In Bloom
By Pyreite
It starts with a bird no larger than Cardan's thumb with jewelled feathers that gleam in the sun. It flits about Jude's head if she leaves the palace in daylight, its wings an emerald blur. The Queen never notices the little fellow keeps her company as dutifully as a trained hound. It perches on the branches of trees, as obedient as a parrot when she ventures indoors. Cardan thinks the poor thing besotted until it exchanges places with an owl at dusk.
The bird is drab as a dead branch in brown plumage trimmed in black. Cardan is leery of it the instant he sees a pair of bright yellow eyes glittering with intelligence. It sits on the branch vacated by the hummingbird, eyeing him with disdain over its curved black beak. The two tufts of feathered horns on its head remind him of Jude. He feels a tingle of foreboding when he finally takes notice of what's happening around his Queen.
Whenever Jude goes outside, things start to grow. First it's a handful of sprouts in the cracks between the cobbles. Then it's the wild-flowers invading the palace gardens in sprays of red, yellow, and white petals. Cardan thinks someone might be playing a trick on him when the trees in the orchard start budding. He knows it's serious when Baphen hands him a flower dripping with dew-like crystals.
It's fragrant, rare, and beautiful. Dark blue petals open in the palm of his hand, revealing a black heart full of a gleaming oil-like liquid. The crystals on those petals are as hard and cold as ice but gleam with the clarity of a diamond. Cardan can see the blue of the rose in the facets, each reflected a thousand times in miniature. It's a wonderful and ominous gift.
"Frostspur", he says to Baphen with a sense of awe. "Where was it found?"
"Amidst a thicket of brambles, my King. A single flower on a silver vine with thorns frosted in ice. It was found on the abandoned General's estate, near the stables. It sprouted from the grave of a deceased fae buried there in secret".
Cardan smirks as if the news amuses him. "Ah. Yes. Jude made mention of it once".
Baphen is quiet for several moments. He doesn't know what to say though he's heard rumours of how the Queen disposes of her enemies. She carved her path to the throne through the hearts and throats of fae more cruel and wicked. One of the them an heir to the throne of Elfhame by blood, the other a lesser member of the gentry. A conceited creature as apt to murder as he was to play pranks.
Baphen is unsure which Valerian had preferred, though he'd never admit it aloud. He believes the lad deserved his fate. His silence is telling the instant Cardan peers over the flower in his hand. Baphen tenses when the King of Elfhame regards him with a pair of eyes as black as obsidian. He's served first Mab then Eldred, but neither of Cardan's predecessors' had ever made him this nervous.
He's afraid when Cardan summarises the legacy of his Queen.
"First she did away with Valerian, then my brother Balekin. Jude is Madoc's daughter. She's murdered her way to the throne, something her father would be proud of if she hadn't exiled him. She's more like Madoc than Vivienne, the daughter he sired on Jude's poor unfortunate mother. Although I suspect Taryn might share some of her twin's skill with a blade too".
Cardan grins, delighting in Baphen's discomfort when he replies with a dry – "As you say, my King".
"Tell me. Do you think Valerian and Balekin's deaths were justified?"
It's the worst thing he could've been asked. Baphen twitches like a sparrow about to fall from a branch to its death. He's hesitant to reply, to let his tongue and mouth shape the words he knows Cardan wants to hear. It's not in the nature of a fae to lie though he wishes that were possible. Baphen exhales a shaky breath as he tries to think of a way around the question.
"They should not have underestimated Lady Jude", he says instead, glad he can think on his feet. "Nor should they have thought less of her because of her mortality. She was the ward of the former General to the High King of Elfhame. To cross Lady Jude was to cross Madoc, a rather foolish thing to do considering his lineage. Red Caps are known to delight in the slaughter, something Madoc was famed for as much as Grima Mog".
Cardan chews on that for a few moments, though he doesn't relent. "Do you mean to imply that the fact that she's human makes her less than a fae?"
Baphen remembers the girl that was a better student than the current King of Elfhame. Jude Duarte had put Cardan Greenbriar to shame with her studiousness. It wasn't a matter of bloodlines and inheritances, or even having magic. It was the difference between one student applying themselves, and another slacking off. Baphen is quick to correct his King on this matter at least.
"Lady Jude, no Queen Jude", he declares. "Is not a mere mortal. She is a force of nature. I have never met anyone more focused and stubborn than she is. Lady Taryn is always quiet and polite, whilst the Queen is far from biddable".
Cardan smiles at that. "Indeed she is", he agrees much to Baphen's relief. "A rebel in skirts. My match in all the ways that matter". He eyes Baphen with a spark of mischief in his gaze.
"She could have killed me too. She still could. Do you know why she never will no matter how angry I make her?"
Baphen smiles then too. "I know, my King", he replies with due honesty. "I have seen how she looks at you. It is how Lady Mab looked at her consort when she ruled Elfhame. It is not sentiment, but love of a depth, sweetness, and honesty so few of us are fortunate to experience".
Cardan's face softens, the mask of arrogance slipping to reveal a boy on the cusp of manhood. Cardan is still young by the standards of their kind, a fledgling barely out of the nest. He's not yet past his second decade let alone his first century. Baphen knows that it's not his lack of age or experience that's preventing the likelihood of a second coup. It's the reputation of the Queen, of the path of knives leading to her door.
"The Queen adores you", states Baphen. "So the land that chose her to rule beside you celebrates that love in earnest. The birds sing, the bees buzz, and the trees and flowers bloom". He gestures to the rose in the palm of Cardan's hand as blue as an evening sky. "Now is it my turn to ask you a question. Do you love your Queen?"
Cardan turns shy, his cheeks flushing an embarrassed pink. He might be a King, but in some ways he's still a boy. "You know I do", he replies, soft as silk. "Jude is frightening, terrifying even but she's mine. Of all the folk, great and small. Of all the creatures I command, fae and mortal it's Jude that belongs to me".
Baphen is cautious, though he reminds Cardan of his duty. "You belong to her too".
"I know". He smiles again, all light, joy, and relief. "After all these years. I have someone of my own. It's wonderful not to be alone any more".
Baphen knows the difficulties Eldred's last born son has faced since infancy. "I am glad for you".
Cardan stares at the flower in his hand, its petals a dusky blue against the fairness of his skin. "Why do you think the Frostspur sprouted? Is it Jude's influence? I know she's changing, Baphen. Elfhame is flowering like it's spring".
"The land rejoices", says Baphen with utter confidence in his ability to read the astral signs. "The Frostspur is a gift as much as it is a test. The land wishes to ensure its own future and that of your Queen. I know that it as only ever flowered in Elfhame during a time of great change. We have seen much of that in the past year".
Cardan taps a dew-like crystal with the tip of a delicate fae finger. The thing chimes like a silver bell much to his delight. "So we have", he agrees. "The breaking of the Blood Crown, the splitting of the throne of Elfhame in twain. The curse of Grimsen being unleashed then broken".
"The rise of a mortal Queen for the fae", Baphen reminds him.
He laughs. "Yes. My Jude is the first of her kind. You still haven't answered my question". His attention turns to the royal astrologer. "Is the Frostspur flower's presence due to Jude being Queen?"
"I cannot answer with any degree of certainty".
"Baphen", warns Cardan. "You'll be honest with me. Now".
"Yes, my King". He exhales a weary breath for it's something of a challenge to counsel a King so young and impetuous. Cardan lacks his late father's patience. All answers must be given in the moment, not in days or several weeks time. "I believe so although it will take some explaining".
"Then you'd better start".
"At once".
Baphen collects his thoughts. It's a strange thing to contemplate the significance of the Frostspur rose. It blooms but once in a hundred years. A single dew-kissed flower sprouting on a silver vine with barbs tipped in ice. The nectar pooling inside it's black-petalled heart a poison and a cure.
"Frostspur grows only in the wild and produces a single bloom but once a century. The petals can make a poison that can render a fae incapable of casting spells. Or be brewed into an elixir that can cure any illness and injury, mortal or magical. The nectar is capable of increasing the chances of conception for our kind tenfold. For these reasons and more it is a rare and prized find".
Baphen is unsurprised when Cardan asks him that unenviable question.
"The nectar increases the chances of conception?"
"Yes, my King".
"For fae or mortals?"
Baphen knows he's about to fall hang himself by his own noose. "For fae".
Cardan's black brows furrow. He regards his councillor with suspicion. "For fae", he reiterates. "Did you prepare a draught of the nectar from this flower for my father?"
"I did".
"How many times?" demands Cardan, his black eyes narrowing.
"Six. Each of his consorts conceived, thereby giving him a child. You were the last Eldred wanted".
Baphen notes how the King goes quiet. Cardan glares at the flower in his hand with such loathing that Baphen thinks he might crush it petals and all. He intervenes when Cardan's fingers twitch, his knuckles tensing. He's moments from bolting across the room, from snatching the flower away. Baphen's panicked cry reaches Cardan's ears first.
"No!"
The King arches a single black eyebrow. He glowers at Baphen. "No?" he calls in a voice as hard as cold steel. "Who are you to say such to me?" he demands. "I am your King".
"I know!" pleads Baphen. "But, my liege! The blood of the fae is thin and weak when it comes to making children! We are not as fruitful as mortals! The Frostspur's nectar can change that!"
Cardan is angry now, his voice shakes with fury. "My father used his consorts like broodmares! His children were livestock! I was cast aside because of this wretched flower! You know that and yet you dare stand there and plead that I not destroy it!"
Baphen is almost in tears when Cardan's hand trembles with barely restrained anger. He sees the precious nectar slosh inside those dusky petals like wine in a glass about to be overturned.
"I do!" he cries. "My King! If you will not use it! Let another! Please! Think of the fae children that might be born to those that partake of it!"
Cardan almost throws the precious flower and its bounty on the floor. He is furious, yet something in him cracks then breaks and shatters into a thousand pieces. He knows Baphen is right. He has seen how some wedded fae looked often at himself and his siblings with envy. Eldred's palace had been forever full of noise and the pitter-patter of small feet. Yet their own houses' had remained silent as the grave.
Children were a rarity among the fae, though those that wedded mortals were luckier. Madoc's daughter Vivienne was a testament to the fruitfulness of a fae and mortal union. A fact that Cardan finds in his heart he can't deny. He's still angry, still hurting but he still offers the flower back to Baphen. His fingers are moments from snapping closed but he presses it into his councillor's hands.
"Take it!" he spits. "Hurry before I do the worst thing imaginable!"
Baphen is quick to accept the Frostspur rose. He cradles it to his chest as if it were a child. He checks the petals and the nectar with a fastidiousness that irritates Cardan. Baphen fusses like a mother-hen, despite the scornful looks he's getting. He heaves a sigh of relief when he finds neither a petal crushed nor a spilled drop of nectar.
The flower is still in one piece.
"Thank you", he tells Cardan. "You have no idea what this gift will mean to the childless fae". He is startled when Cardan makes a demand. It's not something he can deny the King of Elfhame though he wishes that he could. The Frostspur flower and its nectar is too precious to waste, but he must comply.
He's bound by oath to serve, though he's a tad resentful when Cardan gives very specific instructions.
"Use the nectar. Make your draughts, but I want them bottled and sealed tight by stopper, wax, and spell. You'll bring every last bottle to me, including any draughts leftover by my father. I want them all. Do you understand?"
Baphen knows he shouldn't ask. He's no right too, but he can't help it. "What will you do with them?"
Cardan gives him a hard look. "Whatever I wish".
Baphen is disappointed, but he knows better than to argue. "Yes, my King". He tenses the instant he's given a second order. This one is no less upsetting, though Baphen schools his expression to one of neutrality. He doesn't want to make an enemy of his liege lord.
"I want the petals made into a healing elixir. No poisons, Baphen. It's also to be bottled and sealed in the same manner. The elixirs are to be brought to me as well. I'll have the Roach and the Bomb attend you to make certain the brewing proceeds as planned".
Baphen doesn't like the idea of getting involved with the Court of Shadows, but he has little choice in the matter. Cardan's word is law in Elfhame, so he bows his head in acquiescence. He nods, Frostspur flower in hand, and waits to be dismissed. He doesn't get far for a heartbeat later the door to Cardan's private chamber swings open. Baphen is astonished by the intrusion until he hears the Queen's dulcet tones.
He relaxes the instant she steps inside, the heels of her boots clipping on the marble tiles. The door closes behind her with a click, the latch catching. Jude moves towards her husband, though she still acknowledges Baphen. She nods in respect for his status and station at court. She also addresses him with the same bluntness learned from her step-father.
"So", says Jude with solemnity. "All's been said and done. I can tell by the look on your face that it didn't go well. I did warn you, Baphen. Nothing good came of what Eldred intended for his consorts or his children".
Cardan is incredulous. "You knew about that wretched flower?"
She shrugs her shoulders with a nonchalance that annoys her husband. "Of course I knew. Grima found it not two days ago growing on the edge of the estate I bequeathed to her. The estate that once belonged to Madoc, lest I remind you. The Frostspur vine had grown out of Valerian's grave like a thorned snake".
Jude continued unfazed when Cardan scowled. "I didn't know what it was until Grima told me. I consulted the Court of Shadows. The Roach suggested I speak to the royal astrologer. So I did and here we are".
Cardan was furious. "You sent Baphen to me?"
"I did after getting the truth out of him myself. I told him to tell you about the Frostspur, it's purpose, and it's history in regards to the throne of Elfhame. He did although I see the flower is still intact. I'm surprised you didn't grind it into dust beneath the heel of your boot. You get awfully upset when anyone brings up Eldred or your mother".
"Jude!"
"My love", she tells him in a soothing voice. "It's all right to be angry. We had miserable childhoods, but we're not children any more. It's in the past though the wounds are deep and scarred over. Now don't be mad but there's a reason for everything I do".
Cardan's lip curled mulishly. At times he was still unsure if they were allies or adversaries. Jude too often caught him off-guard with her secretiveness. She always seemed to know what was going on inside his own court before he did. It was infuriating.
"So you've always said", he replies snidely. "So what? Do you plan on dosing me with Frostspur nectar and putting me to stud?"
Jude blushes, but Baphen intercedes on her behalf. "Er, your majesty. It might be a little late for that".
Cardan sits up straight in his chair like a dog called to heel. His eyebrows are arching into his hairline, above a pair of wide disbelieving black eyes. He's gaping at his wife and Queen, slack-jawed with astonishment. He glances from her face to her belly and back again several times before realisation dawns. He's a little shocked, but even more horrified when he declares.
"You're pregnant".
Jude finds her voice though she's still flustered. "That's what happens when a man and a woman roll around naked often enough. How do you think Taryn got her little girl? She didn't make her by herself. Although I think Locke's prick did a finer job of making my sister happy than he did".
She pulls a face, her nose wrinkling in disdain.
Cardan knows she had little love for the court's Master of Revels. He wouldn't care ordinarily, but right now he's envious. Locke is dead but somehow he still manages to occupy Jude's thoughts. It turns his stomach to think that Locke had once wanted Jude as much as he'd wanted Taryn.
They were twins, sisters, and a matched set.
It's immature, undignified, and scornful but Cardan doesn't care. "Stop thinking about him! He was sworn to Taryn not you!" he snaps, though he regrets it when Jude frowns. Fae don't apologise, they bargain for favours. Cardan doesn't know how to make amends. He's afraid he's made a terrible mistake when the corners of Jude's mouth turn down.
He's unsure if she's sad or angry.
"Why are you jealous?" she demands whilst pressing a hand to her belly. It's still flat beneath her clothes, barely a bulge to show that she's more than a few weeks along. She eyes him with a wariness that surprises Cardan. He thinks that he's missed something when her head turns and she shares a look with Baphen. Something is conveyed between them in a heartbeat but feels like an eternity.
Cardan sees the moment Jude starts feeling vulnerable. She stays her ground though her walnut-brown eyes shift from Baphen to the marble tiles at her feet. It stings when she refuses to meet his gaze, though he imagines the cogs behind her eyes turning. She's as clever as she is beautiful in the fragile way of mortals. Jude reminds him of a butterfly, bright and vivid with paper-thin wings.
He doesn't know if she'll fly again after what he's torn loose. He opens his mouth to answer her question, then remembers that Baphen is still in the room. He barks an order, raising his hand. He gestures to the door of his chambers. He needs to have a conversation with his Queen in private.
"Out!"
Baphen is torn, though he bows his head in obeisance. He says nothing as he brings the precious Frostspur rose close to his chest. He turns in a swish of velvet robes, gives Jude a sympathetic nod, and heads for the door. He grabs the latch, pulling it open with a click. Baphen steps into the hall meeting Fand, the chief of the Queen's guard.
Someone else is there too, clad in black with a silver mask.
Cardan flicks his fingers at the door. It closes with a creak of wooden hinges on Baphen, Fand, and a member of the Court of Shadows. He's glad that he is on good terms with the Roach and the Bomb, though he's leery of the Ghost. Baphen would be under constant watch until he'd delivered the promised goods. Cardan is glad that Jude had a member of her inner-circle of spies ready and waiting at his door.
He wonders if she'd given Baphen orders too.
"Jude", he calls, noticing how she keeps her distance. It hurts to think that she might be afraid of him again. He hopes he hasn't added fuel to those fears so he tries a gentler approach. "Will you come here?" It's a question rather than a request as if he's unsure if she'll comply.
Jude true to her character doesn't do what he wants at all.
"I'm comfortable where I am", she replies with her typical stubbornness. She'll not budge an inch unless she wants too. Cardan knows that all too well. He still tries to get her moving in the right direction, his temper flaring when she refuses to cooperate.
"Jude!" he hisses.
"No".
He hates it when she lifts her chin and looks down her nose at him. She's bristling for a fight. He shakes his head with a weariness that's all too familiar. Jude is as uncompromising as a rock when she's got a bee in her bonnet. He knows he's upset her though he doesn't know quite how or why.
He suspects it has something to do with their fathers and their upbringing.
"Jude", he pleads. "I love you. I'd never do anything to hurt you or our baby. If you know that. Why are you afraid of me?"
He expects her to snap and snarl, to argue the point or take offence. He's startled when she's neither the spitfire he knows, nor the sly quick-witted spy he adores. He realises that she's nervous when he puts his hands on the arms of his chair. He'd been ready to take to his feet when she flinches, her chestnut brows furrowing. Cardan sees the craggy lines of worry wrinkling her forehead.
"You are afraid".
Jude finds her voice, though it lacks the strength he's used too. "I have good reason", she states with a sense of trepidation. "I knew you'd be angry about the Frostspur and Baphen's meddling. I know you've noticed what's happening around the palace with the plants, the birds, and the trees too. I'm changing though I don't know how or why".
"Jude".
She rambles on as if she hasn't heard him at all. "I thought it might be because of the baby". She shakes her head at once, knowing it's not the seed of Elfhame planted inside her womb wreaking havoc. "But the budding of the flowers started months before I'd conceived. Where and when my blood falls, things grow or they used too".
Cardan recalls what Grima Mog told him in confidence. She'd bore witness to what'd happened in the snow near Madoc's encampment. A mortal wound packed with leaves and earth sewn shut with a thread and needle. Blood had flowed like water staining the snow, and through it leaves had sprouted. Grima had said the flowers had been small and white with six petals in the shape of a star.
It's old, rare, and grows only in the wild like the dewy Frostspur rose. It sprouts only for a gifted few descended from the ancient fae bloodlines. Cardan knows it grew for Mab when she died, covering her cairn in the tunnels beneath the palace. He's contemplating the significance of it when Jude continues. Her voice has a tightness to it that Cardan recognises.
It's anxiety mingled with dread.
"Now everywhere I go, a new sprout emerges from the soil or the bare stones. Flowers bloom If I pass while birds gather in the trees day and night. I hear them sing for me at dawn and call for me at dusk. The hummingbirds flutter, the owls hoot, and always they watch and wait for me to emerge from the palace. They follow me when I'm outdoors, perching on branches or alighting on statues".
Jude pauses. "That's not the worst part". She grimaces as if the birds were doing something she found distasteful. "They bring me presents. The hummingbirds lead me to flowers full of nectar, while the owls bring me mice, rats, and snakes".
Cardan snickers at that. "You're upset with me because the birds bring you presents?"
"Didn't you hear a word I've said?" she accuses. "I'm changing!"
He is less alarmed now that he understands. "I know".
"What?" she hisses in surprise. His Queen is angry enough to set her pale hands on her hips. She glowers at him, her walnut eyes narrowing in outrage. "You know? What does that even mean?"
"I sensed the change in you the day Grima brought you back to me half-dead. The land healed you after Madoc's attack. He left you to bleed and die in the snow, but a magic older even than Mother Marrow intervened. I don't know why or how it happened, Jude. But somehow you've tied yourself to me, to Elfhame, and the land my great-grandmother fished out of the sea".
"How can that be?" she asked him. "I'm mortal".
"You were", corrected Cardan. "My darling. If it isn't obvious. You've become more than a little fae. The Evermind that bloomed on Mab's grave, budded for you on that mountainside in the snow".
"Evermind?" repeats Jude in bewilderment.
"The little white flowers with petals in the shape of a star. Grima said she saw them poking through the ice with determination. It was a peculiar thing considering you were mortal. She told me about it the day she brought you back to Elfhame along with your sisters. She was intrigued enough to stay, swear fealty, and to accept the role we gave her at court".
Jude gapes at him with wide-eyed incredulity. She doesn't quite believe him. "Grima did that for me?"
Cardan smiles. "My love", he says with all the patience in the world. "You are the Queen of Elfhame, chosen by the land of the Folk to rule. Grima saw with her own eyes what few of the fae ever have. You're a mystery she'd like to figure out".
Jude grimaces. "Damn".
"Did Grima do something?"
"No, but think she's waiting to see if I'll sprout flowers out of my ears. Maybe that'll happen now that I'm pregnant. What with everything that blooms whenever I so much as step outside the palace. And the bloody birds that sit outside my window at dawn and dusk. I've barely gotten any sleep for the past week".
Cardan chuckles. "Should I ask them to leave the palace gardens?"
"Who? Grima?"
"Is she perching outside your window too?"
"Maybe".
Cardan laughs, delighted. "My love", he croons. "You are a joy".