That damned stalk festered for two nights in the garden. That was all it took for its power to wake the dragons in us all.
Walking out that second night, Jack and I stumbled over Sparrow and Robin in the gardens, twined as in Serana’s vision. I laughed in delight and embarrassment, trying to extricate myself. But Sparrow rose from the soil, drew her clothes about her in dark shame and fled before I could stop her. Robin lay there erect, miserable and moaning in the moon.
If only Sparrow could have trusted me. If only she could have believed that such a joyful sight is as old as earth to me. But she did not trust, and ran from us, locking herself away.
In the morning I stood on the landing before her door trying to find the words that might soften her humiliation. I left without knocking, feeling strongly the bolt and lock that shut all of us out.
That night I listened for sounds of her in the room below, as I am sure did Robin, but it was quiet. And after, she would walk the dog, go to work, come home, feed the dog, and then leave again. I caught a glimpse of her on the sidewalk one evening and was shocked to see her looking more like a common tart than the young woman I knew.
I fumed, full of doubt and worry. Was she the one who had read my letter? Did she tear away the lines of warning? Was the arum a gift to Robin from her own hands? Or was she being used by another to sow discord?
My anxiety grew even more when Serana’s pigeon arrived on my sill bearing the awful news, the missing lines that warned of the arum. As well as telling of the Queen seeking someone in the streets of a mortal city. Like Red Cap, like the glamoured Highborn. Serana’s words of warning deepened my resolve to watch over these two nest-starved birds. It was the least I could do for allowing the arum to root in the garden.