As The Roses Bloom

the garden's overgrown

Second to last chapter!

Present

"Do you know where I might find Kell?"

Holland knew that voice. He knew it well, and he didn't want to: as sharp, cold, and cutting as a knife. For a moment, he considered simply pretending not to hear the inquiry, that the chattering of the ball around him had drowned out her voice, but she was too close and too clear for him to pass it off.

"Lila." He didn't turn all the way to look at her, just shifted slightly to indicate his attention and lowered the glass from his lips. She was now directly to his left, neither in front nor behind him—not that he expected her to try to kill him again, but it would be unwise to give her the opportunity to. Holland could shatter the glass in his hand and send the shards at her, if he needed to. Or use a dozen other spells. Not, either, that he objected to being killed, necessarily, except that now was not the time nor the place.

"Kell," Lila said again, insistent. "I'm here to see him."

"All this way?" Holland actually didn't know where Lila had come from; he knew only that she'd been sailing the seas since everything ended, trying to "see everything," as Kell had told him one night over slices of cake on the balcony outside Kell's room. "Careful, Bard, or people will think you've got a soft spot."

Who didn't have a soft spot for Kell? If anyone Kell met hadn't immediately found their heart a touch softened, it would be news to Holland. Even Alucard antagonized Kell only after Kell resolved on relentlessly and decisively treating him with utter contempt.

"Just point me." Holland could hear the scowl in Lila's voice without looking. The truth was Holland had been spending the entirety of the event trying not to catch sight of Kell. Unlike trying to keep your eyes on someone, which required a very small amount of skill, trying to keep your eyes off of someone was a game of chance. Holland had steadfastly kept his eyes away from Kell's favorite places to hang about: the balcony, overlooking the courtyard; the food tables where Kell would inevitably get caught up in polite conversation with the scores of nobility in attendence. The safest place to keep his eyes was on the rim of his glass—the contents of which he was hardly drinking; it was largely for appearances. He had arrived late, and it was his first. When he eventually finished it and poured himself another, it wouldn't be another of these. The second safest place to let his eyes drift was the dance floor; Kell wasn't much for dancing.

"I'm not Kell's keeper." Holland tipped his head slightly. "Try the dance floor."

"Sanct, he is here, isn't he?"

Even with his precautions, Holland had seen Kell a handful of times: once, when he first stepped foot inside the courtyard, he'd scanned the space—he could never feel safe if he didn't get a grasp on the situation—and he'd latched onto Kell's bright figure weaving easily through the crowds without thinking. Kell had looked even better than he had in Calla's tent; the sun was sinking over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings by then, dyeing the sky a warm orange that plunged into a deep red. Reds and oranges, they belonged to Kell. Later, he had made the mistake of glancing towards the tables set up around the edges of the courtyard, where Kell had sat chatting with a young blonde woman, his mouth turned into a polite, courteous smile. Yet another time, Kell was pouring a drink. And another. And another. He still moved and smiled as if he was completely unaffected, and it was both curiosity and a nagging concern that convinced Holland to watch Kell, deliberately, as he poured his fifth drink. Kell, he soon found out, was offering to get people drinks: the blonde woman from earlier, a stately noblewoman, a bright-eyed young man who gestured energetically.

Every time Holland's gaze got caught on Kell, it was harder and harder to wrest it away.

Holland lifted the glass to his lips again and turned slightly towards Lila. "He should be. Is something preventing you from searching for him yourself?"