Page 37 of Where Darkness Falls

Blood might be thicker than water,the voice says,but a familial bond is one that tethers one heart to another for all time.

I’m inclined to agree with the voice, when wiggling beside me steals my attention away.

“Can we move now? I am squished,” says Aine.

We laugh as we release one another. I peck a kiss on each of their cheeks before heading for the door. “I’ll be home soon,” I call over my shoulder.

“Be safe,” they reply.

Then, I shut the door behind me.

I’ve been makingdifferent arrangements for the last two hours in the back of The Violet Lily. Mine never turn out quite as lovely as Cara’s do. However, this will at least give us something to speak about tomorrow. This is the one place we both find solace. I’ve always felt more alive when I work with the flowers. Perhaps it’s because the routine is the consistent.

Water the plants.

Weed around the plants.

Prune the plants.

Then, when we have a healthy harvest, propagate the plants.

Make the bouquets.

Sell the bouquets.

Then, repeat.

I find that I thrive most in the set schedule of the shop. It feels stable and secure, unlike every other thing in my life. When I have nothing else, I can depend on my flower blooms to brighten my day. Right now, this is what I need to distract myself from the thoughts of my sister. Instead of sorrow, I focus on the roughness of the stems or the softness of the petals. The sweet scents caress my nose as I inhale each one deeply.

I finish picking out a new variety for a bouquet when the bell above the door chimes.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for the day,” I say, not bothering to turn around. “We’ll reopen first thing in the morning if you’d like to return then.”

I go on setting out the twine and ribbon that I feel matches the arrangement best, hoping that the visitor will kindly leave.

“Well,” a male voice calls out, “it’s a good thing that I’m not here for flowers, Miss Cale.”

My fingers freeze along the stem of the black dahlia I’m holding. Slowly, I turn around and see none other than the captain, standing beside my first table of flowers. He’s in the typical dark black armor, holding his helmet under his right arm. His armor has a strange fleck along it now in comparison to when I normally see him in the square. His mouth is set in a tight line as his eyes bore into me.

Surely, he doesn’t know what happened last night.

Killer of innocents,the voice growls.

Do you know him?I ask.

I know his kind—Malvorians who’re greedy for power and follow orders blindly without question,the voice snarls.

Rounding the bench, I plaster on a fake smile.

Be careful, Maeva,the voice warns.

“Well, Captain. If you are not here for a bouquet, might I ask why you felt the need to intrude? Surely, a man of your station has more pressing matters to attend to,” I say.

The captain smirks. “You have been keeping secrets, Miss Cale,” he snarls.

He steps toward me, and it takes everything in me not to shrink back.

I clear my throat. “I am not quite sure what you mean,” I say. “If you’re referring to the new plant species that I’ve cultivated that will be in tomorrow’s window display, then you’d be correct that I’ve kept secrets.”

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