Rosemary and Rue

“A flower that blooms no matter what the weather or season is like and can actually defend itself when it needs to? I don’t see the problem.” I shrugged. “If someone wanted to call me a glass rose, I wouldn’t complain.”


“No, I guess not,” he said. The light through the roses cast shadows across his face, outlining his chin and cheekbones in layers of blue, green, and pale purple. His expression was grave; there was something in his eyes that I recognized, even if I didn’t want to admit it. For a moment, I found myself cursing Rayseline Torquill for getting there first. I could’ve used a man who’d look at me that way now that I was back among the living . . . but she did get there first, whatever my feelings on the subject might be. I had my chance to take that ship. I refused it for Cliff, and for the joy of playing faerie bride. If I had the chance to do it again, would I have made the same choices? Probably. Did I regret it anyway? Yes. I did.

“We are what we are,” I said. “How’s Raysel, Connor? Did she settle down?”

Connor turned away, stopping the play of light across his face. I suddenly found it easier to breathe. “She’s fine. And yeah, she calmed down.”

“Good. I was afraid there might be something wrong with her.”

“You mean there isn’t?” He sounded bitter and amused at the same time. It was a strange combination.

“Probably not,” I said, more slowly.

“You look lovely today. I wanted to remember to tell you.” He looked back at me, smiling. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in a dress where you didn’t come off looking like a bear on a leash. It suits you.”

I didn’t want him smiling at me like that. Not now. I stood and crossed to the nearest stand of lovelies-bleeding, resting my fingertips against a flower. “I like these, too, even though they don’t have thorns,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint and let me change the subject. “They go beautifully with the glass roses. Do they grow in the mortal world, or are they another of Luna’s creations?”

“They’re mortal flowers,” he said. He was allowing my incredibly transparent change of subject. Clever boy. “I don’t know about the bluegrass—it seems too literal—but the purple flowers are a human thing.”

“They have such a great name. Lovelies-bleeding. I wonder why they call them that.” I left my fingers resting against the edge of the flower, looking down. It was better than trying to look at him.

“Why do the humans do anything?” I heard him stand, feet scuffling on the broken quartz path. “Luna gave me a bunch for my birthday—this huge vase filled with lovelies-bleeding and lovelies-dying and six kinds of love-in-idleness. If she wasn’t my mother-in-law, I’d think it was a hint, but since she is my mother-in-law, I know it’s a hint.”

“What does she want?” I asked, not looking up. “Grandchildren?”

“What would Luna do with grandchildren? Plant them?”

I had to chuckle. “True enough. So do you know what she wants?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?” I said, finally looking over at him.

Connor brushed the dirt off his pants, looking at anything and everything but me. “You know, now that I think about it, bluegrass isn’t usually blue. It’s green. It has to be something she came up with.”

“Connor—”

He raised his hand. I stopped, just watching him. He looked back at me, seal-dark eyes grave, and said, “She wants me to fall in love with her daughter.” Suddenly formal, he bowed. “Have a good afternoon, Toby. Enjoy your roses. I’m sorry about Evening.” He turned while I was still gaping, openmouthed, and walked out of the garden, leaving me alone.





THIRTEEN