Chapter 7

A Flower a Day to Keep the Blues Away

The bright red ball of the setting sun sits right in the middle of the window frame, set against the purplish canvas of the sky. It makes her eyes sting and water as soon as she looks up at it from the book she is reading… the book she is trying to read. A wave of irritation washes over her as she rubs her eyes vigorously. She raises her head and stares at the picturesque sunset, intent and defiant, as if trying to prove something. Even the sun is mocking me today, she sighs miserably and claps the book shut, never realising she was holding it upside down for the past hour or so.

She flings aside the sewing she is supposed to be busy at as she slides off the bed. If only this were my only punishment. It isn't of course, and the timing couldn't be worse either. She shuffles to the window and leans against the windowsill, resting her chin on her clasped hands.

"You can't see the boy for the sunset," a familiar voice, thick with amusement, comes from below and makes her jump a little.

"Daniel!" She knows him before she turns her gaze to him, though he's a mere shadow to her night-blind eyes as yet.

"It's almost as if you hadn't been expecting me."

But of course she was; how could she not? She dare not, at times, knowing how busy his work is keeping him these days, especially with his father unwell; knowing how tricky and risky sneaking around right under Mama's nose is; but most of all, still in disbelief deep down sometimes that someone cares enough to take such risks for her at all. Yet here he is, crouched beneath her window, looking up at her.

Regina smiles a sad smile. "You've heard, haven't you?"

"Yes...Your Dad took me along just as we'd been hoping. Except you weren't there, so it wasn't near as much fun at the fair."

"At least you got to be there. Me - I'm stuck in my room for an entire week. Just when the fair is finally on!" Her eyes sting again all of a sudden, as if myriads of tiny needles were piercing them, even though it's Daniel rather than the sun she is looking at. She wipes the few treacherous tears away swiftly.

"It really wasn't that big a deal," Daniel blurts out unconvincingly.

"Oh, don't," she dismisses his lame attempt at once, rather harshly. It's not his fault you didn't get to go, a little voice inside her head pipes up. Don't get caught out of bounds next time and you won't end up grounded. She swallows and takes a calming breath before she speaks again, the rebuke turning into an apology, and a plea. "Just…tell me about it."

And Daniel does: he tells her about the roads teeming with lords and merchants and villagers, all puring towards the town; about the streets packed to bursting with people, shouting greetings and elbowing their ways through the crowds; about the dozens of stalls and booths of various shapes and sizes and colours, sagging under the weight of the merchandise: fruit and vegetables, hens and sheep, bolts of cloth and painted silk, earthenware and fine pottery, loaves of bread and wheels of cheese, chunks of meat and trays of sweets, jugs of ale and barrels of mead, toys and weapons and much more. Haggling seemed to start at sunrise and might not cease till sunset, for all Daniel knows.

Regina listens wide-eyed, yet Daniel knows this is not the part she cares about the most. "A stage was set up at the square," he says, watching for her reaction. "In the afternoon, the benches filled with people. Master Henry still had business to attend to, but he was kind enough to let me watch."

"And?" she fidgets and whispers urgently.

"The jugglers and tumblers came. Some breathed fire, and some swallowed swords. Some made sharp daggers and flaming torches fly in the air, and some seemed to be able to fly themselves. There were jesters too, and singing and dancing. They all wore the strangest, fanciest garb and acted out a story together."

"What story?" she urges him on, completely enraptured by just the retelling of it.

"It was about an old couple who is visited by two men who roam the world in disguise and come across this humble cottage. Even though they had very little themselves, they offered their hospitality and even went to kill their very last goose to be able to feast their guests. Just as they were about to kill the goose, the men revealed themselves as powerful wizards and wanted to reward the couple for their kindness and hospitality. They promised to fulfil the couple's any wish. All the husband and wife wished for was for neither of them to see the other die. The wizards granted their wish. After several more years passed, their time came. They were sitting on the porch together when each noticed the other sprouting leaves and growing bark over their skin. They turned into trees and stood there forever with their branches entwined… I wish you could have seen it, too," Daniel gushes but finishes the sentence ever more wretchedly.

Regina nods; captivated by Daniel's narration, she quite forgot the bitterness of her disappointment, but now she feels it slowly return. "Well…I'm glad you had a good time." It's true, she thinks. I am glad. I just wish it had been the two of us together, and Daddy might even have stayed for the performance if I'd asked him to…

"I kept you in mind, you know," Daniel interrupts her musings. "Even with the show and all." He fumbles in his shirt some, then holds up a frail little something for her to take. Regina squints at it in the remaining light of day, holding the small purple flower gently between her fingers.

"It's not much," Daniel shrugs, sounding anxious all of a sudden. He wanted to get her a gingerbread horse he saw on display in one of the stalls…but he didn't have the money to buy it. "I - picked it on the way. That way you had at least a small part in the outing - right?"

"A pansy." She senses his unease as well as his doubts, and guesses the reason. "It's lovely, Daniel, thank you." She can tell he is relieved by her words even though it is already dark beyond recognition.

A diversion from afar turns his head. "I must go," he says. "I still need to tend to the horses."

She nods and keeps quiet but the unspoken question hangs in the air all the same.

"I'll come again tomorrow. And every other day of your punishment, too."

The sun is still an orange in the deep-blue sky when he turns up the following day. Regina drops the tedious needlework as soon as she hears a faint rustling outside, and rushes to the window.

"Have you just returned?" she asks even before she leans out and spots him.

"Yes. I rode down to Emerald Valley today, to look at the new piece of land your mother wants to buy. Master Henry says it must needs be fit for a horse pasture."

"Is it? What is Emerald Valley like? Is it going to be ours? Perhaps we could ride out there together sometime if it is. I've heard it's beautiful there, all fresh and green throughout the year."

The rush of words breeds a certain suspicion in Daniel, namely that Regina has spent the larger part of the afternoon waiting for evening to come. How bored she must be, he mulls, and how lonely. It is part of her punishment – the only person to see her during the week is to be Cora; she brings all the food and drink and anything else Regina might require - of which of course Cora herself is the judge.

"It really is as they say," he confirms. "Better, in fact. Even more beautiful; though perhaps not always all green. The grass is soft and green even in high summer thanks to the many cool streams running across the valley, and the trees…" Daniel launches into a description of the many trees and shrubs of the valley, sketching a picture almost alive. Regina feels the walls dissolve around her as tall trees and short shrubs take their place: maples hem the hillsides as well as the streams, their trunks glistening with sweet sap; rock elms cling to shady rocks as well as moist loam; silvery-bodied beeches parade dark green cloaks. She walks beneath the shade of broad-leaved, hairy-twigged chestnuts; she passes birches with brownish-white trunks; evergreen spruces with pointy needles; ancient, towering white and red pines with their needles brittle but unyielding to the wind or the chill; hardy fast-growing balsam poplars; trembling aspens with quaking leaves; wild cherries; ash shrubs and trees with perfect white flower clusters; two-faced black oaks with their leaves a shiny deep green on the upper side and yellowish-brown on the lower; long-lived white oaks with their leaf-covered arms reaching high and wide; and scarlet oaks with their leaves of glossy green.

The illusion is gone as soon as Daniel finishes: the trees shrink back to the earth and walls rise around her instead - and Regina finds herself confined to her room once again.

"I wish I could see it as you have!"

Daniel smiles a triumphant smile that seems quite out of place to the distraught Regina but her reservations are all but gone when he coaxes something green and white from both pockets and offers it to her. To his surprise, she runs off at the sight but returns momentarily, and sets a heavy book on the windowsill. She holds her newly established herbarium open for him on a page with a single purple pansy. Only then does she reach for the bundle of white heather in his right hand and the green cluster in his left.

"Careful with this," he cautions.

"Ah," she breathes out. "It's a four-leaf clover! A lucky clover! I'll pick a special place for it."

The molten-gold orb still hangs high in the bright blue sky when Daniel waves from beneath the windowsill, pressed against the cool wall to temper the heat a little. Regina appears on the other side shortly. He can tell immediately that the stay indoors is bearing down on her with particular weight today. She watches him expectantly, waiting to hear of a new adventure, a new story to make her own for a moment.

"I have no story to tell today," he admits. "I've been working in the stables all day, mostly cleaning."

Regina hangs her head slightly. "…Rocinante?"

"He's fine. I'm taking good care of him for you. You needn't worry. We go for a ride every day, I've told you." He has, on the first day actually. It should be me though; I should be taking Rocinante out every day. A frown nestles on her brow then – a new task for Daniel, he decides, and accepts the challenge.

"Just because I don't have a story doesn't mean I can't make you smile. I once groomed a jester's horse and he showed me a thing or two."

"The jester? Or the horse?" she offers a half-hearted jape.

Daniel shrugs and throws a pompously mysterious face. He runs a hand in front of his face and grows stern behind it; his expression is stony for a moment. He runs his hand up in front of his face again and makes a horrible grimace. Before Regina has time to open her mouth in protest, he stomps his foot and begins a foolish dance, accompanying himself with a no less comical musical performance: "I am gone, Miss," he flings himself on the ground with bulging eyes and hides behind an imaginary bush and his own hands, lying flat on his belly. "And anon, Miss," he jumps back up and salutes her by flourishing an imaginary hat in the air, "I'll be with you again," he grins peevishly. "In a tr-thrice," he throws up four fingers, then five, then begins to finger-count feverishly with a frown of mock-concentration and mock-dullness, only to change his mind a moment later and wave his hand dismissively. "Like to the old Vice," he smiles an innocent, disarming smile, "Your need to sustain." He finishes with a seemingly perfect cartwheel before he tumbles down midway and ends up in a tangled heap on the grass.

By the time his little performance comes to an end, Regina is in fits of laughter and almost reduced to tears. Having put his own face back on instead of the jester's, Daniel grins a contented grin – mission accomplished. His hand rummages in his pocket and reaches up to the windowsill. She feels a tickle on her cheek as the leaves and petals brush against it, and wrings the crimson daisy from his hand, chuckling.

There is no proper sunset today; one only suspects the sun behind the fluffy steely clouds as it pokes a long pale finger from behind. Daniel is reduced to a mere shade when Regina sees him emerge from behind the corner. His boots make faint squishy sounds in the grass.

"It hasn't been raining yet, has it?"

Daniel shakes his head. "That's from the marshes beyond the hill, my boots seem to have a leak," he shrugs.

"The marshes?" The mystery wetlands beyond the hill are on her bucket list, despite the grudge Mama seems to bear them, especially when made to imagine the messy swamps and treacherous mud alongside her daughter. It seems to Regina she's been locked up in her room for ages and ages; as if all life were passing her by in a blur of colours, scents, and adventures, while she stands alone in some enchanted bubble of frozen time.

Daniel inclines his head pensively as he watches her face turn sour and her eyes dreamy. He waves a hand in front of her face. The gesture charms an ever so tiny smile onto her lips and returns focus to her features.

"Are there flowers in the wetlands?" she inquires knowingly; she has come to look forward to the small surprises he bestows on her every day. He smirks.

"All in due time. I've got something else to show you first." Regina leans out of the window curiously as Daniel pulls a small object out of his pocket; what it is she can't make out in the dimming evening light. He puts it to his lips and blows. A sharp high-pitched note cuts through the air.

"You got me a whistle?"

"I made you one," he corrects her. "It's a willow whistle. I attached a cord as well. Here," he hands it to her carefully. Regina turns it over in her hands. "I've always wanted one of these." The bark is cold to the touch and holds the memory of water; the mouthpiece and air hole were clearly carved with care and precision. This must have taken ages to make.

"Try it," he suggests.

"I dare not," she is loath to say. "In case someone hears and comes looking ..."

"Right…" he admits, equally disgruntled by the sheer unfairness of it all the same. "I have to go…" he adds reluctantly. Before he does, he produces a little flower and puts it on the windowsill. "As promised," he says over his shoulder, turns, and runs to follow the voice calling for him from the stables. As he disappears in the dark, she picks up the blue periwinkle and takes a sniff.

A silver crescent is nestled between the shadow clouds on the star-strewn night sky. Regina is abed with a single candle penetrating the darkness of the room. The books she's been trying to read lies open across her lap, yet it could as well be closed for all the good it does her. Where is he? Could he not be coming? She shuffles around and throws the blanket off her outstretched legs. It makes no matter, she tells herself as she crosses the room making for the window. Tomorrow I'll be free again, and I won't have to just wait around, I'll go wherever I please.

"Regina," comes an urgent whisper from outside just as she rests her elbows on the windowsill, and she flinches. "There you are," she whispers back reproachfully, recovered within a moment. "I thought you had forgotten me." Her words surprise even herself, and the annoyance that makes her speak them even more so. It's partially true, it dawns on her just then.

"Of course not. You know I have to work. I was here every night though. I'm here now." It's so dark she sees nothing of his face, yet his injury rings loud and clear.

Regina's cheeks burn with shame. Of course she knows that. Why is she being so foolish all of a sudden? It's the dragon's belly. I've been locked in for too long. The silence stretches long and awkward.

"I-I just meant…" she stammers under her breath, then finishes: "I'm glad you came."

"Me too," he rejoins. "I'm even gladder you're leaving the dragon tomorrow." That makes her smile.

It is a short-lived smile, though; her face grows serious again. "Tell me about Rocinante."

He tells her about Rocinante every day: whether he eats well, which pasture he spent the day at, what route they took on their rides. She won't be content with that sort of information today, he can tell.

"We roamed the fields today," he begins. "We came upon a hedgehog in the grassy balk; it was about to cross the lane. We almost trampled him but he'd heard us coming and curled up right in front of us – beneath us, I should say, for he was right there between Rocinante's forelegs. Apparently Rocinante hadn't had much experience with hedgehogs before – he prodded him once with his hoof, and examined him at length before he could be persuaded to proceed."

Regina sniffs. "I miss him. Do you think he misses me?"

"I know for sure." He sounds quite adamant, much to Regina's relief. "You'll be with him tomorrow."

"I will," she perks up. "And we can ride out together, and you'll show me all the places you've been this week. Perhaps the hedgehog will be there, too." She would quite like to see him for herself.

"Don't forget about the apple tree, you should pay that a visit, too," he returns brightly.

"I hope it isn't all dried up after all the heat," she muses, concern drawing lines of worry on her shadowy face.

"It got a bucketful just this evening, before I came."

"Has it grown much?" She would ask him constantly at the beginning if it was bearing fruit yet, she smiles to remember. Not so anymore; she knows better. It might well be years before the tree matures and bears the first apple. It will be worth the wait.

"You'll see," he chuckles. There's a bit of that japery they've grown accustomed to between themselves, a bit of a tease, but a warm and friendly one at that.

"Not enough to have borne this," he adds more seriously. If there is movement in the darkness, as she assumes there must be, it remains hidden under the cloak of night. "This is from a different tree…but yours will soon have ones of its own."

A tender pink-and-white apple blossom appears on the windowsill out of thin air. She's still clutching it after he's gone as she snuffs out the candle and slips under the blanket. Tonight she'll have sweet dreams, for tomorrow she is released from the dragon's belly into freedom.