Bryony and Roses by T. Kingfisher

Author:T. Kingfisher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Wombat Tea Company

There was little to do in the garden at the moment. Bryony puttered around for a few minutes, brushing her fingers over various leaves, crushing the leaves and smelling the pungency of lavender and sage.

She could only do this for about ten minutes or risk denuding the garden, so she shoved her hands in her pockets and scowled.

“You have a fierce expression,” said the Beast, coming up behind her.

She didn’t jump. He had been making an effort to click his claws on the floor inside the house, but there was nothing he could do in the grass. Still, she was getting used to it.

Apparently you could get used to anything.

“Bees,” said Bryony.

The Beast looked around. “Really? Where?”

“That’s it. There aren’t any.” She scowled at the brave white flowers on her peas. “No bees means no pollen means no peas. Or beans or squash or zucchini or tomatoes. The root vegetables will be fine, but if they don’t set seed, I’ll run out eventually and then no more radishes and rutabaga.” She scowled at the rutabaga, which were growing with great enthusiasm in this magical garden.

And it’s the least they can do, since they’re the reason I’m here in the first place.

“I would not expect bees,” said the Beast slowly. “Bees are creatures of order and good magic.”

Aha! Bryony’s mind pounced on that. The rest of Bryony stayed very still, so as not to wake the listening magic.

“We do get flies,” said the Beast, “and some beetles. I don’t suppose they’ll do?”

There was a faint bitterness to the air, a hint that something could be listening very soon. Bryony talked over the top of it, in hopes of throwing whatever-it-was off the scent. “Not the same. I suppose if House makes me a paintbrush, I can walk around dusting pollen between flowers and pretend to be a bee. Though it’s not much fun.” She scowled again. “Then again, I don’t have much else to do.”

“Hmmm,” rumbled the Beast. “It is possible, actually, that I may be able to help you. Give me a few days…”

He turned, his cloak flaring, and strode across the lawn. His great feet left gouges in the turf. Bryony knew that the marks would be gone by morning.

Now what was that all about?

At dinner that night he was distracted. When Bryony pressed him, he said only “I have an idea, but it may not work, or it may be beyond my skill. I do not want to promise you what I cannot deliver.”

When she pushed her chair back from dinner, he took her arm in a perfunctory fashion. “I will escort you to the library. I have my own work to do.”

“You didn’t ask,” said Bryony.

He blinked at her.

“Oh! Bryony, will you marry—”

“It’s all right.” She patted his sleeve. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble, that’s all.”

He smiled at her, a real genuine smile that reached his eyes, and then went off to his own devices.

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