A Throne of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 2)

I stopped near a tilled patch and dropped down to a crouch. Closing my eyes and centering my mind, I soaked in the sensations around me. The soft sunshine beating down on me. The cool breeze ruffling my hair. The frigid smell of winter clung to the air, but within it I caught the sweet smell of spring not far off. It was the perfect time to be planting a garden. Luck was on my side in this one thing.

I dragged my hand through the soil, meeting plenty of resistance. It wasn’t…soft enough for plants. Yielding enough. It was bitter, this soil. Slightly angry. It wouldn’t help me grow things.

“Yeah.” I stood and smelled the dirt clinging to my fingers, turning my face toward the Forbidden Wood. “The demon’s filth has infiltrated it. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the vines you ripped out carried their magic somehow. Some plants have a way of ingesting the magic around them and transferring it to the soil. The everlass does that, but they are partial to dragon magic. Let’s…”

I visited various patches of dirt, tilled and not, sticking my fingers in and assessing the vibe. Every natural space had one. I’d learned that early in life. Spending time in natural spaces helped me center my mind and forget about an awful day or the sickness around me. They rewarded me with a sort of soothing current. Unless something was amiss, of course, and then I couldn’t quite connect.

“I need to hit the library. There’s something…not quite right here, I think. Something more than demonic magic.” I closed my eyes again, letting my mind drift. Letting the feelings soak from the ground into my fingers. “Something…sad, almost.”

A swell of emotion hit me, rocking me to the core. The ground seemed to sing a sad tune, one that would wilt flowers.

Aching pain. Utter hopelessness. Guilt.

I fluttered my eyes open as a tear dripped down my face. I turned, looking in through the glass at the darkness beyond.

Nyfain.

“Does the prince sing in this garden?” I asked, my mind working.

When I turned back, it was in time to see the three exchange glances.

“I’ll take that as a yes. He’s causing the problem.” I shook my head and laughed. “That rat bastard. He’s not special, huh? All the women sang to the plants?”

“I love guessing games usually,” Hadriel said, “but not when the clue giver has a manic gleam to her eye that makes my blood curdle. Mind telling us what you’re talking about?”

I shook my head, remembering my conversation with Nyfain the other day. “He’s a Syflora. He must be. It hadn’t even occurred to me because it’s a sort of magic usually gifted to faeries. No wonder they were happy to welcome him into the fold. It’s talked about a lot in gardening books. He can help plants thrive, force them to falter, affect the soil…all with his song. His mom must’ve known. She used to call him special. He was either playing modest or lying.”

Jawson was nodding like he’d known. “The queen never did tell him. She didn’t want to upset the king. He wouldn’t have wanted it getting around that his son had a special ‘woman’s magic’ or, worse, faerie magic.”

I fisted my hands in a sudden flash of anger. The more I heard about the late king, the more I hated him. I couldn’t imagine being stuck with him as my father or my mate.

Jawson nodded again, reading me. “I’m the one that told the queen about it, but she asked me not to speak of it. All the ladies knew, and they played it up like it was totally normal to sing to the plants. They included him so he would unknowingly hone his gift. He probably knows deep down that he is different, but I doubt he’ll admit it.”

“I mean, but…read one thorough gardening book and you’re bound to see them praise the work of Syfloras.”

“Love, I doubt he spends a lot of time reading gardening books,” Hadriel said. “Did you see the state of this garden? If he were a master gardener, I’m sure he would’ve fixed it up himself.”

That was true.

“Not to mention,” Jawson said, “in the grand scheme of things, a prince has more important duties than singing to plants.”

There was that.

Still, the plant workers had welcomed him; he’d found a calling there. He was more than the mighty warrior—he was a bringer of life. Those two qualities in one man…he was perfectly suited to be our king. Too bad he was a miserable bastard half the time. If he didn’t try to push me away constantly, I could help him more.

“What a waste,” I said, running my hands through the soil. “So many growers would kill for that gift.”

“Now you have it.” Hadriel winked at me. “And look, you actually know what to do with it.”