Page 13 of Foresyth Conservatory
The Trees.So, they were together.
“And don’t worry, Sequoia and Aspen are only distantly related, so it’s only distantly disgusting,” Nina teased.
“Oh, don’t be jealous, Nin,” Aspen replied, striding toward me. “Maybe the new girl is more your type, hmm?”
Nina scoffed and returned to her seat. Aspen reached me, grinning. “Let me introduce you to our spread. And perhaps, over breakfast, you’ll tell us everything—where you come from, your darkest fears, your deepest desires.”
He was devilishly handsome, I had to admit, with perfectly symmetrical features and a birthmark on his neck. His hair was a few shades darker than Sequoia’s, and his face carried a sharpness she lacked. His hazel eyes reminded me of the color of upturned moss after a rainstorm, dewy and rich.
“Very well, if you promise to do the same,” I replied.
He grabbed a fresh plate and began piling on food. “We have Miss Seaward’s famous buttermilk biscuits, eggs, bacon—the staples. Fresh quiche—Koi, was it mushroom and feta today? The crust is flaky and divine. Then there’s the crepes station. I recommend the gooseberry jam; let me get that for you. And finally.” He paused, looking at me gravely. “Under no circumstances can you miss the breakfast cookies. Lemon sugar cookies this morning. Miss Seaward really went all out for your arrival.”
“I don’t think I could eat that much,” I started, but my stomach betrayed me with a growl.
“Nonsense. You’ve had a long journey, and, if you don’t mind me saying, adding a few stones to your figure wouldn’t hurt.”
I squinted at him. Well, he was certainly blunt.
“Stop eyeing her like a Christmas pig and get back over here. You were helping me with this translation, remember?No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward—it’s born with us the day we are born.Why were the Romans so damn roundabout? I’d rather be studying Gaelic,” Sequoia mused.
“Death?” Nina offered over her biscuit.
“Fate,” I interjected. “No one alive escapes Fate.”
“And she knows her Homer. You’ll fit right in,” Aspen said approvingly. “Now, try the tea—it’s my favorite, especially on a cold winter day. Isn’t this turmeric chai otherworldly, Koi?”
“Mhmm,” she mumbled through mouthfuls of crepe.
“Oh, I don’t drink—”
“Milk? Sugar?” he interrupted.
How could someone be so charming and overbearing at the same time? I glanced at Nina, who winked over her coffee as if to sayplay along. Whatever game Aspen was playing, I had to let him think he held the advantage. I took the plate from his hands.
“You’re too kind; I’ll have both.” The tea’s aroma—turmeric, ginger, and something else, earthy and moss-like—wafted up. Was I being paranoid, or was something else in the tea? Nina’s warning echoed in my mind. I noted that everyone else had varying shades of coffee beside their plates despite Aspen’s claimed love of the tea.
Aspen set my plate beside Nina’s seat and took his place across from me. I smiled at him and eagerly bit into the biscuit, then the quiche. The food looked delicious, yet it dissolved into bland mush on my tongue. How could something that looked so appetizing taste so dull?
“By your expression, I can tell you’re not used to this level of fine dining. Don’t worry, you’ll adjust,” Aspen taunted.
“Though Foresyth lacks many . . . modern amenities, the food more than compensates,” Sequoia added. “Now, tell us—what’s your name again? The Meister mentioned it, Delilah?”
“Dahlia—like the flower—Dahlia Blackburne.”
“Ah, Dahlia. Flowers aren’t too far from trees, are they, my betrothed?” Sequoia chimed, nudging Aspen.
“No, but trees are taller, closer to the Gods. We’ll help elevate you, Dahlia. Though we’re serious academics, the best part of the Conservatory is the community. No one has to live in their own head anymore. Isn’t that right, Leone?”
“I might prefer mine to suffering in yours,” Leone muttered, barely looking up. Aspen’s self-declared authority didn’t intimidate everyone, it seemed.
“Never mind Leone,” Aspen retorted. “A brick has more personality than him. Though I wouldn’t get on his bad side, heisan Olympic fencer.”
As they continued to bicker, I let one of the lemon cookies slip from my hand to the floor with a thud, sending up a cloud of powdered sugar. I bent down to retrieve it, using the moment to slip a small wad of cotton I’d plucked from the chair upholstery into my cheek, a buffer for whatever was in the tea.
“Clumsy me,” I murmured as I resumed my seat. Aspen’s eyes were still on me. I took a loud slurp of the tea, letting the liquid soak into the cotton rather than swallowing. I couldn’t eliminate the tea’s effects entirely, but at least I could dampen them.
“So, Dahlia,” Aspen leaned in, his tone suddenly sharper. “Why are you here?”
