Page 3 of Undying Lands
She smiled. He knew. Of course he did.
“Fine, but only for a little bit today.” She lowered herself to the ground, seeing now that the tall lunaria bushes covered them from the outside world.
“See?” he whispered. “No one can see us here.”
Evelina’s heart beat wildly in her chest. She shook her head to push the memory away, quickly making her way through the rest of the garden, through flowers and tall pine trees. It took the rest of the walk to the palace to calm her racing heart.
Finally, she made it to the healer’s garden. She paused by her favorite section and took in her handiwork. If anything could clear her head after visiting camp, it was this, being here. The ground was damp from last night’s rainfall, water collected in some of the tiny, cuplike petals that were scattered throughout.
It only took a few breaths before her hands were caked with dirt, her golden-brown hair spilling over her shoulders as she checked on the growth of her plants. An attack on the other side of the Zenovia Mountains had her planting clover this time. A raid on Syreni’s coast for the sea-holly beside them, and snowdew flowers beside those. Sweat had worked its way onto her brow, causing her to rub the back of her hand across her forehead.
The three-week-old seeds were growing well, now formed into small sprouts poking up from the damp soil. The grass around her was vibrantly colored, bringing out the green in her hazel eyes. She squinted, trying to soak in a few fleeting moments of quiet. She knew she had little time to linger before Gloriana found her.
This was the only way Evelina knew how to honor the dead. With every loss of life she heard about, she would plant something while praying to Eurydice that they found peace in Caelum. The tradition started after her mother planted an oak tree to honor her father.
Evelina was twelve when her father died, and she wouldnever forget sitting beside the growing seed, watching it turn into a sapling, hoping her father would magically return. But he never did. She and her siblings would visit the tree often, but Evelina sat in commune there the most. It was the only way she knew to mourn. While Ren honored him in battle, and Carwyn by being the perfect Manor heir, Evelina offered anything she could of the woodland itself back to him.
Planting a variety of jade vines, middlemists, and tea flowers—anything she could get her hands on at the time—made her feel closer to her father while she honored those who had been killed. He’d always called her his flower child, since the lilies outside the palace had bloomed the day she was born. He shaped so much of her love for the natural world; renovating the gardens for her first birthday, gifting her herbal pouches and tea blends at every festival, and stealing what moments he could away from the palace to hear her gush about everything she’d learned from Gloriana out in the healer’s herb garden.
Seeing his remains turn into the great oak tree that shaded her now reminded her that everything always grew back in its own way. It was the same reason she hoped each of these seeds could make these deaths, one day, mean something.
The sun had nearly sunk beneath the horizon, its golden light illuminating the sky.
“Evelina!” a familiar voice shouted from the palace entrance. “I could use your help before you head off to sleep.”
“You got it, Gloriana!” Evelina yelled back.
Gloriana was a brilliant healer and self-appointed mentor. When they first met all those years ago, Evelina had been struggling to figure out the difference between the hundreds of herbs they used. Gloriana marched right over and started rattling off rhymes to help her remember the names and their uses. She didn’t bat an eye at Evelina being a Manor princess—and she had no qualms about correcting her when she was wrong. It’s the only reason Evelina became so specialized in herbs.
Gloriana stepped into the garden with Evelina, her soft blueeyes fiercely determined. Her ashen hair was pulled into a low knot, just as it had been every day since they first met all those years ago. A few strands always seem to escape, falling around her face in odd directions.
“We’ll debrief your camp visit if you have the time,” said Gloriana. “May want to tally up what supplies we have with the influx of new refugees coming in these days.”
Evelina frowned and set down the flower she was holding. She had been officially training as a healer since the war started two decades ago, but she had been learning herbs and mixtures long before that.
But now, it wasn’t learning how to grow and nurture herbs for fun; it was a life hanging in the balance between her hands—her skills.
She loved being a healer, finding strength in knowledge when her Essence was found…lackingto others. Her affinity was that of light, her gift so different from those of her siblings. Some lightwielders could mend bones and seal flesh back together—like Gloriana—but hers was just delicate strands, not quite strong enough to heal. Some saw it as a weakness not to have a defensive affinity, but she didn’t mind it. She saw how power burdened the Manor household firsthand. And she was content to stay out of all the dangerous games they were forced to play because of it.
“I won’t be long,” she told Gloriana.
Gloriana nodded, her eyes lingering on the ground where Evelina had knelt. She gave her a small smile and left her in the garden.
Evelina stood and tried to get the dirt off her gown, but it was no use. By now, everyone was used to her being perpetually covered in soil.
One of the gardeners—a human—waved and smiled at her as she passed by. Ian had always been one of her favorites. They met when she was merely a child and he treated her like family.
But now, Ian’s eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled.His arm that was lifted in the air shook slightly, and the other hand supported his back. Still, he always had bright eyes and a wide smile, determined to live his short life to the fullest.
She’d watched him age over the years, while she stayed frozen in time like the rest of the fae. By fae standards, she was still a child—even though it’d been just over thirty years since she’d been born.
“Anything I can get you?” Ian asked with a smile. “You’ve been spending more and more time at the camps lately.” She didn’t miss the lilt of loneliness in his voice.
“The refugees have been pouring in every other week, it seems,” she said quietly. “We’ll manage.”
He nodded, his eyes tired and worn. “Good luck out there. You’ll need it.”
She smiled sadly at him. Ian was the hardest-working man she knew, kind to everyone he met, even those who didn’t always deserve it.
