Page 64 of Jewel of the Assassin
I drew my gun and put a bullet through Mirov’s temple.
Panic. Blood. Screams. The entire room erupted into a hurricane of death. I lost three men covering my escape and nearly got cornered in one of the old servant corridors.
But Fyodor found me again. Still covered in dirt, lips trembling, but eyes alight. He tugged my arm and pulled a hidden wall panel open, helping me escape. I could have left him.
But once we were in my car and I gunned it down the mountain road, I looked at him—mud streaked down his cheek, hishands shaking but eyes steady—and I asked, “You’re good with flowers and plants?”
He nodded.
I stroked my jaw. “You want a job? You’d have your own greenhouse.”
Another nod. Hesitant. But certain.
He tapped his lips, then shook his head to indicate his silence. Mute. Not by birth, but by trauma—I would learn later.
Didn’t matter.
I reached into my coat and handed him a small notepad and pen I kept near my holster. “Your full name?”
He wrote slowly, deliberately.
Fleur. He / She / They.
I shrugged. “Works for me.”
Back in the present,I watch as Valentina approaches Fleur and Levka with a shy, sweet curiosity I haven’t seen in her. Levka throws a hand dramatically toward her.
“May I present our Lady of the Manor, my beloved soulmate’s dark mirror,” he says. “Beauty. Rebuilder of chaos.”
Valentina giggles as she takes Fleur’s hand. Fleur studies her face as if reading a poem written on her cheekbones. Then she gestures for Valentina to follow her. My Valya does without hesitation.
Fleur lifts a bloom from the chilled display with delicate precision. Even before I see it, I know which one she’s chosen—Middlemist Red. It’s bold, almost scandalous. The pink color makes everything else around it look pale and insipid.
Valentina stares, lips parting as Fleur offers it to her with ceremonial grace.
“One of the rarest flowers in the world,” I murmur, stepping closer, letting my breath cast along the side of her neck. “Only two are known to exist. Fleur had this one grown in our private garden. This is her love language. She picked it for you.”
Valentina glances at me, searching. “Why me?” she asks softly.
I swallow. “Because the Middlemist is beauty buried in mystery. Lost to time…until it bloomed again. It symbolizes resilience, luxury, and elegance. It reminds Fleur of you. Of the you we lost and found again.”
She reaches for it, hesitant fingers hovering just over the petal, but Fleur lifts a single finger.
A pause. Intentional.
Then, in one fluid motion, Fleur turns and unclasps a velvet-lined case I didn’t even notice her preparing. Nestled inside, like something stolen from another world, lies a singleGhost Orchid—nearly translucent, as if caught between this life and the next.
Valentina gasps. Just a hitch of breath, but I catch it.
“Fleur doesn’t often give two flowers. But this is a special occasion. The Ghost Orchid… it’s rare, too. Almost impossible to cultivate. Some believe it only blooms where death and life press against each other.”
Valentina’s lashes lower as she accepts the orchid. Her fingers tremble slightly.
“It means spiritual beauty,” I say softly and brush my knuckles down her cheek. “And survival. Fleur is honoring who you are now. The woman who doesn’t remember…but is still undeniably you.”
Eyes shimmering, Valentina lifts the orchid to her chest, close to her heart, cherishing it.
Then Levka interrupts, as usual, spinning to Fleur. “Are the newest mushrooms ready, my petal princess?”
