A Throne of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales #2)(60)

Not even to give him desperately needed access to more power?

I shook my head, suddenly exhausted. Nyfain doesn’t want to claim me. He sure as shit doesn’t want to get me with child. I’m sure I’ll bleed soon, and that’s the end of it. The way past this curse isn’t fucking with that dragon’s head. He’s crazy enough.

My animal settled down grumpily, and I continued to watch the sky.

Regardless of his reasons, Nyfain had handled that situation badly. I had to own that it had hurt, how he’d treated me. I might make allowances for some outbursts, but that one had crossed the line. I planned to make sure he knew it.



The next afternoon, after preparing everything for a harvest that night, I stepped into the garden by way of the wall. I did not plan to go through the queen’s chambers in case Nyfain was in there for some reason, probably staring at that wilting rosebush and brooding. He did that well, the brooding. It was his trademark.

“How goes it, boys?” I asked, sizing up the rosebushes. Soon I’d be ready to tackle those suckers. I wanted to attend to the everlass, but after that, these bushes were going to get my full attention.

Hadriel straightened up and grabbed his back. “Good, I think. But Jawson doesn’t think this soil is the best.”

Jawson was on his hands and knees weeding the area by the wall. He used the wall to straighten up to his knees so he could look at me.

“It’s a little too acidic, Miss Finley, if I had to guess.” He took a handful and let it run out the side of his palm.

“He is definitely guessing,” Gyril announced, hacking at a blackberry root. “He hasn’t brought out any of his little machines or anything.”

“I’ve been doing this all of my life, young man, and I know about soil.”

“Yeah, but given you are still alive, you’ve been doing a mediocre job all of your life,” Hadriel said, looking over the ground. He bent to scoop out another couple of weeds he’d missed.

“Mediocrity ends now,” I said, and power rode my words. I wouldn’t be hiding that, either. I was letting my lady balls hang out, and they were big and beautiful, and, unlike a man’s, they liked it rough.

I stopped near a tilled patch and dropped down to a crouch. Closing my eyes and centering my mind, I soaked in the sensations around me. The soft sunshine beating down on me. The cool breeze ruffling my hair. The frigid smell of winter clung to the air, but within it I caught the sweet smell of spring not far off. It was the perfect time to be planting a garden. Luck was on my side in this one thing.

I dragged my hand through the soil, meeting plenty of resistance. It wasn’t…soft enough for plants. Yielding enough. It was bitter, this soil. Slightly angry. It wouldn’t help me grow things.

“Yeah.” I stood and smelled the dirt clinging to my fingers, turning my face toward the Forbidden Wood. “The demon’s filth has infiltrated it. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the vines you ripped out carried their magic somehow. Some plants have a way of ingesting the magic around them and transferring it to the soil. The everlass does that, but they are partial to dragon magic. Let’s…”

I visited various patches of dirt, tilled and not, sticking my fingers in and assessing the vibe. Every natural space had one. I’d learned that early in life. Spending time in natural spaces helped me center my mind and forget about an awful day or the sickness around me. They rewarded me with a sort of soothing current. Unless something was amiss, of course, and then I couldn’t quite connect.

“I need to hit the library. There’s something…not quite right here, I think. Something more than demonic magic.” I closed my eyes again, letting my mind drift. Letting the feelings soak from the ground into my fingers. “Something…sad, almost.”

A swell of emotion hit me, rocking me to the core. The ground seemed to sing a sad tune, one that would wilt flowers.

Aching pain. Utter hopelessness. Guilt.

I fluttered my eyes open as a tear dripped down my face. I turned, looking in through the glass at the darkness beyond.

Nyfain.

“Does the prince sing in this garden?” I asked, my mind working.

When I turned back, it was in time to see the three exchange glances.

“I’ll take that as a yes. He’s causing the problem.” I shook my head and laughed. “That rat bastard. He’s not special, huh? All the women sang to the plants?”

“I love guessing games usually,” Hadriel said, “but not when the clue giver has a manic gleam to her eye that makes my blood curdle. Mind telling us what you’re talking about?”

I shook my head, remembering my conversation with Nyfain the other day. “He’s a Syflora. He must be. It hadn’t even occurred to me because it’s a sort of magic usually gifted to faeries. No wonder they were happy to welcome him into the fold. It’s talked about a lot in gardening books. He can help plants thrive, force them to falter, affect the soil…all with his song. His mom must’ve known. She used to call him special. He was either playing modest or lying.”

Jawson was nodding like he’d known. “The queen never did tell him. She didn’t want to upset the king. He wouldn’t have wanted it getting around that his son had a special ‘woman’s magic’ or, worse, faerie magic.”

I fisted my hands in a sudden flash of anger. The more I heard about the late king, the more I hated him. I couldn’t imagine being stuck with him as my father or my mate.