Chapter 84: Of Petals and Patience
Chapter 83: Of Petals and Patience
Lyria’s POV
"Is that a Ghost Orchid?"
The question lingered in the air, quiet yet intent, as though it carried more weight than the moment itself required.
Jacinta blinked.
Then her nose scrunched faintly, her expression slipping into something between confusion and mild displeasure.
"I have no idea what you are speaking of," she said, her tone light but edged with disinterest. "It is merely a flower, is it not?"
Baron Redwick did not look at her.
Not immediately.
His attention remained fixed upon the bloom, his gaze sharpened behind his spectacles, his entire posture subtly shifting—as though the world had narrowed to that single point.
"If I am correct," he murmured, stepping closer, "then this is no mere flower."
Jacinta’s smile tightened.
"Perhaps," she said, opening her parasol a fraction wider, "we ought to return to our walk."
He did not move.
I watched him carefully then.
There was something almost... boyish in the way he leaned closer, careful not to disturb the petals, his gloved hand hovering just short of touching it.
"It should not be here," he said, almost to himself. "The conditions are not entirely unsuitable, but they are not ideal either. And yet..."
He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to the level of the bloom.
"Fascinating."
Jacinta’s patience was already thinning.
I could see it in the way her fingers tightened slightly around the handle of her parasol, in the faint stiffness that entered her posture.
"You seem quite taken," she said, her tone carefully pleasant.
"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "This specimen—if it is indeed what I believe it to be—is exceedingly rare."
That caught her attention, if only slightly.
"Rare?" she repeated.
"Yes, Your Highness." He finally straightened, though his gaze lingered on the flower. "The Ghost Orchid is not easily cultivated. It requires a very particular environment—humidity, shade, a delicate balance of air circulation and moisture. It does not grow for just anyone."
Jacinta hummed, though it was clear her interest did not match his.
"My territory," he continued, "has attempted to cultivate it for years."
Now that was something.
He turned to her properly then, though his expression still carried the lingering brightness of discovery.
"We have studied its requirements extensively. Adjusted soil compositions. Controlled temperature variations. Even attempted to replicate the conditions of its native environment."
"And?" Jacinta asked, if only to be polite.
"And yet," he said, "it refuses to grow as it should."
There was no frustration in his tone.
Only curiosity.
"Which is precisely why this is remarkable," he went on, gesturing toward the flower once more. "To find it here—unattended, unstructured, thriving in a space where it should not—suggests there are variables we have yet to account for."
"The Ghost Orchid possesses a number of medicinal properties," he said, his tone gaining a quiet enthusiasm that seemed to grow with each word. "When properly harvested and prepared, it may be used to strengthen the body’s resistance to illness. Infusions made from its petals have been known to improve the immune system—particularly in those weakened by prolonged exposure to harsh climates or poor nutrition."
He spoke quickly now, each word precise, measured, but driven by a clear and unmistakable excitement.
"It has also been noted to possess restorative qualities," he continued. "I have heard it is used in tonics intended to aid recovery after severe illness. There are even records—though admittedly less substantiated—of it being used to ease respiratory ailments."
Jacinta’s smile had begun to fade.
"The rarity of the plant makes such uses limited, of course," he went on. "But if it could be cultivated reliably—if we could determine what allows it to thrive in environments such as this—then it could prove invaluable."
He gestured again, almost unconsciously.
"Imagine it, Your Highness. A stable source of such a resource. The implications for territories struggling with illness, with food scarcity, with weakened populations—"
He stopped himself only to draw breath.
Then continued.
"It may even be brewed into a tea," he added, his tone softening slightly, though the enthusiasm remained. "A delicate process, to be certain, but when done correctly, it produces a tonic that strengthens the body over time. Not an immediate cure, but a gradual fortification."
He looked at her then, as though only just remembering she was there.
Jacinta gave a subtle yawn, an indication that he was boring her.
"My apologies," she said lightly, though there was no apology in it. "While I do understand your... enthusiasm, Baron Redwick, I do not believe we are here to discuss flowers."
Baron Redwick stilled. For a brief moment, the brightness in his expression faltered.
Colour rose sharply to his face.
He straightened at once, stepping back from the flower as though he had overstepped some invisible boundary.
"You are quite right, Your Highness," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I apologise. I have a tendency to become... absorbed in matters of interest."
His voice was composed again.
Measured.
But the earlier spark had dimmed. I had to admit, it was quite alluring to see him speak with interest, to see him lose that composure he always had. It showed that he too was like most of us and not merely above us.
"I often speak without considering whether the subject is appropriate to the moment," he added.
Jacinta waved a hand lightly, as though brushing the matter aside.
"It is not your fault," she said. "One cannot help what one finds interesting."
Her tone was kind, but her eyes were not.
He inclined his head.
"Thank you for your understanding."
There was a pause.
Then he glanced back at the flower, just briefly.
"If I may make a suggestion," he said carefully, "it would be beneficial for the palace gardeners to pay closer attention to such specimens. Proper care—intentional care—could allow it to flourish further. And perhaps..."
He hesitated.
"Perhaps yield results that may prove useful in time."
Jacinta’s fingers tightened again around her parasol.
Her smile returned.
Slightly sharper than before.
"Yes," she said. "Perhaps next time."
It was clear she did not appreciate the implication.
That something within her gardens required improvement. That something had gone unnoticed, and that he, of all people, had noticed it.
I lowered my gaze further, lest the understanding show on my face.
"Now," Jacinta said, her tone brightening once more with deliberate effort, "let us speak of something else."
The Baron nodded.
"Of course, Your Highness."
"You mentioned your interests," she continued. "I should like to hear them. What occupies your mind when you are not... studying flowers?"
There was a faint pause before he answered.
"You may find it dull," he said.
"I am certain I shall not," she replied.
He studied her for a brief moment.
Then nodded.
"Very well."
They resumed their walk.
"I have always found myself drawn to books," he said. "Particularly those concerning natural sciences, governance, and the improvement of living conditions within one’s territory."
Jacinta nodded, though it was clear the words did not hold her attention as they should.
"Discussions," he continued, "are also of interest to me. Exchanges of ideas. Perspectives. The manner in which knowledge may be refined through dialogue."
"How... engaging," she said.
He did not seem to notice the lack of sincerity.
"Nature itself is, of course, a constant subject of study," he added. "There is much to be learned from observation alone—patterns, cycles, adaptation. It informs decision-making in ways that are often overlooked."
He paused.
Then continued, more thoughtfully—
"And the improvement of my territory remains my foremost concern and is of the most interest to me."
That, at least, he spoke of with quiet conviction.
"I trust," he said, glancing at her, "that Your Highness is aware that my lands suffered a drought some years ago."
Jacinta looked at him, her brows lifted slightly, but it was enough.
I knew she had no idea what Baron Redwick was speaking about.
And for a brief, fleeting moment, I nearly laughed.
