A Star of Darkness

As Vesper entered the Royal Gardener’s workshop, humid air and the scents of moss and soil curled around her like a hug. Portia sat at the end of the long worktable that occupied the bulk of the room.

The workshop was part rustic lab, part greenhouse: a long narrow building attached to the east side of Solana’s palace, with a courtyard just in front, and gardens and hothouses sprawling before it. The rear wall was made of stone, but the rest of aged planks. Thick rafters supported a copper roof and solid beams made up the window frames—around which flowering vines crawled. Immediately bordering the outer wall was a garden containing the botanicals of every Calyx in the retinue.

Portia, barely visible behind an easel as she read from the large tome open in front of her, looked up when Vesper came in, brightening. Vesper still wore her workout clothes: a bralette and a pair of cotton shorts that ensured the majority of her skin was bare, so less raw materials were lost. Once the fragrant sweat had soaked into fabric it was of no use anymore.

Portia got to her feet. “You could have taken the time to bathe and change. Grab one of the spare wraps. Where is Morpho?”

“Just refueling. He’ll join us soon.”

Vesper’s skin was no longer damp with sweat, the pollinators had harvested it all, but the heady scent of her cereus blossoms left a trail of perfume. She plucked a green silk robe from one of the brass hooks behind the door and shrugged it on, tying the belt as she went over to the gardener, passing the chaos and clutter of Portia’s work. Empty pots of all sizes and materials, seedlings just coming to life, trays of bulbs, packets of seeds, soil samples, notebooks, textbooks, gardening tools, ampoules of mysterious liquids, test tubes, and testing kits sprawled across the workshop tables. Portia, who had never been Calyx, was nevertheless equal to the task of leading them. She knew how to get the best out of her retinue. She had once worked for the queen of Boskaya, a notoriously difficult monarch to please.

Portia’s brown and yellow finch familiar, Siksin, was asleep in a makeshift nest made out of a kerchief. The Royal Gardener had a full head of curly brown hair that hid her ears, but Vesper knew their tips were softening. The laugh lines at the corners of her eyes were barely visible, but her little bird had slowed down a lot and gone gray around the beak. It made Vesper’s heart ache to see how much he had aged since she joined the Calyx two years ago. At thirty-two—the youngest Honorable Gardener on record—Portia was past the prime of her flora fae magic. When it dissipated altogether, Siksin would die and Portia would no longer be able to conjure echinacea. This was the tragedy of being flora fae, which the Calyx mostly didn’t talk about. Vesper couldn’t bear the thought of losing Morpho, but she’d lost so many loved ones already that she knew she’d survive. Once, she believed that the pain of loss might actually kill her, but now she knew better. Grief never went away entirely, but it backed into the shadows enough to let normal life resume. One day she might even be happy again.

She took a seat on the stool Portia offered, giddy with anticipation. “When Teyvik told me my reports were ready, I couldn’t wait.”

The gardener took her own chair again. “Honestly, Vesper, you don’t need to treat every summons like an emergency. But I understand. You’ve been working hard and I know you’re keen to see your results. Believe me, I’m keen to show them to you.”

Quarterly sales results were calculated by palace accountants whose sole responsibility was to Solana’s Perfumery. They delivered the reports to Portia as they were ready, and she reviewed them before going over them privately with each of her flora fae. But the reports arrived in alphabetical order, which meant Vesper was third to last, ahead of only Wisteria and Zinnia. Even the flora fae connected to ylang ylang had chosen the binomial name Cananga for herself.

Quarter ends were either a time to celebrate or a time for disappointment. Even so, their work carried on, and Vesper was scheduled to work tonight’s ball.

Eyes shining with pleasure, Portia produced the familiar green envelope stamped with the stylized cereus blossoms that were Vesper’s brand. Handing it over, the gardener propped her chin in one hand to watch. Vesper’s folders were always thick, but this one was the heaviest yet.

She unwrapped the delicate thread and opened the folder. The top sheet held the quarter’s sum total, and Vesper’s gaze went straight to the bottom of the page. She stared at the royalty number, her share of sales. It was enough to buy a section of land, maybe not on a coastline, but still… she wondered if there had been some kind of tallying error.

There was more.

The top sheet included the names of several other Calyx whose compounds had been used in formulas that were predominantly Vesper’s. Her own name appeared on many other top sheets, because cereus was useful as a preservative, among other things. Those royalties would be tallied on the sheet behind this one.

Portia laughed at the look on Vesper’s face. “I went over the results twice with Kieran. Your colognes are a hit. Especially Eclipse and Chamfron. I thought last quarter set a record, but you’ve nearly doubled your royalties this quarter. I’m so proud of you.”

Vesper shook her head in amazement. When Portia had taken a chance on the ragged, nineteen-year-old urchin who appeared unannounced and uninvited at Solana’s gates, Vesper had prayed that she wouldn’t disappoint the gardener. She’d been told how lucky she was by more people than she could count. The previous Royal Gardener, a male named Ilishec, would never have accepted a flora fae of her age. Portia had changed a few things when she took over, and one of them was to keep an open mind when older fae with unique abilities came along. It helped that Vesper’s botanical, while not overly rare, blossomed only once a year and for only twelve hours. She could produce the stunning, richly scented cactus blossoms at will and prolifically.

For her first four months as Calyx, Vesper’s raw materials were barely usable. It was only when she overheard Peony warning Lily how emotional distress could ruin batches for weeks that she realized what was wrong: she was letting trauma participate in everything she was doing. She sought Portia’s advice, artfully dodging the gardener’s gentle inquiries about the details. Portia gave Vesper a list of simple instructions, a relaxation and focusing routine to go through before every workout session. It wasn’t easy, but it eventually worked. Now, before any workout session, Vesper spent nearly an hour putting her mind into a state of complete tranquility. She’d managed to master her mind so well that sometimes it took her several minutes after a workout to remember the fake name she’d given Portia. Within two months of adding this practice, and with the addition of Mrs. Tierney’s elixirs, Vesper’s products began to sell out, first the ladies’ perfumes, now the men’s line.

“You’ve made the top ten, Vesper,” Portia told her, eyes shining with pride. “To think the filthy little orphan who begged me for a chance would rise to such heights, and in less than two years. I knew you would be a star; I just didn’t know you’d achieve it so quickly. You really are living a dream.”

Vesper wasn’t sure what to say to this. Once, her life had been a dream. Once, she’d been an innocent faeling with a loving family. Once, she’d harvested sunflowers with her mother, squished grapes with her bare feet alongside her father, dug forts into hillsides with her brothers, and rode horses bareback, reaching up for branches so she could swing up into the trees. In one night, her life had turned into a nightmare; everything had changed. Now, this was her life: perfumes and parties, workouts, chemistry, flowers, and orphanhood. Now, she had a beautiful apartment all her own, the most luxurious gowns and the finest food anyone could want, and many other distractions besides, distractions that helped her ignore the dark and hollow place inside her. Heart or soul, she wasn’t sure which was empty. Maybe both.

Portia went over Vesper’s latest chemical profiles, discussing the important ones in detail and giving her feedback on how she could increase the output of these, while decreasing the less desirable isolates.

“Teyvik has confirmed that some of your compounds will be useful for the new cosmetics line,” Portia said as she tucked away the profile results.

Vesper perked at the mention of the as-yet undeveloped line of beauty products that Portia had convinced the queen to take a risk on. Cosmetics were an opportunity that had only become achievable when the right blend of Calyx were engaged with the retinue—and Vesper was a key, for without some of her isolates, cosmetics wouldn’t be possible at all—and the right chemists were on staff. Vesper’s heart beat faster thinking about the possibilities that lay ahead. Every gold sovereign she earned was a brick with which she could build a secure future for herself and Morpho.

“I suspect that this quarter’s performance might be only the beginning for you, my dear.” Portia smiled at Vesper’s eagerness. “But I want you to take time off to rest and recuperate before we tackle the new formulations.”

Vesper wilted. She never knew what to do with time off. She was happiest when every minute of her day was occupied. 

“I really don’t need it. I promise.”

“It’s not a suggestion, Vesper,” said Portia. “Burning out is not an option. You’re too important. Let me rephrase: you’ve made yourself too important. This is what it means to be among the top ten.”

“But I’ve never felt further from burning out. I—”

Portia held up her hand to stop her. “Now that we’ve gone over the numbers, let’s move on to the health and happiness portion of your review.”

Vesper braced herself. She’d been through enough of these to know what was coming.

Portia’s earth-brown eyes softened. “I cannot possibly tell you that I’m disappointed with you in any way, Vesper. You are fit and strong and as exquisite as any fae among the retinue, but I still have concerns that you’re isolating yourself from the rest of the retinue. Have you made any good friends that I’m not aware of?”

“Well, Stefanos and I—”

“I’ve spoken to Stefanos. He told me that after he helped you with your cologne formulations, you ditched him.”

Vesper’s cheeks heated. Portia made her sound so fickle, or worse, like a user, which… wasn’t wrong.

“I didn’t… ditch him, exactly.”

The gardener’s forehead pleated. “You take all your down time alone, even your meals. Rose, Lily, Daisy, Iris, Nympha, Jessamine… they’ve all at one time or another tried to befriend you, and they’ve all reported the same thing: You’re polite but distant. You’ve made it impossible for anyone to get to know you. Some say you’re cold, and they all say that it’s obvious that you don’t want friends.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Vesper apologetically. “I’m sorry, but my botanical is a cactus, Gardener. I don’t mean to be prickly, but it is my personality.”

Portia’s expression turned skeptical. “You’re not really using that as an excuse, are you?”

“Why not? Gardenia cries if her elixirs are too alkaline. Hydrangea faints if she doesn’t get enough water, and Rose gets fatigued if she has too much water too close to sundown. Why is it so hard to believe that I’m better off alone?”

Portia let out a weary sigh. “You want to go down that road, Vesper, fine, I’ll use your own logic against you. Plants in the wild develop symbiotic relationships with other plants. Cereus appreciates a warm, dry environment, which plenty of other botanicals also prefer. Even Ilishec documented how much better flora fae do when they have a network to support them, the same as all plants—and animals too, I might add.”

Vesper chewed her lip. “But being a loner hasn’t hurt my earnings or my performance.”

“I can’t argue with you there, but with the right support, you might even reach number one.”

Vesper gave Portia a blank look. She didn’t care about being number one; she only cared that she made enough to afford any kind of life she wanted when her time here was done.

Portia could see that Vesper wasn’t tempted and took another approach. “You act as though I’m expecting you to become the life of every party, but that’s not it at all. By next quarter, I need to see that you’ve developed a friendly relationship with at least one other fae. It’s not too much to ask, and I promise you’ll be surprised by how much it benefits you.”

Vesper slouched, defeated. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” Portia glanced at the clock. “You’d better go. Olinya wants to see you early. I’m sorry to have missed Morpho. How is he?”

“He’s well, Gardener. Healthy and strong.”

“Wonderful. Happy to hear that.”

The gardener walked her to the door. “I don’t expect to see you for one full week, unless you’re lounging on the lawn sipping an elixir. Got it?”

“Yes, Gardener.”

“And have Morpho come and see me as soon as possible.”

“I will, Gardener.”

A health check for every familiar was part of the quarterly meeting, but Morpho hated being checked over. Vesper knew he had dawdled, hoping to be forgotten altogether. She couldn’t blame him. Checkups were stressful. They had hidden Morpho’s unusual magic, afraid that his ability might be held against them. There wasn’t a soul in Solana who knew that Morpho could take the form of any moth he chose, and even some that didn’t exist in nature. Vesper didn’t know how Portia would react if she found out, so whenever they weren’t alone, Morpho remained in the luna moth shape that he’d been in when they’d first walked through the city gates.

* * *

After a quick supper, washed down by one of Mrs. Tierney’s elixirs, Vesper hurried to her rooms on the second floor in the East Keep of the palace, already dreaming up ways of keeping herself busy: She would hunt and go for long, solitary rides. And she would lure Teyvik aside to see if he’d give her a specific list of compounds he needed for the cosmetics line. Certain isolates were harder to produce, requiring more control over the flow of magic through her body. If she had a better idea of what he needed, then she could practice.

Morpho was still out in the garden, but he’d come in when Vesper went to the tailors’ den to be dressed. She bathed, shampooing her hair and washing with an unscented soap that wouldn’t interfere with her natural fragrance. As she dried herself with a fluffy towel, she hummed the music of one of the dances the Calyx would be performing that evening, going through the steps in her mind.

After putting on a slip, she wrapped herself in a robe of hand-painted silk, pale pink cereus blossoms cascading along her back. One of the palace embroiderers had stitched Morpho’s likeness over her chest.

Several other Calyx were already in the den, standing on the tailoring pedestals and having their costumes fitted. A pair of couturiers had Vesper step up on her own platform, positioned in front of three mirrors. Her job was to stand still, lift her arms when asked, and patiently endure the application of skirts, a structured bodice, and a headdress. Olinya’s gowns never failed to draw gasps from the crowd, but Vesper had grown accustomed to their lavish construction and beauty. This one was ink blue with pale pink and white blossoms painted in a spray across the skirt. Boning ensured the bodice—which was backless—stayed in place.

Once the gown had been assembled around her, Vesper was sent to a vanity table. She watched for Morpho to arrive while a makeup artist painted her face, her back, and down one arm. Portia favored body art and the enhancing of the Calyx’s already exotic features with cosmetics that came all the way from Stavarjak. Some said they’d been imported from the Terran realm. Vesper had overheard some of the more senior Calyx complain privately about the addition of paint; it wasn’t something Ilishec had ever used. But the newer Calyx loved how it further enhanced their beauty. Vesper didn’t care either way. Balls were where popularity was forged, customers cultivated, royalties boosted. Whatever would help her leave the Calyx with the fattest purse possible, she would willingly endure, she just wished it didn’t take quite so long or tickle quite so much.

Her costume complete, her hair done, her dancing slippers donned, Vesper left the tailors’ den and made her way to the lounge where the first shift of Calyx waited for the flutes to trill. Pushing through the big double doors, she cast about the parlor for Morpho.

Jessamine, Aster, and Rose—an inseparable threesome—sat on overstuffed upholstery, sipping nectar and chatting, each dressed in one of Olinya’s jaw-dropping creations. Skimming over them and a cluster of male Calyx, looking dashing and colorful, Vesper frowned when she didn’t see her moth. When he hadn’t come to the den, she expected he’d be waiting for her here, ready to perform. Familiars had important parts in performances too.

Aster held a delicate flute of green liquid in her long, thin fingers. Her familiar, a leafcutter bee named Chile, sat on top of her dark curls. “What’s wrong, Vesper? You look worried.”

“Have you seen Morpho?”

Jessamine looked over her shoulder, her gray eyes lined with sparkly kohl, her long brunette curls stacked on top of her head. Her bat sat on her shoulder, a tiny dark shape no larger than an acorn, watching with glistening ink-drop eyes. He shook his head. Vesper wasn’t sure if he was shaking something out of his ear, or saying No, we haven’t seen your moth. She guessed it was the latter. Jessamine’s familiar was frightfully intelligent.

“Not since earlier today, in the garden,” said Jessamine.

But Rose said: “I saw him in the hall after I came out of the den. He looked like he was headed for your apartment.”

Vesper thanked her and left the room, hurrying so that she would be back in time. She returned to her suite, calling for him as she entered. Most Calyx knew where their familiar was at all times through the magic that linked them, but Vesper and Morpho had never been strongly connected in that way. They could feel one another’s presence and emotions only when they were physically close to one another. He could pick up on her thoughts if they were directed at him, but he couldn’t return any thoughts back to her. She didn’t know whether that was her failing or his; however, they had developed other ways of communicating, utilizing Morpho’s unique magic.

As she searched the room, she sensed an increase in anxiety that did not belong to her, coming from the direction of her writing desk. She spied her familiar there, perched on the side of a feather quill, and moved toward him with relief. But Morpho’s antennae twitched madly, and she covered a cry with her hand when she saw the reason for his agitation.

On the blotter, making small individual circles in perfect unison, were more than a dozen large black houseflies: fat, with buzzing wings, also in unison, and little hooked feet that Vesper could hear scratching the surface of her blotter. A cold feeling stalked through her. Flies didn’t particularly bother her, but here in her private quarters, she disliked having any insect that wasn’t a familiar. The fact that these flies were moving in unison didn’t help. It looked like they were under some kind of spell.

“Shoo!” She waved a hand over them hoping they would break formation and leave through the open window. “Or I’ll squash you all flat.”

At the sound of her voice, the flies did break out of their dizzying circles. They began to crawl in different directions, and as they did so, their bodies lit up, turning first red, then orange. They reminded her of fireflies, but these insects were much less pleasant. Her breath caught when tiny columns of smoke began to drift up from their bodies. This was a spell, there was no mistaking it. The flies burned up as they crawled, each leaving a trail of ash and soot behind, until there was nothing remaining but the lines on her blotter—lines that formed words, as though written by an invisible hand. The message made her blood turn to ice.

I know where you are. I know what you’ve done. Your time is short, Darkstar.

She stopped breathing, her heartbeat like thunder in her ears. She closed her eyes. “It’s not real. I’m seeing things.”

But when she opened her eyes, the message remained, glaring at her in charred cursive. The threat of it seemed to crawl off the page and lunge at her throat. Morpho fluttered to her and she put out a hand for him. He crawled up her arm, and his anxiety was now also hers. Someone knew her surname… her real surname, not the fake one she’d given Portia when she’d been hired.

Your time is short, Darkstar.

Her time was short for what? For being a Calyx? For living in Solana? For living at all?

Vesper shivered, suddenly freezing in the warmth of her apartment.