Chương 464: Chapter 459 - Botanical rendezvous

Candleaf. Shallow-rooted spring annual, self-sown overwintered seedling. Bud formation probable within nine days. Moisture sufficient. Saint's Glove. Shallow-rooted spring annual, overwintered. Bud formation probable within fourteen days. Soil slightly wet. Kingwort. Late-spring perennial. Bud formation not initiated. Season premature. Pale Betony. Compact spring perennial. Bud formation probable within four days. Moisture sufficient. White Foxwold— Slate paused, observing the foxwold.

She lowered her face closer to it. One pale flower had opened ahead of the rest, leaning outward from the stem, its inner throat spotted with dark flecks. The stigma brushed the tip of her nose. The sensation was soft. She pulled her brow together. White Foxwold. Vulpicandela. Second-year flowering after winter chill. Her head turned. She examined the other budding flora arranged in the same bed. White Foxwold did not belong. Foxwold was biennial. Its first-year rosettes would crowd the lower spring growth.

Its second-year stalks would break the intended height of the bed. If allowed to ripen, its capsules would split and cast seed into the neighbouring beds. White Foxwold constituted bed contamination. Her head tilted to the side. Why was it here? She focused on it. Understanding took time. Seven seconds passed. Then she nodded. Foxwold was not supposed to have been planted here. It belonged on the northward side of Hamet Garden, with the shade herbs and cold-soil biennials.

It had been planted out the previous year as a first-year rosette and mistaken for acceptable spring groundcover. The error had persisted through winter. Flowering had made it legible. Slate withdrew her face from the plant. She stood, turning to Nol'viz. They watched her patiently.

"These specimens are not edible for the normative human," she said.

"The procedure for extracting applicable toxins from them is unreliable outside controlled preparation, and sixty-nine per cent require deliberate seasonal maintenance to flower in Elystead's climate. Your hypothesis was incorrect. Their purpose is likely purely visual appreciation." Nol'viz's three eyes shifted towards the flowerbed.

"We see."

"You are disappointed."

"No."

"Content."

"No." Slate considered them. She lowered her gaze, glancing at the shadows gathered along the inner edges of the bed beneath the low fence enclosing it.

"Appetitive." There was a period of silence. Slate looked back at Nol'viz. They were evaluating. Eventually, they nodded.

"Yes."

"I see." Slate turned and walked out of the secluded alcove. Mostly bare hedges enclosed it on three sides, leaving only a narrow opening back into the maze. She looked in both directions, then turned left. It was the direction they had come from. It was incorrect. But she was emulating chance. Chance was not optimal. Nol'viz's suggestions were rarely optimal. But they were suppositionally interesting. Slate had not always agreed after attempting them. However, she had learned.

She walked between the clipped hedge walls until she reached a junction. She looked left, then right. Then she followed right. Five more choices made through the same procedure brought her to a passage she had already traversed. A near-loop. A statistical irregularity. She paused at the next junction. Her attention moved to the shadows cast by the hedge wall on her left.

"I have failed." Nol'viz gathered from the shade. Their red robe formed first, spilling upwards before the white mask surfaced from the dark. One sleeve lifted, and they pointed down the right-hand path. Slate's eyes followed the gesture. She looked back at Nol'viz. Nol'viz met her look. They tilted their head. A strand of pale hair drifted at the edge of the mask. Slate leaned her head the other way. Their decision was based on where the shadows lay thickest. It was a poor approximation of pure chance.

However, enough confounding factors were present to prevent complete predictability: hedge height, sun angle, wall curvature, previous pruning irregularities. Very well. Slate walked in the indicated direction. Their progress improved by a measurable degree. There were fewer suboptimal turns. Approaching twenty-one per cent fewer. It appeared that the distribution of sunlight across the hedge walls represented a statistically useful navigational bias at this time of day. Nol'viz was correct on this occasion.

That was interesting. Slate considered understanding why this was. Then she chose not to. Choice was uncomfortable, but she had learned that choice in minute moderation was acceptable. Nol'viz stopped abruptly beside her. Slate halted as well, glancing at them, then narrowed her eyes, focusing through the hedge corridor ahead. The path bent left after several paces. Beyond the bend, there was something that had not been there before.

"Strange," Nol'viz said.

"Yes," Slate replied. They regarded each other. Then Slate turned away and began walking back the way they had come. She stopped after six steps, looking over her shoulder. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Nol'viz was not moving. Their eyes blinked slowly towards the bend.

"It is curious."

"Is it?" Nol'viz's pupils contracted. They contemplated. Then they nodded.

"Yes." Slate looked in the same direction.

"Do you wish to explore?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then I will investigate." Slate turned again. She moved down the passage, distributing her attention across sight, sound, and all movement around her. Scarlett had instructed her not to let her guard down. The phrase was idiomatic. There was no guard to lower. It meant sustaining awareness of potential danger.

Danger was an imprecise category, but Slate had established three relevant subcategories: threats to continued life, threats of capture, and threats capable of producing consequences Scarlett would deem inconvenient. The last category had initially been deemed imprecise as well, but further consideration had revealed it sufficient. Nol'viz dispersed beside her, drifting along the hedge-shadow as Slate now followed the most efficient route through the maze.

It took one minute and forty-three seconds to reach their destination. The passage narrowed first, then descended by three shallow steps. The hedge walls rose higher there, thick enough to block most outside light. Halfway down, the corridor bent left. Slate approached the turn, passed the opening by two steps, then stopped and looked back. Another isolated alcove lay beyond it. This one was larger than the previous space they had examined.

Flowerbeds formed a ring around a low stone basin, but none of the plants had bloomed yet. Their stems were green, clipped, and spaced according to projected height. Slate recognised the structure of the design. It was another ornamental viewing arrangement. This was understandable. Superfluous, but recognisable as a purpose humans pursued. Less recognisable was the reason for placing an observation space inside a structure designed to produce disorientation. The combination reduced efficiency in both functions.

Her assessment of the place's purpose moved to a lower priority as she held the person kneeling near the centre of the flowerbed ring in her gaze. Human. Female. Adolescent. White dress beneath a brown cloak. Pale gloves. Gold hair gathered into a braid beneath a linen coif. No weapon. Unlikely to be a threat. Slate studied the girl closely. She was kneeling before a small marble relief of a flower set into the stone basin, her back to Slate. The girl was mourning. Slate was aware of this process.

Humans utilised it to acknowledge loss. Memorials such as gravestones were traditionally erected for deceased or absent people, but human attachment was transferable and flexible. It could settle on stones. Flowers. Names. Rooms. Objects without practical function. Did humans exhibit mourning differently? Slate had observed mourning in Fyntrarth Grehaldrael previously. He did not reduce his vigilance when mourning. This girl did not seem to display the same pattern. She had failed to notice Slate.

Caution indicated that Slate should now depart. She had confirmed the unexpected presence. No further action was required. Yet Nol'viz had expressed a wish to understand. It was not necessary. But it could be accommodated. Slate narrowed her eyes, reducing peripheral distraction. This girl was— Slate paused. She… blinked. She narrowed her eyes further. This girl was Hilde Priscilla Verddun Teronia. Hilde Priscilla Verddun Teronia was the Second Star of the Graenal Empire. Slate frowned.

A star was a luminous celestial body. Hilde Priscilla Verddun Teronia was not a celestial body. Second Star was an epithet and imperial designation for a daughter of the reigning emperor. Hilde Priscilla Verddun Teronia was an imperial princess. Slate relaxed her eyes. She nodded once. This girl was odd. Odd was partially unknown. But she was now largely understood. What was not understood, however… was fascinating. Fascinating was attention that persisted without instruction.

Instruction placed demands on proper structure. Fascination was structureless. Did fascination suggest preference? Had Slate assimilated Nol'viz's desire to explore? She lowered her gaze to the shadow at her feet. Perhaps. She took one step forward. A twig snapped. Slate stopped. Her head turned, focusing on the broken stem extending from the hedge, caught beneath the edge of her robe. She looked ahead again. A pair of blue eyes now watched her. Slate had now been seen.

Human social convention altered after being seen. Leaving could be interpreted as suspicious. Did that apply to Slate? She was uncertain, so she waited. The girl slowly rose. Her expression did not show the usual sequence of activity most humans exhibited. There was minimal movement across her features, suggesting calm. Or was this a natural adolescent presentation prior to full adult maturity? Slate considered it. She had observed human children in Elystead and Freybrook.

All displayed broader facial variation than this girl. A similar pattern applied to the offspring of Grehalyr. The probable conclusion was that this girl was an outlier. An outlier was—"Who are you?" the girl asked in a subdued voice. Slate stopped understanding. She regarded the girl. Then she answered.

"I am Slate."

"Slate…?" The girl's eyebrows lifted by a minor degree. Her gaze moved over Slate's robes, then to the shadow beneath her, then to the alcove around them. Slate tilted her head.

"You are wondering why I am here?" The girl looked back at her. After two seconds, she nodded.

"We were exploring," Slate said.

"We…?" the girl repeated quietly.

"You were mourning." There was a silence. Slate recognised it. Humans produced this silence when a true statement had been placed in an unsuitable position. A pause used in response. Openly identifying another person's mourning was unsuitable. Unsuitable statements required correction. Slate searched for the correction. Clarifying the statement would not help. An apology might be expected, but apology required regret. Slate did not regret observing correctly.

"Mm," the girl said, glancing back at the marble relief. Slate interrupted her search. Her statement had been accepted. The silence had been subdued. She shifted her focus to the relief.

"Why?" she asked. The relief bore no name, crest, or dedication. Only the flower, depicting a rose. It had been erected fifty-seven years prior by a senior groundskeeper responsible for this section of the garden. Its position suggested commemoration of the alcove itself, not a specific corpse. Fifty-seven years exceeded the girl's lifespan. It was unlikely to hold direct personal significance through age, ownership, or proximity to death. Were imperial princesses traditionally related to groundskeepers?

It seemed not. The girl did not speak for another ten seconds.

"…My mother brought me here once." Slate tilted her head.

"Is one occasion sufficient to develop attachment?"

"Mm." The girl's eyes remained on the marble relief.

"It is."

"I see." She had not been aware of this. The girl turned back to her, examining her more carefully. Her gaze lowered again, settling on the darkness beneath Slate.

"Who are they?" she asked. Slate experienced surprise. The girl had perceived Nol'viz. Why was this? Nol'viz had not manifested. Their outline was dispersed. Detection should have required affinity, prior exposure, or abnormal perception. This girl was Hilde Priscilla Verddun Teronia. Hilde Priscilla Verddun Teronia was the Second Star of the Graenal Empire. The Second Star of the Graenal Empire was, in all functional respects, an ordinary girl. An ordinary girl would not notice Nol'viz. Slate's brow furrowed.

Hilde Priscilla Verddun Teronia was an ordinary girl. Yet she was not ordinary. This did not follow conventional logic. Slate realised that she had not answered the question posed to her. It was a problematic question. It pressed against Scarlett's third subcategory. But Slate was now curious. She was not given time to consider the proper response. Nol'viz rose from the shadow before her. The princess drew one breath. Sharper than baseline respiration, but not loud.

"You are observant," Nol'viz whispered. The princess stared at them, watching the three lavender eyes set into Nol'viz's mask. Slate had observed that those eyes often drew attention. She had been informed that they were 'creepy'. As were her own. Yet this princess showed no clear anxiety. No fear. Her breathing had altered, but her posture had not.

"You were hiding," the girl said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We are good at hiding." Slate looked at Nol'viz. That was an accurate statement. It was also incomplete. An incomplete truth concealed cause. Concealment was not identical to lying. It produced a similar result. Nol'viz had lied by result. Slate had not seen this from them before. The princess studied Nol'viz for four seconds. Her expression did not change much, but she had recognised the incompletion. Was the lie poor?

"Do you know—" the princess began. Nol'viz stepped towards her. Interest was visible in the movement, without haste. Metal sounded. A white helm crested with a small silver dragon rose above the hedge bordering the alcove. A gauntlet closed around the hilt of the greatsword angled behind one shoulder. Slate identified the figure instantly. Holdger 'The Mammoth'. Fifth Sword of the Royal Guard. His gaze fixed on Nol'viz. His arm drew up, pulling at the sword. Then stopped.

A black gauntlet had closed around his wrist. The Mammoth turned his head, looking at the armoured figure standing beside him. Carnwedain.

"You are here?" Nol'viz spoke with mild surprise.

"Why?" Carnwedain met the Mammoth's gaze. Then he looked to Nol'viz.

"Danger." The Mammoth tried to move his arm. Metal groaned as Carnwedain's grip held it still. Slate watched them. Two knights. Two charges. Two opposing definitions of protection. Would they fight?

"Holdger," a small voice sounded. The Mammoth's hand stilled. He looked to the princess. She looked between Slate, Nol'viz, Carnwedain, and the drawn tension of her Sword.

"Don't…" The Mammoth remained motionless. Then his fingers loosened from the sword hilt. Carnwedain released him. The two towering figures faced each other. Slate returned her attention to the princess. The girl's eyes moved over the scene once more, then settled on Slate.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"Do you want to leave?"