sweet-scented blossoms will one day drop. But the gift of the flower is its fruit. Sweet-scented blossoms give way to sweet-tasting apples.

At the time of harvest, we look forward and back. We brew the next year’s cider, we write our fond wishes, we bottle and seal them inside the family cask. We open last year’s cider, we find what wishes saw fruition, we share our cask with friends. We sing. We celebrate. We feast on fruits and nuts and all the gifts of Iris.

Iris did not make it so it would be spring forever. She made it so we could live in health and happiness, so that a beautiful spring would mean a bountiful harvest ...”

- Sermon of a Priestess of Iris

[thebriarcourt]

Rowan

The knock at Janus’ door startled the alchemist out of his experiments.  It was a little unusual to have guests at this time of night... at least, it was unusual for guests whose requests were mundane and sensible.

“Janus?  It’s Roland.”

Ah, yes.  His most regular late-night customer.

“Come on in, Mr. Banning.”  Janus called, flicking a finger at the door to swing it open.  The scout-general expertly sidestepped the door’s arc, slipping into the room with a quiet smile. “We really ought to adjust how that door swings.  You’re going to knock out some poor courtier one day.”

“Eh.  I’d prefer to discourage nosy visitors.  Besides, it’s funny.”  The alchemist shrugged. “So what can I do for you, sir?”  He attempted a small and awkward bow; of all the residents of the court, he found it easiest to respect the scout-general.  He was affable without being condescending, he knew his way around an alchemical lab, and he always found a way to make his requests interesting.

“I need a couple of the usual field kits, and something more specialized... perhaps some kind of oil or grenade, made to repel fae.  I’m worried that the usual charms and talismans might not be enough for this mission.”

Janus blinked owlishly at the scout-general. “Ah.  Sending these scouts far afield, then?”

“That would be preferable, but unfortunately some fae seem to have slipped significantly further into our country than we’ve seen in years.  Our good Knight-General wants a full-on armed response, but I’d rather not send people into a panic.”

The alchemist nodded sagely. “She’s good at doing that.  The panic thing, I mean.  So, anti-fae, eh?  Not something I’ve done a lot of, if I’m being honest, but I’m pretty sure my predecessor left some notes around.  I’ll see what I can whip up.  Is there anything else, sir?”

Roland stroked his chin for a moment.  “Maybe... no, I’m sure Jane’s knights will behave themselves... or, at the very least, know how to cover their tracks.  Yes, I think that will be all, Janus.”  The scout-general excused himself with a wave and smile.

The alchemist began searching through drawers and shelves.  The previous alchemist had one of the most archaic, nonsensical organization systems Janus had ever seen; there could be a recipe for turning grass into saffron somewhere amongst them, and it would take a thousand years to find.  Still, he’d learned a thing or two about the way his predecessor had thought, and- ah, perfect.

The slightly dusty tome proclaimed to be a guide to all things fae.  Considering that the dates within were all at least a century old, it was unlikely the information had any real worth, but it could provide a starting point at the very least.  Janus sat down to peruse it, and was surprised to find answers within the first couple pages.  Folk remedies, common chants, hearsay and old lore... and a tale of a village that escaped fae notice simply by planting a circle of rowan saplings around the borders of their town.  Perhaps an extract of the trees essence would prove equally effective.

The old storeroom Janus used for alchemical supplies was about as crowded and musty as the bookshelves in his lab.  He still hadn’t been able to run a full inventory of anything... getting servants who could be trusted not to shake or touch anything dangerous would take far more effort than simply doing it himself one of these days.  As he combed the shelves, he felt himself growing a little uneasy.  It was only after a minute that he realized his eyes and hands kept skipping past the shelf he was looking for; a box on the shelf purported to contain leaves and bark of rowan.  With care, he picked the box up, and almost immediately felt queasy.

I didn’t have some bad meat or something for dinner, did I? Janus wondered as he paced back to his desk.  He flipped the box open, and the queasy feeling leapt into his throat..  The alchemist found himself pushing the box away so he could take a deep breath.  He wasn’t sure why, but the scent felt... wrong.  He was pretty sure tree bark couldn’t go bad, but...

A terrible possibility crept into Janus’ mind and settled comfortably in a corner, where it could continue to distract him.  Taking another deep breath, Janus forced himself to pull the box closer.  At the very least, if this stuff was this unpleasant, it would probably keep more than fae away.  Just... get the extract done, get a few mist grenades mixed with the stuff, go lay down for a bit.

By Iris, he wished that creeping suspicion would go away.

[thebriarcourt]

An Introduction To Court

“I should warn you... even with all the preparation you’ve done, the Court might overwhelm you at first.”  Armand adjusted Travertine’s flower brooch, ensuring the violets stood out against his younger sister’s lavender dress.  “Thankfully it is a tad quieter in the evening... relatively speaking, of course.”

“I’m grateful for the concern, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.  I can just slip into a corner if I feel overwhelmed, after all.”  Travertine took a deep breath, and palmed the Introduction Bouquet out of her storage charm. “Daffodil, purple iris, red carnation...”

“Loyalty, hope for a long reign and prosperous nation, and regard for our ruler’s wisdom and loveliness.  You need nothing more than that, I promise.”  Armand gently squeezed Travertine’s shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready.  We’ll take a side entrance, take it slow and quiet.”

Travertine nodded, and set her face into a charming and inoffensive smile. “Lead the way.”

The throne room nearly took Travertine’s breath away.  Night-flowering plants adorned pots and planters that lined every wall and free surface, and above them the domed glass ceiling revealed an evening sky, with stars just beginning to sparkle against the dark blue.

The angered shouting didn’t quite match the gorgeous decor, however.  Travertine’s eyes were drawn to the throne, bedecked in Queen’s Lace and Irises and a thousand other flowers, where an argument was apparently underway.

“It is not up to you, nor any other noble to decide where and when I can garrison troops when this country is threatened, you sniveling idiot.”  A tall, harsh-faced woman with an eyepatch was glaring down at an elegantly dressed noble.  Travertine took the woman’s appearance in... while dressed in dark leggings and a suit vest, she had left one of her arms covered in gleaming armor for some reason.  The flower that adorned her eyepatch was a lone daffodil... either an odd choice, considering the misfortune and loneliness associated with it, or a morbidly humorous one... while her dark brown hair was bound in a bun with strands of gladiolus.  The symbol of knights, chivalry, loyalty...

“How dare you!  I am perfectly capable of seeing to any threat on my own lands, you... you...”  The noble quailed underneath the woman’s glare.  After a brief moment, he turned to look at another man, standing on the opposite side of the throne from the intimidating woman. “And it’s not as if the existence of a threat has been determined!”

“He is broadly correct, Knight-General.”  The man who spoke was well-groomed, his light brown hair combed back.  A brooch of snapdragon and eglantine adorned the breast of his suit... grace, strength, deception, wounding to heal. Travertine thought to herself.  “While we’ve heard rumors of changelings and wild hunts, we do not have anything to substantiate the rumors... which is why I’m sending my scouts into your lands, Count Luske.”

The count seemed to bristle more than an irate hedgehog at this. “Unacceptable!  Completely unacceptable!  Your ‘scouts’ are scoundrels at best, vagabonds to a man!  I won’t have them traipsing around my-”

“I assure you that any scouts I send will not be of the male persuasion.  I am well aware of the trouble you’ve had with your daughters.”  The Scout-General’s interruption oozed honey and venom.

“In my experience, the persuasion of an individual rarely matters to a noble’s daughter.”  The knight-general commented dryly.  Someone in the murmuring audience choked back a laugh.

“You... you two dare-” The count spluttered.

“Enough.”

The voice was not loud, but it echoed through the court and brought silence in its wake.

Monarch Casey leaned forward slightly.  Travertine could not help but note their attractiveness, not quite effeminate, not quite masculine; their hair was tied back in a loose bun, a golden circlet just visible as it crossed their forehead.  Their robes were magnificent; it was if an entire garden had been so carefully embroidered across the fabric that no individual stitch could be distinguished.

“Count Luske’s concern is valid.  Our nobility has always seen to the specifics of their own lands; historically, the crown could only act upon them at their request, or in an extreme emergency.  However, we cannot dismiss the rumors and concern of fae activity out of hand.  They have preyed on the more remote borders of our country for centuries, but Luske’s territory is well within our borders, is it not?”

The count nodded emphatically. “So you see, Your Highness, there is no need for an intervention from the crown.”

“On the contrary.  The fact that these rumors have become so widespread leads me to believe that it is possible some fae have gone well past our borders, seeking prey deep within this kingdom.  It is not unknown for more daring or foolish fae to attempt to strike at our capital.”

Travertine caught the knight-general’s twitch out of the corner of her eye.  She wondered if anyone else noticed; they all seemed focused on the Monarch.

“Count Luske.  We would prefer that our Left Hand’s scouts be given your permission to move about your lands... with a small escort of our Right Hand’s most experienced knights.  We understand your reticence, but is it not worth this small price to ensure that we do not end up sending in more troops due to a genuine emergency?”  The Monarch leaned back, watching the Count quietly as they waited for an answer.

Travertine could see the sweat beading on the man’s forehead.  She couldn’t blame him... the man obviously hated the idea of his noble privilege being violated, but the Monarch had delicately removed any way for him to refuse without seeming foolish, or worse, rude.

“...I will accede to your request, Your Majesty.”

“Most excellent.  If that is all, you are dismissed.”

The murmur of the court turned into a burble as the count bowed and turned away, quickly vanishing into the general bustle.

“Now’s our chance.  People will be far more concerned with everything they just heard.”  Armand gently pulled his sister through the crowd, until he stepped into the clearing in front of the throne.  He bowed deeply, and Travertine took the queue to sink into her very best curtsy.

“Your Highness, it is my utmost pleasure to present my sister, Travertine le Boucher, who my father has sent to be an ornament of your court.”  The crowd immediately surrounding the throne turned to watch, though the general bustle did not diminish.

“You may both rise.  The pleasure is mine, Travertine.”  The young noble was surprised at how warm the monarch’s voice was; during the argument it had been so cool, detached from the emotions at play.  She stood and looked up into the Monarch’s smile, and returned it.

“I bring a gift, and with it all my regard.”  Travertine stepped forward and presented the bouquet.  She forced herself not to flinch when the knight-general stepped forward.  The woman’s face was impassive as she gently gripped the bouquet’s stems in her unarmored hand, before gently climbing the steps to the throne and presenting it to the monarch.

Casey gently caressed one of the carnations, their smile widening. “Very nice.  Your gift, and your presence, are welcomed to my court.”  The knight general handed the bouquet off to an almost-invisible servant, who carefully sought out an empty space amongst the flowers already surrounding the throne. “If that is all, Armand, Travertine, you are welcome to mingle for as long as you wish... I’m sure he’s already found some rooms for you.”

Armand bowed. “Indeed I have.  By your leave, Your Highness.”  Travertine took Armand’s arm as he stepped away, following his lead through the crowd until they found a little breathing room.

“Well, that went about as smoothly as I could have hoped.”  Armand smiled down at his younger sister. “How do you feel?”

“Tremendously excited, equally nervous.”  Travertine responded with a small laugh. “I’m sure I’ll adjust, of course-”

“Armand le Boucher! How dare you!”  Despite the words, the voice behind the siblings was playful, almost coquettish.  Travertine turned and looked down into a pair of bright brown eyes and a slightly pale face, lit by a brilliant smile.  The beautiful noblewoman inched back a little, giving Travertine a better impression of her fashionable dress and carefully made-up features. Her brown hair had been tied back, but left to tumble into an assortment of attractive curls and waves; Travertine noticed delphinium, larkspur, and lily-of-the-valley all worked into the hair-tie or the woman’s carefully embroidered dress.

Lively, fun, sweet, pure of heart-

“Don’t forget fickle, dear.”  Travertine blinked in surprise, realizing that she’d been caught staring.  The woman’s smile widened further. “Don’t worry, you’ll master the language soon enough... if you’re Armand’s sister, you must be a sharp one.”

Armand chuckled. “Travertine, it falls to me to introduce the somewhat infamous Lady Elizabeth Greene.”

“The nerve!  I am far more than ‘somewhat’ infamous!”  Elizabeth gently slapped Armand’s arm with a fan.

Travertine swallowed nervously.  “It’s... a pleasure to meet you.”  Something about this woman felt positively overwhelming, as if she was continuously exploding with energy.

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.  Travertine, Travertine, I must figure out an appropriately complimentary diminutive... what your brother has failed to mention is that I am the Mistress of the Wardrobe.  If you ever feel yourself feeling a bit of fashion envy, don’t hesitate to schedule a fitting with me.”  Elizabeth winked, and something in that wink made Travertine blush.

The mention of fashion envy made Travertine reexamine Elizabeth’s clothes, and the clothes of those around her.  It wasn’t just the embroidery, she realized.  The designs were... gorgeous, simply gorgeous.  Streamlined, but fanciful, to emphasize both magnificence and grace.  Whether it involved suits or dress, everyone seemed to just ooze style.

“I can fit you in tomorrow.”  Elizabeth’s smile turned a bit smugh, and Travertine started... caught staring again?... but calmed herself with a deep breath.

“I... will consider it, but I feel I need more time to acclimate myself to court.”  The young noblewoman mentally apologized to her tutors in etiquette... she couldn’t imagine facing a woman like this without the defenses she’d learned from them.  “I’m sure you understand.”

The way Elizabeth’s face fell reminded Travertine of a puppy she’d once witnessed, whining because it hadn’t been able to catch scraps from the table.  “Er... perhaps I can find the time.  I tend to sleep late, you see”

It was like watching a full moon pop up from behind some clouds. “Oh, wonderful!  And it won’t be a problem, darling... just come along when you feel ready.”  Elizabeth winked. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”  She turned her head towards a call from the crowd, and her face lit up again. “Ah!  That would be our good majordomo.  If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a pleasure, Armand, Travertine...”  Elizabeth slipped back into the crowd, vanishing in an instant.

Travertine looked at her brother, who instantly understood her expression. “Let’s get you back to your room.  An encounter with our good Miss Greene can tire even the most experienced of courtiers.”

[thebriarcourt]

To start anew

Procella fiddles with her bouquet, pulling lightly on the split leaves of the ivy wrapped around the bottom of it. Not hard enough to tear, of course - ruining your wedding bouquet is the epitome of bad luck. She keeps her eyes firmly on the flowers as she waits, doing her best to ignore the murmur of the small crowd gathering outside. Her fingers trail along the stems. Ivy, honeysuckle, convolvulus, roses - the traditional wedding flowers, interspersed with tiger lily and the occasional peppermint leaf spreading its fresh scent every time she squeezes the stems a bit too hard. Along the bottom, a wrapping of maple leaves to tie off the whole thing.

It’s a very formal bouquet, she knows - barely containing all of the traditional flowers, the hopes for wealth and prosperity obvious in the amount of tiger lily splashing a bold orange across the bouquet. It’s not how she would have designed it - but then again, very little about this is of her own design.

Across the pavillion, her soon-to-be-wife should be waiting in a similar hidden spot. Procella imagines she is just as nervous about this as she is. Although Veronica Eansa didn’t really seem like the type to get nervous. The few times they had met before, the knight had been… quiet. Polite, of course, but keeping her distance. Procella smoothed her thumb over the maple leaves, carefully aged to acquire that perfect red-orange tone to match the tiger lilies.

A reserved nature. That seemed to fit perfectly. Procella wished she had more time to get to know her. But the old Quartermaster of the castle was very ill, and her parents wanted her in an advantageous position for becoming the next one. That’s why the wedding was here, at the court of Iris, in one of the smaller gardens.  Procella knew that if she looked out, she’d spot her whole extended family taking up half the seats - the thought made her smile. Her youngest sister would be the flowergirl, as a show of respect and welcome. Ani had been so proud - fairly bouncing around the room this morning as they were getting ready.

The rest of the visitors were unknown - a mish-mash of representatives from the court and what she assumed were personal friends of Veronica. People she would have to get to know over the next weeks. Months. Years. Life. Procella swallowed, feeling unusually small.

Veronica, meanwhile, could barely keep herself from pacing. The wedding hadn’t been a surprise, per se - she knew it would happen some day. It had been her parents price for letting her go into knight training. Her brother, the lucky bastard, didn’t have to worry yet for a few years. Being the oldest had some perks. At five years old, the threat of marriage sometime in the far future hadn’t seemed like such a high price - it hadn’t for a long time. Not until it became reality.

And now it was. She was about to get married. She’d stay in the castle, of course - her knighthood wouldn’t disappear just because she tied the knot with someone. She would still have her post, her few friends, her training. But there would be changes. People would see her differently. Not to mention that there would be an entirely new person in her life, someone she would be with for the foreseeable future.

It wasn’t even that she minded her fiancée. Procella seemed nice enough, from the few times they had met - talkative, but sweet. And… Despite the fact that she was a good head taller than Vera, there was a distinct air of… Vera didn’t know what to call it. 

Procella looked like a spooked deer. Like a small fish in a new, big pond. Vera carefully touched the Chrysanthemum flowers spread throughout the arrangement, the delicate pink petals giving way under her fingers. Joy and loyalty, huh? Vera hoped she could give Procella reason to keep such a lovely flower.

The music starts. Procella’s father ducks in, meeting her nervous smile with a broad, familiar one of his own. He’s carrying an olive branch. Vera’s posture straightens, shoulders squaring as if going into battle as she waits alone for her cue. The rustling of her family’s ancient oak tree above her is familiar and comforting.

Simultaneously, they step out, eyes meeting across the petal-strewn walkway.

Ten years later…

Vera couldn’t help but smile, leaning against the door to their bedroom. Her morning practice had just concluded, running drills with bleary recruits and slightly less tired initiates. Coming back in for a short wash, the scene in front of her had made her stop.

Procella was still sleeping, covers kicked away in the summer heat. She had stumbled into bed well after midnight, hands cramping and fingers stained with ink as she snuggled into Vera’s back. Now, she was curled up on Vera’s side of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest as she breathed slowly in and out. Vera knew that if left alone, she would sleep for another hour or so before slowly waking up.

With a small smile, she gave the single, dark pink rose she was holding a last twirl before carefully laying it down on the vacant pillow, where Procella would see it, before carefully tip-toeing out of the room to return to her duties.

I’m grateful for our love.

[thebriarcourt]

Delivery

Go in the light, and you will never be lost. That’s what the town priest told the youngest Rosales, the day he left his home for the temples of the capital, for a life of service to the divine Heliotrope. Of course the boy could get lost on the way to the well from smithy -- he had, more than once, during a fleeting apprenticeship.

His parents called it a blessing, when the wild magic awoke in him, and lightning flashed through his limbs and haloed his hair. He had a calling, they said. A calling elsewhere. And so they spoke to the priest, and the priest spoke of the temples, and young Rosales had a purpose, like a kindling spark.

Flowers that followed the sun were holy to Heliotrope, and greenhouses were the temples of the light-god’s order. Rosales liked the little greenhouse-chapel of his hometown, liked the priest’s sermons and smiling eyes.

So he had hope, if not experience. He had experience in messing up, getting lost, and finding his way home.

❧

“Rosy!” A fellow-novice found Rosales weeding in the desert house, determined this time to get down to the roots. He’d dug too shallowly, last time, and over-watered the time before that, so weeds flourished in the sand while the succulents suffered. “Have you been to Court yet?”

Rosales shook his head. His dark curls were tucked under a handkerchief, but the braids were loose, and they flew emphatically.

“Let’s switch off -- someone wants a cactus delivered to the Knight-General. I’ll do the backbreaking work, and you can have a nice walk, see all the fancy courtiers. Do you mind?”

“I don’t mind, but … a cactus? What does that mean, in Court?”

“Endurance, kindly. Unkindly, it’s for a stubborn, standoffish person. Prickles. Courtiers aren’t nearly so subtle as they like to pretend.”

“Will the Knight-General know which one it means?”

“You think you do?”

“I -- no. No, I have a lot to learn.” Nervously, Rosales asked, “Are you sure I should be the one to deliver it? Won’t the priesthood assign the tasks that best suit us?”

“You do have a lot to learn. An initiate told me to do it because I had an unmarked apron --” He lifted his apron by the corners, to demonstrate. Initiates had their aprons embroidered in their own flowers, and priests ordered more elaborate detailing still, but novitiates all wore the same plain brown canvas. “No other reason. It just had to be done. ”

An unwanted task, then. It would help, at least, to perform it, and Rosales wanted to help.

❧

And of course, Rosales got himself lost. How could one castle contain so many rooms? How could those rooms contain so many people? What did the Knight-General look like, and how would he ever find her? He spoke to the servants, and received impressions -- an imposing, armored woman with braided hair, a gladiolus sigil, a patched eye and an enchanted arm. A daily training regimen down in the yard, but which way was the yard? Was that where he came from?

It was a lucky thing he carried the cactus pot under a shielding charm; his fingers flickered with nervous lightning. Someone else would do better, he knew. Why did no one want the task Rosales had taken on so eagerly? Did they fear the Knight-General? Should he fear her?

And there -- striding down the hall, that had to be her. The braided hair, the gladiolus breastplate, the eyepatch --

“Excuse me,” he begins. “Excuse me, Knight-General? Someone petitioned the temple to deliver this to you, without giving their name ...”

A stubborn, standoffish person. All at once, Rosales felt defensive of the little plant. All at once, he couldn’t keep his mouth from opening, or words from spilling out.

“Cacti are tender plants at heart, full of water. They grow their spines for protection, not from love of hurting, and … they don’t need much to flourish. Sun, and warmth, and a little water once the soil’s been allowed to dry. If you take care of yours, I know it will flower!”

To his surprise -- to the surprise of any courtier passing by -- the Knight-General laughed. It wasn’t an unkind laugh.

“I’m sure it will,” she said.

Rosales couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid of her. Perhaps that come from being a fool, from messing up again and again, but at least he wasn’t lost. The Knight-General showed him the way to her quarters: a practical, stone-cobbled place, with sky streaming in from high windows.

Under the windows, pots of cacti sat huddled together in the sun, in the warmth -- a little garden of messages, enduring. One already bore a bright red bloom.

“Right there’s fine,” the Knight-General told him. “And -- thank you.”

Rosales lifted the charm from the pot with practiced spellcraft, and set it beside it siblings. You’ll be well-loved, little one, he thought. Grow in the light.

❧

“What took you so long? Priestess Hedera was looking for you!”

“Someone told me you rose your voice to the Knight-General, that isn’t true, is it?”

“The last novice to take a message to her came back shaking like a leaf. Is the Knight-General fearsome? She must be --”

Never had the other novices been so interested in Rosales, and now they were clamoring with questions. The novice who sent him to court in the first place tugged him aside by his apron-strings. “I really didn’t expect it to take so long. I’m sorry, I know you’re new, and I guess Heliotrope wouldn’t like me complaining about initiates to you ...”

“I’m glad I went,” Rosales said quickly, firmly.

“Glad?”

“I learned from it. I can’t know what the plants we tend here mean to people, unless I see them with people. But they do mean something.” Almost like having a purpose, except -- it doesn’t have to be the purpose intended.

“Huh,” said the other novice. “Well. Would … you like to go to Court again?”

[thebriarcourt]

Wisteria and Wormwood

Travertine clutched her bouquet to her chest as the carriage bounced over another bump in the road. The streets of the capital were far better maintained than the winding, rutted roads that had taken her most of the way from her father’s country estate, but after days of travel she was beginning to feel every bump and rattle bringing her closer to the end of her patience. She had never been a particularly good traveler.

She carefully laid the bouquet aside and gathered her skirt in one hand, shifting across the swaying compartment to rap on the heavily curtained front window.

“How long until we arrive?” she called to the driver, trying not to sound as petulant as she felt.

“Not long at all, my lady,” came the muffled reply. “If you’d care to peek out, you can see the palace quite well from here.”

A fluttering rush of nerves flooded into Travertine’s throat. Gulping them back, she grasped the edge of the heavy velvet curtain, braced herself, and then pulled it aside.

The sun had set a good half hour ago, but the sky was still flooded with dusky purple halfway to the eastern horizon. Silhouetted against the gauzy black clouds and a few early, gently winking stars, she could see the spires and walls of her new home standing like the painted backdrop of a play. Lights blazed in almost every window; even this late at night the palace was still brimming with light.

Travertine felt a cautious smile creep onto her lips as she settled back into her seat. Her whole journey, she had struggled to shake off the feeling that home was clinging to her like cobwebs after walking through a disused room. She half expected to see her father looming behind her every time she turned around, watching and evaluating her every move and word. Every horseman that came up behind them on the road was a messenger coming to tell her that Lord le Boucher had changed his mind and she was to return home immediately. But looking at the lights of the palace, even across the few miles that still lay between them, she could feel warmth and welcome stealing into her soul. Finally, she felt she could allow herself to start feeling hope.

She forced herself not to fidget with the bouquet as they closed the distance. Even the protective charms that had kept the flowers fresh and healthy during the long, hot days of her journey wouldn’t stop them from looking ragged and pathetic if she started nervously plucking off petals. Besides, the wormwood and angel’s trumpet that made up the bulk of it weren’t really the sorts of plants one wanted all over one’s hands. Travertine could only imagine the embarrassing scandal that would arise if she accidentally poisoned someone within hours of her arrival at court.

A challenge was called from somewhere ahead, and she heard her coachman answer it. She sat bolt upright and pulled the curtain aside once more as a shadow passed across the window, and looked out just in time to see a huge, arched gate looming around them. Voices and lantern-lights sprang up in the darkness ahead, drawing nearer as the horses slowed and the carriage rumbled to a stop. It was all she could do to wait for the coachman to climb down and open the door for her. She wanted to fling it open herself and spring out into the courtyard to see everything there was to see. It was just as well that she didn’t; her legs were shaky and weak from so many hours of sitting still and stretching infrequently.

Despite her enthusiasm, she almost shrank back into the carriage to hide from the light and bustle that assailed her senses after the lonely dimness she had spent the past few hours in. There were almost as many servants and attendants in the courtyard as there had been on her father’s entire estate. But- was that a flash of white?

Travertine let out a joyful cry and dropped the coachman’s hand as she rushed forward. A small knot of stable-hands parted, and a richly dressed young man stepped forward, a smile on his face as big as her own. His skin was completely white and without pigment, as was his long, loosely curled hair. His clothing emphasized his colouration, with only touches of gold thread here and there to accentuate the flowing, immaculate white silks that he favoured. Even if his appearance hadn’t been so distinctive, Travertine would have recognized her older brother anywhere.

“Iris above, it’s good to see you!” Armand laughed as the two siblings collided in a hug. “How was your journey? Here, let me get a look at you. How long has it been? Three years?”

“Closer to four,” Travertine said as she let him draw back to an arm’s length to look her up and down. When the two siblings had parted, she had been a few months shy of her fifteenth birthday, and she knew full well that she had changed as much as any child would in that span of time. Armand, however, looked no different, save that perhaps his back was a little straighter and his smile a little more ready.

Seeing him face to face, she felt suddenly overcome with shyness. They had always been close, even after his falling out with their father, and they had never let more than a month go by without exchanging letters, but seeing just how much weight had lifted from him since striking out on his own really impressed on her just how long it had been.

Armand seemed to understand her uncertainty. His smile softened and he brought his other arm up, presenting her with a bouquet of his own. Elegant cascades of wisteria made up the bulk of it, studded with cheerful bursts of woodbine like tiny fireworks. Travertine brightened and held up the one she had brought, and the two of them exchanged.

“Wisteria for welcome,” Travertine said tentatively, examining the fragrant flowers. “And woodbine is… brotherly love, isn’t it?” She looked back up with a smile. “Thank you!”

Armand was looking at her bouquet with a slightly sad smile of his own. “Absence and separation. Rather a melancholy sentiment.”

“Ah… is that all right?” Travertine shifted her weight and glanced shyly to the side. “I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for court floriography to be so negative, but the selection in Father’s garden is a bit limited these days…”

He wrapped his free arm around her again and drew her close, placing a gentle kiss on top of her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, mignon. I just wish I hadn’t given you cause to pick such bitter blooms.”

Travertine squeezed her eyes shut and rested her face against his chest. She felt suddenly very tired. “It wasn’t your fault,” she murmured. “And it’s behind us now. Things will be better.”

“Yes.” Armand squeezed her shoulders and then stepped away, raising his elbow. Travertine wrapped her hand through it and followed, nestling her head on his shoulder. “They will be. They can’t help but be.”

Behind them, stablehands bustled around the carriage, handing down luggage and seeing to the horses. Travertine ignored them and smiled up at her brother as he led her forward, through the palace gates and into the warmth and the light.

[thebriarcourt]

Periwinkles

Periwinkles. The flower. He did not know much about the language, but he remembers things. Here the colour of blue meant new friendships. Something he hopes for.

Echo doesn't talk much at all; is all hiding and turning away and resting his chin on his chest even when he stood over people. He doesn't talk much of note or say things, let alone first, and never ever to a stranger without reason. Initial greetings with a kind enough acquaintance where bumbling little connections at best, are formed and treasured. But he never begins. Only nervously cultivates and hopes for the best.

Many times he wondered what to say. What if, what then? Then, and then, it would have been over. And once upon a time, his sibling called him a doormat.

They gave much credit. Echo was more like a pebble at the side of the road.

So, flowers help. To the point, pretty, helped plant new connections. Gave honest attention and brought it, and while he wasn't sure how to hold it all he was happy.

And so for a week in this confusing court and colourful people, it was periwinkle that he ordered to line the way.

Lots and lots of periwinkle, perhaps to a certain courier's dismay.

[thebriarcourt]

Snake

Echo huffed onto the shield and carefully wiped it with his sleeve.  His own dark face, slit pupils obscured by tinted goggles, beamed back at him as he studied his work.  With a nod of satisfaction, he carefully slotted the shield back into the wall, and then looked down at the rest of his work.

Two shields down, dozens left to go.  And that was just in this storeroom.

The knight-initiate sighed, and took a moment to stand and stretch, which took a while.  He could almost touch the ceiling in here, and his long legs and arms were stiff from sitting and polishing for so long.  Maybe he could go for a quick walk.

Echo jumped a little as the door to the storeroom slammed open, and several other initiates walked in.  He vaguely recognized one of them from that morning, who’d given him a bit of a nervous look while eating across from him in the messhall.  That initiate immediately grinned slightly maniacally at him. “Snakeman!  Good to see you!  Hey, uh, you... wouldn’t happen to need some help?  Actually why don’t you take a break, and we can handle the polishing for you for a bit!”

“Uh... I guess?”

Echo found himself saying it to a closed door, as the other initiates pushed him out of the storeroom and shut themselves inside.

Before he could get far in pondering this bizarre turn of behavior, a voice called to him. “You there!  Knight-Initiate!”

Echo had not been in training long, but he’d already learned the tone of voice the instructors used... strict, with an expectation of quick obedience and immediate attention.  He snapped to attention, or his best impression of it, and turned to face the voice quickly. “Er, yessir! Er... ma’am?”

The woman striding towards him was... imposing.  The new knight wasn’t used to looking up at people, but it wasn’t just her height.  The way she carried herself, the stern expression, the eyepatch with some kind of gilded flower adorning it, the full armor which obviously wasn’t slowing her down one bit...

“With me.  I need a sparring partner.”  The woman strode right past him, heading in the direction of the dueling pits.  Echo gulped.  He’d barely even been taught to hold a sword and shield correctly, but somehow he didn’t think refusing was an option.

He had to jog lightly to catch up to the woman... her stride ate up the ground even faster than Echo’s own gangly walk.  It was the walk of someone intent on killing someone else, or at the very least giving them a firm thrashing.

Echo gulped again.

The older knight quickly located an empty pit and started pulling equipment down. “Let’s see... I’m guessing you’re new here.”

“Er... Yes, Ma’am.  I’ve only been in training for two weeks.”

The woman looked up at him, a little surprised, before nodding. “Yes... that sounds about right, if I haven’t heard about you yet.  What’s your name, soldier?”

Echo blinked.  He wasn’t sure what to make of this woman... she was clearly someone of rank, the way she was talking to him, but... he wasn’t sure why she’d care about a brand-new initiate. “My name is Echo Mortis Englehart, ma’am.”  He started to paw through the available equipment, unenthusiastically selecting a lighter longsword and wooden shield, which still felt a little too heavy.

“Echo... nice name.”  The woman’s face flickered into a smile for a brief second, before she selected her own shield.  For some reason, she jumped into the training pit without selecting a weapon. “Just call me Jane, for now.  Or ma’am, if you feel like being proper about it.  Let’s see what they’ve managed to teach you so far.”

“Er... yes ma’am.  Jane.  Yes.”  Echo nervously slid into the pit, then carefully held up the shield.  To his dismay, he could feel his arm straining to keep it in position.  He wondered why they had to make all the equipment so heavy-

Jane slammed into the shield with her own, and even as the new knight stumbled back from the force, he felt something catch his ankle and send him tumbling to the ground.  In a moment, the older knight had the edge of her shield against his neck, and was looking down at him with a wry expression.  “Well, they taught you how to fall, at least.  Here.”  The shield’s edge was removed, and Echo found himself being helped to his feet. “Let me guess... they’ve had you on equipment polishing duty for most of the past two weeks.”

“W-well, not all of them.  And I want to do whatever I can-”

“We have plenty of people who can polish shields.  We need more people who know how to swing a sword without cutting their own leg off.  Looks like I need to have another word with the instructors.”  Jane sighed, and gently rolled the arm that was carrying her shield. “Alright, let’s try that again.  I promise I won’t trip you this time.”

Echo spent the next couple hours nervously adjusting his stance as Jane poked him into place and gave him rather graphic advice.

“Your sword swing is a balance between power and control.  Too little power, your opponent overpowers your swing, forces your blow away, gets you open, gets under your guard, slices your arm off.  Too much, you leave yourself off-balance, your opponent gets lucky and dodges, gets a free shot at your head or body, crushes your skull or slices your neck open... and that’s if you don’t slice open your own leg when you overshoot.”

It was only as the sun began to set that Jane relented. “Not bad.  We’ll have to train you without the goggles, too.”

Panic managed to pierce Echo’s bone-weary exhaustion. “I’m... ma’am, I’m not sure that’s-”

“I know you’re part-gorgon, and no, I don’t have anything to fear from your glare.  You should learn to take advantage of it, though... for a real fight, anything that might end the battle faster is an asset.”  Jane rolled her shield arm again.  “For now, I want you to focus on strength training.  You’re a bit of a beanpole, right now, but that extra height is going to prove-”

“Knight-General!  Knight-General!”  A messenger dashed towards the pit. “Message for you from the Majordomo!”

Echo felt a chill run through his blood as Jane turned towards the messenger.  He’d been sparring... with the Knight-General this entire time?  The leader of the Order of Gladiolus?!  The Right Hand Of The Monarch?!

Jane seemed to detect his thoughts, as she turned back to him after taking the note from the messenger. “Don’t get overexcited, Echo.  I do a little training like this everyday.  It’s good for everyone involved.”  She smiled again, and for the first time the new knight noticed that it seemed a bit fragile.  It was gone in an instant, as Jane’s eye poured over the message. “Hm.  Guess I’m needed back in court.  You can take care of the cleanup here, right?”  She glanced at Echo.

He found himself nodding furiously.  “Good.  Keep up the training.  Don’t let a bit of sweat and toil get you down... our kingdom needs reliable knights.”  Jane patted Echo’s shoulder.  “I look forward to sparring with you again.”

The Knight-General left him there, easily leaping out of the pit and striding back towards the palace.  Echo shivered... whether from sundown or the feelings coursing through him, he couldn’t be sure.

He could definitely be sure that, if he remained standing for much longer, his legs would give out.  With a deep breath, he gathered up the equipment Jane had left in the pit and clambered out, looking forward to collapsing in a nice flat bunk.

[thebriarcourt]

Coalescent

Maybe it was a Wednesday. Maybe it was afternoon. It was hard to tell in this realm, where fae magic denied time, space, and logic. But one thing was for sure – it was a sunny day, and it would be the longest yet this year – Solstice. Lily had been one of many servants charged with helping prepare the festival, and it was the commotion around it that had allowed them to escape in the early hours of the morning, not long before sunrise would signal the start of the festivities.

They had been walking for hours, running whenever they thought they heard someone approach, only to find that it was a deer or squirrel, or some unearthly creature that defied description, but was still harmless. Or at least, a lot more harmless than the fae. The little they had managed to grab in the way of supplies was coming to an end already – it really hadn’t been much – and they’d hardly rested.

The plan of escape was coming apart at its seams, and quickly, too. Their now-bleeding feet had carried Lily this far, but how much further could they take them? How much further would they have to go to be safe? The thought of where they would go had been buried in their preparations, quickly answered with “anywhere better than here” and shoved aside, perhaps because to acknowledge there was no answer was to give no hope.

Their best bet, they assured themselves over and over again now that they were on their way, was to make it out of the forest, find a human settlement. But, that was easier said than done, the forest was deep, and the sunlight barely seeped through the ancient trees and thicket. Everything looked the same for miles on end, for all they knew they’d been walking in a circle for hours, but there was nothing that could be done about that now. Even if they had wanted to turn back, they would have been just as lost in the other direction.

It neared evening when Lily finally began to cry, and collapsed under a tree whose roots buckled up almost as tall as them. Curling up on a patch of moss, they let their fear take hold of them and just sobbed quietly. They weren’t sure how much time passed as it slowly got darker around them, and things seemed more hopeless than ever before. It didn’t seem like they’d ever find their way out of this forest on their own, they’d be found and there’d be hell to pay. Perhaps, they should have just stayed in the first place.

At that thought, Lily finally hiccoughed out a louder sob and in moving, realized that something felt odd in their chest, at the bottom of their ribcage, snaking its way up, slowly, very slowly, so much that it took them freezing in fear for several seconds to realize it was moving at all. They gathered the very last of their courage together, and glanced down at themselves, and wanted to scream. However, aside from their body, sheer terror had also petrified their vocal chords. Something was growing on them, and with the rise of a stinging sensation, they realized, in them.

They wanted to jump up, run, but they knew it wouldn’t save them from whatever this was, it was too late, they couldn’t even tear at it, for fear of hurting themselves further. All they could do was panic and cry harder, but resign themselves, until, suddenly, they heard a voice.

Well, sort of. It was more the idea of a voice, reverberating through their body, skipping their ears and heading straight for the brain. Rather than words, concepts filled their mind. And somehow, they knew it was the plant.

“Fear not, young one, I mean only well.” There was a soothing sort of ring to it, a welcoming, warm and hushed tone, a coddling sensation, the likes of which Lily had rarely heard or felt.

“W-who…what….” They stammered, shivering.

“I am a friend.” Anyone removed from the situation might have said that this was a rather implausible statement, given where the plant had just taken root, and that it was to be distrusted. But to Lily, in that moment in time, it was sincere as could be, and the best thing they had heard all day. They felt cradled, and … protected, for the first time in their short life. “You are safe now, everything will be alright. All shall be well…”

The plant was still spreading, but it slowed a little whenever it spoke, as if it only had so much energy for it all – it seemed a familiar sensation to Lily, who was only now realizing how tired they were. Utter Terror had filled every inch of their mind, and the mere thought of stopping for long enough to sleep had been quite entirely out of the question. But now, their eyelids drooped wearily.

“You can sleep now, young one.” The plant reassured them no sooner had they thought of it. “I am here, you are safe, you will be alright, and all manner of things shall be well…”

It was to the sound of these kind and reassuring words that Lily gently drifted off into the land of sleep, their lips finally bearing a warm little smile, and never returned.

For when they awoke, they were no longer Lily. And the plant was no longer just a plant. The two of them were entwined beyond all separation, beyond the possibility of even telling where one started and the other stopped, and far, far beyond being alone.

They were Cecilie.

[thebriarcourt]

A Flirtation Bouquet

"Please, let me state my case discreetly, for you and I are of the same cloth, while your mother is more of steel.  At least with subtleties, we can discuss this without interference."  Sereno Blackwood, the Majordomo of the Briar Court, brushed some imaginary dust off his lapel.  Nerves.  That was all.

Elizabeth Greene smiled up at the man, which was a small novelty in and of itself; the majordomo was perhaps a bit shorter than the average man, at least at court.  He had at least four to five inches on the petite Mistress of Wardrobe, enough that she could look up through her lashes at him, with golden-brown eyes that caught the light, elegantly framed by gently curling brown locks-

“Certainly, Sir Blackwood.  If you’ll just follow me...”  Elizabeth tilted her head towards one of the many hallways adjoining the great hall.  Their conversation had thus far gone unnoticed, or at least unremarked upon; after all, talking to everyone was half of Sereno’s job.

Half a minute later, the pair of them had slipped into a room cluttered with silks, looms, and many other implements of needlework.  It was gently lit by glowing lilies, the favored form of illumination in the palace. “Now then... as far as anyone else is concerned, we are simply discussing the costuming for the Spring Festival.  Of course, I doubt that’s the real reason we’re here now, is it?”  Elizabeth closed a bit of the distance between them, hands clasped behind her back as she smiled brightly at the Majordomo.

Sereno took a deep breath, which suddenly felt too dry and empty.  “You see, I have been observing you for some time-”

“You and more than half the court.”  Elizabeth’s smile widened, and she stepped closer again.  “Ah, but I should have chosen a less stuffy room... you’re sweating, Mr. Blackwood.”

The majordomo wiped the sweat from his forehead, running a hand through his tousled black hair as he did so.  “I beg your pardon, but I would appreciate it if you did not interrupt me, Miss Greene...”

“My apologies.”  Elizabeth took another quarter step forward... close enough that if he wanted, Sereno could lean forward slightly and-

“Er, as I said... I have been observing you for some time.  Your... grace, your vividness, your beauty within and without...”  Sereno felt himself coloring, but pressed on; he could clearly see Elizabeth’s own smile and blush growing.  “I know your mother’s opinion of suitors, and have observed enough of their defenestrations to appreciate the risk, but I could not help myself but... inquire as to your... potential interests.”  Sereno took another deep breath. “...and I have prepared something you might find suitable.”

The bouquet flashed into his hand, as if pulled from thin air... which, in a way, it had.  Orange roses dominated the small collection, with circaeas and gardenias filling out the arrangement and a handful of other flowers poking out from the edges.

Elizabeth’s face lit up as she gently took the bouquet from Sereno’s hand.  “Oh, my... this is much more elegant than what I usually receive... and that’s saying something.  The gardenias are an excellent touch.”  She winked at Sereno, who swallowed nervously.  “Had a discreet word with our illustrious Master Gardener, I’m guessing.”

“I put it together myself, actually.  It took some time, butmph!”  Sereno found his lips occupied, Elizabeth standing on tip-toe to reach them with her own.

The petite woman broke away, leaving the majordomo stunned and silent. “I love it.  And don’t worry about my mother... I’ve had plenty of practice at being discreet myself.”

“Ah... that’s... that’s...”

Sereno found himself interrupted again as the workrooms door opened.  A copper-haired woman wearing a simple but beautifully-made blue dress entered, a bundle of spools tucked under one arm.  She yelped when she realized the room was unoccupied.

“O-oh.. M-Miss Greene-?”

“Sophie!  Wonderful!”  Elizabeth swept past the stunned Sereno. “I was just speaking with Mr. Blackwood about some of the designs you had in mind for the Spring Festival.  Would you mind terribly if we showed them to him?”

The seamstress colored scarlet.  “W-well, I... I suppose, I m-mean, of course, Mr. Majordomo sir.”  Sophie immediately scurried to a work table, frantically picking through designs.

Sereno took a moment to search for his bouquet, but Elizabeth had apparently tucked it away somewhere during his moment of stunned silence.  He watched her carefully as she helped her assistant pick out a few designs from their work table.

He considered for a moment that he might be in serious trouble.