“I knew you were a snake, you fucking bastard!”

  Kirti hit the wall so hard that I was afraid he would break his back. Sam followed him, sticking his finger directly into his face.

  “I should’ve known from that day! I should have fucking known you’d go behind our backs!”

  “I didn’t go behind anyone’s back!” Kirti slapped his finger away. “They simply approached me for a talk, and I gave them a fair hearing.”

  “A fair hearing you did not feel the need to tell anyone about? That’s the bloody definition of going behind people’s backs, you idiot!”

  “I was planning to tell you!” Kirti shouted. “I just.. How the hell was I supposed to know everything would move so quickly? I was searching for the right time!”

  “The right time.” Sam gave him an incredulous expression. “How long has this been going on? Have you been working for them since that first meeting? Or before that? You knew what they had been doing on our land, too, didn’t you? About the Spirals? Everything else?”

  Kirti shook his head. “I’m not working for them! We’ve been in contact, yes. Occasionally. But they’ve not asked me to do anything, and I’ve not done anything for them!”

  His next words disappeared in a strangled choke as Sam slammed him against the wall, his fingers closing around his neck. “Baba made his decision! You were there! We were all there! He was our lord and our father, and we respected his decisions! I did! Dada did! What makes you so bloody special? You think you know better? Of course you do. You always did!”

  Kirti slid along the wall as Sam hoisted him up, effortlessly holding him with a single arm. “You were always jealous. You wanted what they had, what you could never have. You treacherous little shit. I should break your neck right now. It would be easy.”

  “Shomu!”

  Sam winced. No matter how strong a man became, his pet name in his mother’s voice was enough to stop him in his tracks.

  “I don’t know what he has done, and it does not matter. He is your elder brother.” My grandmother walked over and swatted his arm. “Let him go.”

  Sam grunted and dropped him. Kirti dropped to the floor, wheezing.

  “Here to save your black sheep again, Maa?”

  “Aren’t you boys family? If you keep fighting amongst each other, how will we survive?”

  “Family. Right.” Sam grunted. “A real shame one of us doesn’t remember it.”

  Kirti coughed. “Be as angry as you want, brother. But you know we need the help.” He looked at me. “I love you, son. But let’s be honest here. You aren’t cut out for it, and you know it.”

  I sighed and leaned back in the chair. I wished he had not involved me in this argument. After such a long time away, I felt like a stranger even in family matters. The evening air was balmy and uncomfortable, anticipating a storm that had not yet arrived. The glass of lemonade Bhanu had set down on the table for me lay untouched, already disgustingly warm. Now, he stood behind me, just out of sight, the rhythmic motion of his hand fan the only relief from the heat. Even in the half-darkness of the power cut, I could tell his eyes were on the floor, studiously pretending to ignore everything that was going on. The night sky streaming in through the window was the only source of light in the room, though my eyesight was probably sharper than most.

  “What would you have me do then, uncle? Hand it all over to you? Leave, if that’s still possible? Or maybe you want me to hang myself in my room?”

  “Goddammit, kid.” He sighed. “Despite what my brother thinks, I do not want your seat. It’s an important responsibility, yes, but for better or for worse, it’s yours to carry. But you need help. Help that we cannot provide, even together. Without our father here, no one has enough knowledge or time to hold your hand and guide you, and as should be clear by now, your inexperience is hurting us. Badly.”

  “And your solution was to sell out?” Sam snapped.

  “We’re not selling out!” he snapped back. “The Consortium has the resources to help us out. With their help, we can find our footing again!”

  “And lose everything else,” I finished.

  “For the gods’ sake, kid, be practical. Yes, the deal’s lopsided. But it’s a damn good one anyway! What use is independence if we’re all fucking dead?”

  “It’s not your decision to make!” Sam wheeled on him.

  “Don’t shout at your brother,” Grandmother scolded.

  “Oh, come on, Maa!” Sam snarled. “You always do this! You have always defended them, even when they make the stupidest decisions! Hell, especially when they make stupid decisions!”

  My grandmother stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

  Sam blinked hard, taking a deep breath before continuing, “You defended Dada when he went into the forest that night, and what happened? He went and got himself killed. And now, this idiot…” He shoved Kirti. “He’s going to go get the rest of us killed, too. Or worse.”

  “It doesn’t have to be permanent.” Kirti was breathing hard. “Just until we are back in stride. When we are in a position of strength, we can start working towards shrugging off the yoke. But right now? We need to survive. That’s the first priority.”

  Sam sighed. “You really think it’s going to be that easy, you fool?”

  “Uncle,” I interrupted, “that’s enough.”

  I had to step in before one of them killed the other.

  I turned to Kirti. “Uncle, you said you recognized my right to rule. Then you will abide by my decision?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Good. Then my decision is no. A promise made cannot be taken back so easily. Not in these things.” I nodded at Sam. He nodded back. “Yes, you are right, uncle. It will hurt. It will not be easy. But if there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that those people can’t be trusted. Can we outwit them? Probably. But the alternative is far more dangerous. It does not, in my view, justify the risk. Therefore, there will be no agreement. Am I clear?”

  Sam bowed. “As you command, Thakur.”

  That felt weird.

  Kirti nodded. “As you wish.”

  Better.

  “Good. Then there will be no further communication with them, unless it passes through me. For now, we have to concentrate on finding out as much as we can before we go dark.”

  “Mr. Durham is very good at what he does,” Kirti said. “If there’s anything at all to find, he will sniff it out. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Finally, we can agree on something today.” Sam folded his arms across his chest. “If he’s true to form, Durham will have something by tomorrow.”

  “After their lockdown goes into effect,” I pointed out.

  “Indeed.” Sam rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to find out just what that entails tomorrow.”

  “Why tomorrow?” Kirti shrugged. “He said midnight. We’re still a few hours out. Lead a party out tonight. Test things out, and report your findings in the morning.”

  Sam gave him an irritated glance, but he could not argue with the reasoning. “Always the one with the bright ideas.”

  “He’s not wrong,” I quickly added, before he could start another argument.

  “No. He is not.” Sam sighed and cracked his neck. “I’ll go crash, then. I’ll need the sleep if I have to be up all night.”

  I nodded. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Kirti echoed.

  He acknowledged me with a nod and walked out, completely ignoring his brother.

  “You should rest too, uncle,” I told Kirti. “It’s… been a long day. For everyone.”

  He left, though not without a heavy sigh and nod. Soon, it was just me, Bhanu, and Grandmother. She wordlessly sank into one of the chairs, resting her head on her arm.

  “Might as well take this away.” I handed Bhanu the lemonade. “Put some more ice in it and give it to Sam. Hell, give them both a glass. They need to cool off.”

  Bhanu wordlessly bowed and took the drink away. Within seconds, the heat pressed in again. I sighed, loosening a few more buttons on my shirt.

  “Sorry you had to see that.”

  She shook her head, giving me a weak smile. “Oh, they’ve been fighting like cats and dogs ever since they were young. Your father was the only one who kept them in line. Usually by beating both of them up.”

  I chuckled. “Sounds like a good elder brother. I wouldn’t know.”

  “You are an only child.” She shook her head. “He was your father, but he was their brother first. His death hit them hard. They do not show it, but they are hurting inside. Especially Shomu. He looked up to him.”

  “He was also your son,” I said.

  “Yes.” Her face was covered in shadow; even I could not make her expression out. “Yes, he was. But that is the lot of our menfolk, is it not? To burn brightly, and to die poorly. I suppose I had always expected the possibility, somewhere deep within.”

  “But it still hurt.”

  “But it still hurt.”

  I knew it did.

  “You have had a long day too, you know.” She groaned as she rose to her feet. Probably bad knees. “Both of them went to bed without eating. I hope you, at least, will have dinner. I hate eating alone. Your grandfather used to eat with me before, if no one else would, but now…”

  I nodded. “Dinner sounds good.”

  I was in my room, late at night, when the door silently slid open. I sat up in bed, last feeble attempts at sleep abandoned, and grabbed my knife off the table.

  “Just me,” Naru whispered.

  I relaxed, setting the knife back down. “What’s up?”

  “Heat’s letting up a bit. Want to go out on the balcony?”

  “Can’t sleep either?” I asked.

  “I stay up late anyway.”

  “Alright then.” I got to my feet, pulling a shirt off the chair as I joined him outside.

  True to his word, the wind was raking the balcony mercilessly, almost howling. Above us, the stars had almost disappeared behind an ominous cloud.

  “Will it rain?” I asked.

  “It had better not.” Naru pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, adjusting his spectacles. “Plenty of things get dislodged from their burrows when it rains here. The last thing we need is more problems.”

  “When did you start that?”

  He shrugged, using his hand to shelter the lighter’s flame. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t. Law and all.”

  “After coming here, I have half a mind to.”

  “Nah, it’s good you haven’t.” He took a deep drag and exhaled, letting the wind carry the smoke far away from us. “So, how did it go?”

  “All I’ll say is we could have used you there.”

  “That bad, huh?” He snorted. “Sorry, I know it’s serious. It’s just that we have a lot of work to go around. Can’t all sit around fighting.”

  “I understand. At least there weren’t any murders.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Sleeping, I assume. Kirti is, at least.” I checked my watch. “Sam should be out doing patrols already.”

  “Doesn’t he ever get tired?” He shook his head and took another drag.

  “Are, you know…” I shrugged. “The rumours about him. Are they true?”

  He looked at me curiously. “What rumours?”

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  “You know, the ones about his ancestry.”

  “I’m sure my mother has been faithful all her life, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Oh, gods, ew!”

  “Just kidding. I know what you’re talking about. But sorry to disappoint you. I have no clue.” He released another puff of smoke, like a dragon. A very carcinogenic dragon. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, though.”

  “Hmm…”

  For a few minutes, we stood in silence, simply letting the wind buffet us.

  “Naru,” I finally said, “do you remember you used to tell me stories when I was a kid?”

  He gave me a strange look. “Why bring that up now?”

  “No particular reason.”

  “Well, sure, I remember.” He pinched the butt of the cigarette with his fingers to put it out before tossing it off the balcony. “I had to be saddled with babysitting duty, given I am the youngest in the house after you. Someone had to keep you entertained so you didn’t stumble into the jaws of something unpleasant. At least, not more than once a day.”

  “So, you didn’t like doing it?”

  “Nah, that’s not it. You were an exceedingly good audience. I’ll concede that much. I actually kind of enjoyed seeing that eternally wonder-struck expression on your face. All goo-goo eyes over princesses and kingdoms and swords and fairies.”

  “Come on, I did not have goo-goo eyes.”

  “True story. You were a cute kid! God knows what happened to you.”

  “Ouch. Well, I’m sort of trying to figure that one out myself, to be fair.”

  He chuckled. “So, why did you really bring it up?”

  “Well…” I leaned on the balcony and shook my head. “Nothing. No reason.”

  “Do you want to hear one?”

  My expression must have looked a bit too much like an owl. “Um…”

  “Nothing embarrassing about it.” He leaned against the railing. “Humans are made by stories, you know. We owe everything we have to them. Religion, society, morality, politics. All stories. Why do you think those monsters out there are afraid of the things they are afraid of, or weak to what they are weak to? Stories. They are the most powerful weapon in existence.”

  He leaned back, gazing at the sky. “I don’t know why people like to pretend one can grow out of stories.”

  There was nothing I could say to that.

  “Well? What story do you want to hear?”

  “I don’t, uh…” Well, no use pretending. “I don’t know.”

  “Hm… Bedtime surprise, then.”

  “Don’t phrase it like that. Please.”

  “Ooh, I know.” He gestured outwards, at the very edges of our property. Even in the darkness, I could still briefly make out the walls of the estate in the distance. Before them was the all-too-familiar tangle of the garden, painstakingly exacting in its wildness.

  “The walls?”

  “The garden, silly. Our perimeter garden.” He jerked his head at it. “Know anything about it?”

  “Well, it’s pretty old, isn’t it? Some great-great-great-great-great-grandfather of ours built it.”

  “Not sure if the number of greats there is accurate, but yes. You’re not wrong. It was built by our forefather, Raja Shyamacharan Sen. This was before we became landed vassals. Back then, we were independent kings. Tributaries of the Palas, yes, but sovereign. But any idea why it was built?”

  I shrugged. “Beautification.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, that is the official line. But do you think I would be telling you this story if the answer was that boring?”

  “Judging from how the stories here usually go, it was made to seal in some great evil somehow. Some kind of uber-mega-dangerous spirit that will destroy the world and give everyone diabetes, probably. Am I wrong?”

  He burst into laughter. “You are wrong. But believe it or not, you’re closer than you think.”

  “Are you going to just make me guess until dawn?”

  “Okay, fine.” He raised his hands. “You see, the story goes something like this…”

  His eyes got a faraway look, as if he was looking past the present and into the past itself. “It’s said, you see, that Shyamacharan had set out on a tour of the kingdom with his liege-lord, when they came across a remote fishing village, somewhere near where Kolkata is right now. There was an attempt on their lives. An ambush by bandits. They fought bravely, but the king was grievously wounded and separated from his escort. As his only remaining bodyguard, Shyamacharan carried him on his back for a full day, through forest and marshland. Looking for a place, any place of safety, where his wounds could be treated. But he found nothing.”

  “A depressing beginning,” I commented.

  “Oh, it gets better. Because, you see, just as the king was getting feverish, infection festering in every cut…” He spread his hands, gesturing at the horizon. “The treeline broke, and there was the sea, glimmering like a vat full of pearls. And on the sandy beach below, a hut. A small plot of white flowers beside it, unkempt and overgrown. And a pier, with a dinghy rolling gently in the waves. They made for the dwelling immediately, thinking the run-down structure must be abandoned.”

  “Let me guess, it wasn’t?”

  “Unfortunately, or fortunately, it wasn’t. An old fisherman still lived there, his eyes milky with cataracts, but his arms just as strong as ever. And his daughter. Pale, tall, and frail, her eyes stormy like the ocean that battered her. Our hero was smitten at first sight, and the feeling only grew over the weeks he spent there, as the girl treated the king’s wounds and served them like honoured guests.”

  I let my head loll back, studying the starry sky above. The clouds had moved on by now, but the wind was still going strong. “Then he proposed marriage, they lived happily ever after, and they had plenty of children. I know how these ones go.”

  “You would, if you’d let me finish.”

  I raised my hands. “Alright, I’ll shut up.”

  “Well, you’re not totally wrong.” Naru lit another cigarette. “After a month, when the king was healed, and the appropriate rewards of gold promised for their aid, Raja Shyamacharan formally introduced himself to the fisherman and asked for his daughter’s hand. But to his utter surprise, he refused.

  “When he asked why, the fisherman first said, ‘O great king, you are of noble and gracious birth. We are mere fishers, of low birth and humble means. My daughter is untrained in the ways of the court, rough and ill-mannered. She will only bring you into disrepute among your people’. But he did not care, declaring that his daughter’s gentle soul would be a jewel wherever it went. If it was necessary, he himself would teach her all she needed to know.

  “Then, the fisherman said, ‘O great king, my eyesight is not what it used to be. When I was in my youth, I could gaze into the eye of a fish twenty-five hands in the water. Now, I cannot see my own hands before my face. But my daughter has inherited my sharp eyes. If she is not here to help me on my boat, I shall starve and die’. Upon hearing this, Shyamacharan instantly promised to pay the old man a monthly salary from his own treasury, enough to furnish him with all creature comforts, for the rest of his days. But the fisherman still would not budge. So, finally losing his patience, he angrily told him to make his reasons clear.”

  I leaned in a little.

  “Then, he finally told the truth. His daughter had been born under an ill omen. Already, she had grown up to be incredibly delicate, prone to disease and injury. She had trouble walking, her legs damaged by a childhood malady. She had nightmares that tormented her throughout the night, and was plagued by dull aches during the day. Even worse, an astrologer had predicted that if she should ever marry, she would cause her husband’s untimely death. Therefore, he had resolved to never marry her off.”

  “They really believed that?”

  “Shyamacharan certainly didn’t. He laughed and told the old man that defying fate and death was the everyday occupation of warriors. He was certain that he could avoid the injunctions of the prophecy, and once more exhorted the fisherman for his permission.”

  “Sounds like plot-relevant hubris,” I said.

  Naru chuckled. “Living in a place like Chhayagarh, you can surely understand why a man would learn to be contemptuous of prophecy. Dealing with ‘impossible curses’ and ‘certain death’ is basically what we do.”

  “Fair.”

  “In any case, having no other arguments, the old man finally relented and assented to the marriage. His daughter, of course, had no objections of her own. The tall, dark, handsome warrior, muscular and exotic and covered in gold, had already stolen her heart. She was smitten. And thus, under the auspices of the Pala king himself, Shyamacharan and his sweetheart were married. From her sparse house, she took nothing, except a few white flowers from her flowerbed: shiuli. Night-blooming jasmine. Her favourite.

  “The king bestowed upon them both generous wedding gifts, and as soon as they had rejoined their men, he sent the happy couple back home with his blessings to enjoy marital bliss. This is where the story would usually end, but for the fact that Shyamacharan was the lord of this village.”

  “The good part?”

  “The good part. For many years, their marriage was happy. Shyamacharan taught his wife to read and write, to participate in court, to flatter and scorn and to recite poetry. She learned quickly. Under her care, copious clumps of jasmine began to pop up throughout the estate, bringing a splash of light to the dismal fortress. In turn, Shyamacharan kept his promise. Slowly, under the ministrations of his physicians and priests, her health began to improve. She began to walk without pain. Then, for the first time in her life, she ran and jumped. Soon, she was by her husband’s side at all times, fighting shoulder-to-shoulder in his hunts and his audiences alike. The years passed like seconds, and they were soon graced with children. Slowly but surely, the prophecy faded from their minds. It seemed as though this bliss would never end. That, like his forefathers, Shyamacharan had once again cheated death.

  “Then, one day, it came. Suddenly, as death is accustomed to come. It was nothing too dangerous. No once-in-a-lifetime threat, no convoluted ritual. A normal nightly hunt, like any other. Someone didn’t see it coming. Someone slipped up. Didn’t matter. What mattered was the crimson staining Shyamacharan’s hands under the moonlight, as he desperately worked to staunch his wife’s mortal wounds. And, as the light faded from her eyes and her flesh began to grow colder and stiffer, a gaunt figure stepped forth, shrouded in shadow. The headsman, here for his due.”

  “Death.” I gazed out at the vast, dark forest, impenetrable even under the moonlight. Where I, too, would have been inches from death, around this very time yesterday.

  “A yamaduta? The Grim Reaper? Thanatos? Who knows? But yes, Death. He had come for her soul, as promised. Shyamacharan tried everything. He screamed, he cried, he begged, he threatened. He cast spells, invoked rituals, called upon every authority from every realm he knew of to intercede. He offered money, land, treasures, and worse. Secrets that no being should be trusted with. Power that ought to stay buried forever. The names, locations, and weaknesses of… things that nothing should ever go looking for. But Death would not be moved. After all, how many had come before, offering the same things? Even when he offered his own life in exchange, his purpose did not waver. But, for a brief moment, he did pause.”

  “Death? Death paused for him?” I asked.

  I must have sounded more disbelieving than I intended, because Naru chuckled and stubbed his cigarette on the railing. “That’s what they say. He said, ‘Shyamacharan, I take heed of your love, but a life once taken cannot be returned. Not even by me. It was her time, and Kaal has taken her, just as it must take all one day. But, out of respect for your dedication and your position, O mighty rajan, I will grant you a wish. I cannot restore her to life, but you may ask anything else of me. Knowledge. Riches. Power. Women. The secrets of life and death, and of immortality. Whatever you desire, I shall grant, but she must die’.

  Shyamacharan immediately asked, ‘Death, give me a century more with her. No, give me ten centuries, a hundred, a thousand more with her! She must die, as you say, but surely not now! Not yet’. But Death said, ‘No, king. Do not ask for this. It is a wish I have the power to grant, but you shall live to regret it. Souls marked for death, if they linger too long on this plane, will attract the attention of evil. Especially in a place like this. No matter what, for her own sake and yours, I must loose her from her mortal coil within a day. Take two wishes if you must, but you must release her to me.”

  “Let me guess.” I folded my arms. Though I hated to admit it, I was actually invested in the story. “He then asked for a day of time?”

  Naru shrugged. “He probably wanted to. But he thought better of it. After all, it would never be enough, would it? Instead, he asked for a few hours’ time, to think on his wishes. Death agreed, and leaving them behind, Shyamacharan went deeper into the forest, to the ancient grove of his ancestors. And there, he prayed for guidance, until the deity of the grove appeared to him.”

  “Deity of the grove?”

  “That’s what the stories say. No one is quite sure who it refers to. Our kuldevta is said to reside in our family temple, not the grove. Perhaps the story refers to some kind of forest spirit. A yaksha is the most likely answer. In any case, no one has seen this deity as far as I know. Or, at least, no one has identified it.”

  Well, if there was a deity in the grove, he certainly hadn’t helped me much. “I see.”

  “All we know is that Shyamacharan talked for a long time with this deity. When he returned, dawn was close. The soldiers were combing the forest for their lord, but he could not be found by them. Not then. When Death saw him again, he was ready with his wishes. He said, ‘My first wish is this: when I brought my beloved here, I dressed my kingdom up in the finest riches I could find. I gave her a welcome worthy of a queen. Now, I wish to give her a worthy farewell as well. Let her spirit walk with us to the edge of my land, in proper procession, and there we shall part. Until she crosses that threshold, Death, let her not be parted from this world’. Death assented. And then, Shyamacharan asked for his second wish: ‘In life, my love bore great fondness for the night-blooming jasmine. Promise me, death, that you shall not force her to step over nor trample upon this flower in any circumstances’. Now, Death began to grow suspicious of his intent, but a promise was a promise. So, he assented.”

  “Sounds fishy to me.”

  “It was fishy. But Death had rightly estimated that no man, no matter his strength, could grow such a copious number of flowers in so short a time. So, reaching down, he pulled the woman’s soul free of her flesh, weaving for her, from dreams, cloth that far surpassed all human craft. The king’s breath caught in his throat, for in that moment, just before he was to lose her forever, she looked even more beautiful than he had ever thought possible. The lonely procession of three made their way through the forest and the fields, studiously avoiding the blooming white flowers under the moonlight. Whenever he could, he stole glances at his beloved, and though she could no longer speak, her eyes returned his love. And then, far sooner than he would have liked, the walls of his land loomed large before his eyes.”

  “What happened then?”

  Gods, were these the ‘goo-goo eyes’?

  Naru pointed at the forest, somewhere close to the edge where the walls demarcated the boundary between the estate forests and the ‘wild’ forests. “There, it is said, he saw the deity of the grove waiting. And upon seeing him, Death understood too late that he had been tricked. He moved quickly. But even his awesome speed had its limits, for before he could intervene, Raja Shyamacharan drew his dagger and plunged it into his own chest. Blood spilt like a river from the wound as his beating heart cut itself to pieces on the blade, spattering onto the soil. Soaking it. Fertilising it. And then the deity of the grove raised his arms to the sky. Faster than thought, growth erupted from the soil, stem upon tangled stem entwining, climbing over each other as they sought the air and sky above. The growth spread like an infection, scurrying along the walls, until a thick carpet of vegetation covered every inch of land they could dream of crossing. With his final drops of strength, Shyamacharan raised his head to witness his final miracle: like a river of pearls, white flowers bloomed from every available gap, creating a sea of shiuli that greeted the night. No path was left for Death to take. He was furious, but impotent: a promise was a promise, and even he had to respect a word once given. So, as the king breathed his last, he grudgingly retrieved his soul and prepared to leave.

  “But again, the deity of the grove halted him: in exchange for his help, the king had promised himself to his eternal service. His soul could not be claimed by Death, for he had the first right over it.”

  “Sneaky.”

  “His rage was volcanic, but he could not dispute the claim. Thus, having come to collect one soul, he was forced to leave without two. The deity of the grove released the king’s soul to the land, reunited with his love in death. And thus, they spent many years together, protected by a garden of flowers they had both come to love.”

  I found myself smiling without even realizing it. “So, are they still around?”

  “Probably not. Eventually, once their children had grown and taken over their holdings, they found themselves ready to pass on and crossed their garden together, hand in hand, into the waiting arms of Death.”

  “Still angry?”

  “Who knows? But I have a feeling Death is too smart to hold grudges.”

  ‘Hm… Profound.”

  Naru shrugged. “Over time, the garden was beautified, trimmed, and expanded upon. Other trees and shrubs were planted. Paths were laid. Lights were installed. There were gates, fences, and sculptures. But even today, it is said, on the night of their death every year, every single plant in there somehow sprouts dozens of white flowers, and the king and queen return to see their beloved garden once more.”

  There was silence for a few moments.

  “Is it true?” I asked. “About the flowers?”

  He shrugged. “Probably not. No one’s ever seen it with their own eyes all these years, so it’s probably just a myth.”

  “As opposed to all the other myths that are roaming around here?”

  “Oh, yes. Those are the real myths. These are the… mythical myths.”

  “Makes sense.”

  We shared a small chuckle.

  “Ah.” He gave me a smirk. “I’ve missed those eyes.”

  “Shut up.” I shook my head. “So, why did you tell me this story, again?”

  “Didn’t you ask for it?”

  “I mean, not specifically, no. Not that I minded it, but…”

  He sighed. “Well, I thought you could use the distraction, given everything that’s happened.”

  “Won’t argue with that.” I shrugged. “Still, odd selection.”

  “Would you have preferred something with dragons?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  He laughed. “Well, I think I just wanted to say… It’s a story about love, isn’t it? I know things seem tough now, but if love can beat even death, then what chance do these things have?” He vaguely gestured at the land around us. “As long as we’re together, we’ll be fine. I know it.”

  I contemplated that for a moment. “Thanks, uncle.”

  He nodded. “Well, at least it isn’t going to rain after all. Things always go to shit when it rains.”

  I pushed myself off the railing. “Should probably sleep, eh?”

  “Yeah, won’t help it if we’re dozing off when Sam returns tomorrow.” He tapped the wood of the balcony thrice, almost unconsciously. “Well, good night.”

  “Good night.” I paused. “And I love you. All of you. Even if I don’t always show it.”

  He nodded. “We know.”

  Leaving the comforting breeze behind, we returned to our rooms in silence.

  Mercifully, the power was back now, and the ceiling fan with it.

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