CAGED (#3, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 69

Movement caught my eye and I glanced over my shoulder. A guy was crouched down in front of a bush with white flowers. His finger stroked a windburned leaf, and for a moment I swore that the leaf shivered at his touch, and where it once was furled and aged, it now seemed to be more vibrant and green. Maybe it was the dying rays of light, the wind stirred by sundown. Or maybe something else altogether.

His head half-twisted over his shoulder, catching me staring.

I met vibrant blue eyes framed by wild blond hair, the longer ends grazing broad shoulders. He wasn't dressed in one of the gardener's uniforms. His jeans were well worn, and beneath a battered leather jacket his t-shirt was washed so much the black was more a washed-out gray. He rose, wiping his dirt-dusted hands on his thighs and nodding toward the setting sun. "It's beautiful this time of day." His voice was deep and rich.

"Sure is,' I muttered, cocking my head as I stood up and approached him. In my periphery I saw the guards' attention honed in on the other guy, several closing the gap as they drew nearer.

I jingled the stones I'd collected in my hand, and I felt his interest in me, his gaze running across my figure and my face. He looked to be a few years younger than me, maybe Nelle's age.

I'd intrigued him.

I was curious about him too. There was a quality to his eyes that reminded me of Sirro's, a strange agelessness in their depth for someone so young.

I jutted my chin at the bushy phlox flowers. "The White Flames are blooming later than usual."

He half-swiveled around to follow my line of sight, before rounding to face me again. His mouth tipped up on one side. "Oh, you know about these?"

"My mother used to come here a lot."

He blinked and his gaze narrowed on me thoughtfully before he angled his head toward a weeping willow, its graceful boughs and fronds swaying in the breeze. In this little patch of the lakeside gardens, it seemed it had turned itself over to a woodland arrangement with wildflowers free to tuck themselves between tree roots and to ramble unchecked in the raised beds. "I can understand the draw of these gardens for your mother. Whenever I swing by Ascendria I like to come down here." His gaze drifted over the plantings before skimming over the lake, its waters a palette of fire from the dying sun's last exhale. His voice became wistful. "This place holds many memories for me too. I always hope to run into an old friend here, but I haven't seen her for years."

Her?

His gaze sliced back to mine and blond eyebrows inched together when he clicked at what I'd said earlier. "Used to?"

"My mom, she's been away for a while now," I replied vaguely, shifting my booted feet into a wider stance and crushing the grass beneath its soles. "But, we hope she will," I emphasized, "return home soon." Normally I'd stick to what the Houses knew, that my mother was dead. But for some reason, there was a strange urge to tell him the truth, almost as if I couldn't hold it back.