Foxglove

A microfiction. Thank you to my friend Curt Thompson for creating The Night Garden.

“Step forward and speak.”

The young woman, dressed simply but elegantly in a tasteful pink high-waisted dress, quietly stepped up and curtsied precisely. “Good evening, your grace. My name is Foxglove. I’m told that newcomers to Jonquil must present themselves to the court. I hope to make my home and pursue my arts here in this beautiful land. I paint and write poetry.”

Narcisse, impassive, paused before responding. “I never forget a face or voice, and yours seem oddly familiar. Have you been to my kingdom before?”

“No, your grace. I’m told my ancestors lived in Jonquil long ago, but this is my first visit.” She curtsied again, the picture of hopeful humility.

Barely visible beneath the porcelain half-mask, the ruler’s perfect lips curled into a mysterious smile. “I am very old, child. Far older than I look. Perhaps I knew some distant forebear of yours.” Narcisse looked around the chamber. “I value the Garden’s advice. Do any object to this immigrant?”

Melpomene Adeyemi, golden tiara and riotous fuschia gown capturing everyone’s attention, was as usual the first to speak. “She seems lovely and I look forward experiencing her art, your grace.”

“I agree with Lady Blackcurrant,” rasped Count Convolvulus from the shadows. “My dear, perhaps you could visit my estate to discuss the great poets and share a drink.”

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” Foxglove replied, smiling demurely, “and I must confess my tastes run towards a thinner wine than you prefer.”

Many in the court laughed softly. “I like her!” declared Lady Tamarisk from behind her cocktail glass. “This dainty flower hides a thorn!”

“Indeed,” Narcisse murmured. “Such grace and charm shall serve her agenda in Jonquil quite well.”

Did the monarch know? Foxglove remained relaxed, calm, beautiful, as the silence stretched out for a long moment.

“You intrigue me, child, and I suspect you will eventually bring me great amusement. I have not had a court poet for many years. You will do me the honor of assuming that role. Welcome to the Night Garden, Lady Foxglove.”

The room erupted in whispers. The ever fickle Narcisse had done it again, and they had a new peer to incorporate into their schemes and alliances.

“You honor me beyond all expectation, your grace. Of course I shall comply.” Foxglove bowed her head deeply as it threatened to start spinning. This was happening far faster than she had expected.

She pictured the tiny book hidden carefully in a secret pocket of her elegant handbag. The meticulous plan written in it would have to be adjusted. She pictured the list of names, names she’d had memorized since she was a child. Soon, she thought. Mama, Papa, they’re all going to pay for what they did to us.

Narcisse, ever unknowable, just smiled enigmatically.