Midnight Wonders

4.3.0. A Conversation Over Snacks

Cora ducked into the Red Garden, her breath caught in her throat. She hopped across the stone path that wound through the bushes and made her way to the center of the garden, where Tristan waited, sipping on a cup of tea.

She'd run, the last time. He'd caught her in the bushes and she'd just jumped, grabbed Lavinia, and run. But not before she heard him call after her, "I'm always in the Red Garden."

Cora hadn't meant to come back; Lavinia had discouraged her, Opellia and Tulla had been shaking in anticipation of Symphora when Cora had arrived at the Blue Garden and did not want to be complicit in any more of Cora's plans. But she couldn't stop thinking about Tristan. How he was the first person she'd seen in the Yew who was not from it. He had to know a way out.

And...she felt a bit embarrassed at her hasty exit. That had been both rude and uncharacteristic of her. Since when did she not stop to say so much as a hello to anyone, even a stranger? Perhaps so long running from Symphora had conditioned her to run from any strangers. That thought was the worst. Cora didn't want Symphora to be the one to influence her, of all people.

"He just wants a pretty bride," Lavinia had warned.

"I just want a conversation," Cora had said.

So here she was now, locking eyes with Tristan as she approached the table. She felt shy. Lack of socialization? She'd spoken to more new people in the past...weeks? than the past four years. But she'd spoken to Emma just fine. Perhaps it was shame.

"Hello," said Tristan, standing and walking around the table to her. Cora liked him a little less when he was standing. It was intimidating. Just a bit.

"Hello," said Cora. He held out his hand, but it wasn't in a position to shake. His palm was out, waiting for something. Her hand, she realized, and she gave him a funny look. "How chival—oh." She remembered they were in Under-The-Green-Hill, and she remembered he was a prince. Were princes expected to be gracious to people of any status? Symphora was, superficially, extremely gracious to Cora, and Symphora was a queen.

"Oh?" Tristan echoed, tilting his head at her.

"Never mind," she said, taking his hand. He helped her sit. Cora laughed. "I don't need help with that."

Tristan gave her a look too complicated to read. "I heard you've been tired lately."

Lately? Cora almost laughed again, but not with mirth. Lately, she'd been the most energized she'd been in four years. Enough to be frantic from agitation. For four years, every time she'd closed her eyes to sleep, she'd awoken in Under-The-Green-Hill, already walking down an endless path. For a while it had been enough to turn around and run until she met other people who could lead her to an exit. But every time they had gotten farther and farther away, and she had gotten closer and closer to the Yew. And soon enough, she had started getting chased.

Chased by Symphora, always at the lead of a procession. All Cora had been able to do was run. She'd run and run and run until her mind was blank from exhaustion and she could not even remember exiting Under-The-Green-Hill and making it all the way back home.

Now, with little to do all the while as Symphora prepared for the Midsummer celebration, Cora was well-rested and wide awake. She didn't know what was going to happen at Midsummer. It seemed an important event.

"Not tired," Cora said. "At least physically. Mentally, I might be. Just a bit. I'm so sorry about—" She almost said yesterday. "About last time. I didn't mean to run away."

"No, I startled you," Tristan said, going back around the table to sit. "I'm sorry too."

"You're quite handsome," Cora said. She always fell back on compliments. And it was true, too. She certainly had thought he was so. Up close, it was even more true. He had a very strong, chiseled face; smooth, yet sharp lines. "That must've been what scared me off."