Una stayed hidden behind the plant, drawing in its scent until all traces of the women’s smells were gone. It wasn’t until she heard the familiar trod of Ovid’s feet that she emerged from the mossy corner.
“There you are, my little flower. I’ve been looking for you,” Ovid said. He studied her face, then furrowed his brow. “Is something troubling you, sweet pea?”
Una nodded. “Is my father going to marry again?”
Ovid’s face turned grave. “Yes, sweetling.”
“Why did no one tell me?”
“Your father wanted to tell you himself.”
“Well, he didn’t! I thought he was still sad.”
“He is, but a Magister must have a Magistrix, and it’s been too long that he’s gone without one. Perhaps this new wife will make him less sad.”
Una thought this over. She didn’t want her father to be sad, but she was still sad.
Ovid’s mouth softened at the sight of the bush with the heart-shaped leaves. “Your mother spent much time in this garden when she was expecting you.”
Una looked up at him. “She did?”
“No one loved these plants like she did, and no one has cared for them in quite the same way since she’s been gone. Perhaps you would like to learn?”
“Could I?”
Ovid nodded, and with that, the mossy corner—a corner that held unfortunately neither her mother nor her mother’s scent—carried the promise of something else. Something like sanctuary. And what a lucky thing that was. Though it seemed as if the last traces of her mother were about to be completely erased from the rest of the Official Residence, Una wouldn’t let that happen here.
Day after day, she found refuge in the courtyard garden. Ovid taught her to clip and prune while her father’s elaborate wedding plans were made. The plants never seemed to mind as she plucked off leaves and twisted branches to let their scent perfume the air. She weeded and watched and watered and waited. She guided her mother’s plants into shapes, turning bushes into balls, pyramids, and cubes, and eventually into more elaborate shapes, like fish, snakes, and dragons. She always let the scent of each plant govern what she did.
Inside the Official Residence, the shimmers of her mother’s scent were slowly being overpowered by the smell of paste, as Ruana bustled about making arrangements for a grand ceremony. It seemed as if all the archangels that had once hovered near had vanished, making it harder and harder for Una to remember that scent of her mother’s love.
Ruana would never be a mother to Una, for she was far too busy with other matters. The only time Ruana ever talked to her was when she asked if Una would like to wear a yellow dress or one of lavender? Would she like to carry a bouquet of orchids or petunias? Did she think chocolate was good for dessert or should there be fruit? Una never responded.
Once, Una caught Ruana looking at her oddly. Una got up and walked away, for she was certain that Ruana was thinking of ways to “get rid of the daughter.”
When the wedding day came, Una wore a yellow dress with lavender stripes. She carried a bouquet of orchids and petunias. She ate chocolate-covered fruit for dessert. Guests murmured how lovely the day was, but Una just wanted it to be over.
She looked at Ruana sitting next to her father. She seemed tiny, bird-like, but very sure of herself. Una’s father was the essence of power, all muscle and ceremonial braids, might and self-assurance that matched Ruana’s own. Ruana now sat in her mother’s seat, took her mother’s place at the table, and would speak while her mother never would again. It made Una’s mouth chalky.
At the far end of the table was a very solemn little boy with a halo of black crinkly hair. He had a sweet face the same shape as her father’s. Una’s heart squeezed inside of her. Here was the brother she had yearned to love when he was born.
The brother who had been kept from her.
The brother who had caused her mother’s death. She felt her face harden.
He glanced at Una and flinched as if he were afraid of her. Una put the chocolate-covered fruit down on her plate and left the table.
The wedding over, Ruana quickly settled into the Official Residence. Ruana’s presence made her mother’s absence so much more pronounced. The scent of paste lay heavy in the air and became stronger as it grew clear that a new baby was on the way. Una was soon going to have another sibling.
