Baba coughed only once during this recitation, but Julien could see that the message awoke some kind of emotion in him. Julien had never heard of silva flowers and didn’t much care about them. Unless they could bring Baba health and new life, he had other, more pressing things to think about—like getting Baba warm and fed.
At home, Julien wrapped Baba in their one blanket. It did little to quell his shivering. He was afraid Baba had done too much that day and the consequences would be long-lasting. But maybe tonight sleep would settle into his chest and bind up whatever was broken and loosen whatever was restricted. Maybe tonight sleep would heal him.
It was into these worries that Baba said, “The Magister used to request silva flowers for the first Magistrix once a year, always for their anniversary.”
Julien had already forgotten about the messenger and the request for the silva flower. From his bag, he pulled a handful of dried grass, leaves, and twigs he had picked up on the way home and set it in their hearth to start a fire.
“I heard that after she died, the Magister never once asked for another silva.” Baba was silent a moment, lost in his thoughts.
“Did you ever see her? The first Magistrix?” Julien drew the steel against his flint, throwing a spark into the small pile of tinder. The pile didn’t ignite, so he tried again.
“See her? Oh, yes. I knew her quite well.”
That startled Julien and the steel glanced off the flint. “You knew her? How? Why didn’t you tell me that you knew her?”
“That was a long time ago—before you were born.”
Julien struck the steel against the flint again, throwing several sparks into the dry tinder. This time, one caught hold, and he nursed the flame, feeding it with small twigs until it grew into a steady fire.
“What was she like?” Julien asked, hanging a small kettle of water above the fire.
Baba smiled. “She was a lovely woman. Aside from your mother, she was the kindest person I ever knew. When the Magistrix smiled, the whole world smiled with her. Once you knew her, you couldn’t help but do your best to delight her.”
“How did you meet her, Baba?”
“I came upon her enormous caravan as she journeyed to the city. I could tell she was important because of the number of people accompanying her, but I didn’t know she was soon to be the Magistrix. She stopped the caravan when she saw me collecting and asked what I was doing. I told her that I was gathering angel’s wings. She laughed and asked me what they were. I gave her a small bouquet of the finest ones that I had found that day. She lifted them to her nose and breathed them in. ‘This,’ she said, ‘is like breathing in light.’ ”
Julien wondered what it felt like to breathe in light. He checked the water. It was beginning to steam.
Baba continued, “She never forgot a face, and when I saw her next, she asked how I was, and how my family was. I told her that I didn’t have a family yet. ‘Surely you must want a family?’ she asked. I was too embarrassed to tell her that I hadn’t enough money to support a family, but she guessed. She gave me that flint and steel. She said it was a payment for the flowers I had given her before. I didn’t want to accept it, for they had been a gift, but she insisted. So I brought her more angel’s wings the next time I found some. And she gave me this blanket. I brought her another bouquet, and she gave me that kettle. Every time I tried to repay her, she found a way to give me something back—something that I would need to support a family.”
Julien found himself warmed by the generosity of this woman.
“Eventually, she requested that I become her chief gardener and I cultivated angel’s wings for her, because she said they were quickly growing to be her favorite scent. But she really marveled when I brought her some after a frost. When it gets cold enough, the frost forms crystals along the leaves, turning them into wings—miniatures of the kind you could believe belong to archangels. She was absolutely delighted and kept bouquets of them chilled so she could enjoy the delicate ice.”
“She sounds like she was a wonderful person.” The water was ready, so Julien broke the hard bread into a bowl, then poured the steaming water over it, stirring to soften the bread. “What happened? Why are you no longer head gardener at the Official Residence?”
Baba smiled wistfully. “A much more important job came along.”
“What could have been more important than being head gardener at the Official Residence?”
“You, my son. You.”
Julien stopped stirring and looked at the softness in Baba’s eyes. When his mother died, someone had to take care of him. That someone was Baba. It never occurred to him that being a father would leave no time to tend the gardens of the Magistrix.
“You gave up a lot.”
“I received even more.”
Once the bread softened, Julien gave the porridge a final stir, and handed the bowl and spoon to Baba.
“There is too much here,” Baba said. “You must take some.”
“I’ve already had some,” Julien lied. “The bread expands. That’s why it looks like more. Besides, I had some wood sorrel and cress while we were out collecting.”
“I think you’re lying to me,” Baba said, with a shrewd look in his eye. “But I also know you won’t eat if I don’t, so I’ll make you a deal. I’ll eat what I can, and then you eat the rest, yes?”
Julien agreed, and settled at Baba’s feet. “I’m sorry you gave up being head gardener for me.”
“You weren’t the only reason. There was a rather nasty under-gardener who was quite ambitious. He was happy to take my place. But he never had the light touch that the angel’s wings needed. I heard a blight came through and killed all of them.”
Baba took a bite of the porridge.
Julien puckered his eyebrows. “I don’t understand. If angel’s wings were the Magistrix’s favorite scent, why did the Magister give her silva flowers?”
Baba paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth. He set the spoon back into the bowl. “I’ve wondered that myself for many years. I think perhaps it had more to do with the Magister than the Magistrix.”
“What do you mean?”
“The silva flower is very rare. It’s difficult to find because it grows in wet soil—bogs, usually—and it blooms only once a year at night, although you can force it to bloom other times. Angel’s wings, on the other hand, flower throughout the season, and will continue to flower until the weather changes and they freeze. I think he saw the Magistrix as a rare bloom, and he wanted to give her something as rare and as precious as he thought she was.”
Julien nodded, thinking about his rare and precious father, then watched Baba eat until he was satisfied that he had enough.
