February 27
Tauryn and Melisande Alcaeyn Gardens Evening
“No.” The single word broke into the silence of the garden as Melisande’s fingertips neared the petals of a particular plant. The words were soft, hoarse from a voice accustomed to disuse. It seemed incapable of carrying any sort of real command, the polar opposite of Mikino’s manner of speaking. When she inevitably looked to him, the hulking form curled inward on itself, a residual habit from a life of abuse.
Not that Melisande likely fared much better from the sudden disruption. The bugul-noz was a constant fixture of the garden, but he seldom emerged from hiding when little Shayleiah wasn’t about. The speech was even more of a rarity. Supposedly he told stories to Hailey, and the garden’s former mistress had sat and talked with him for hours on end, but he grew shy in the presence of others.
He looked stricken, the depths of brown eyes reflecting back at her, giving him every bit the look of some poor beast of burden. It wasn’t just her ebony wings that intimidated him. It was her presence as a whole. It must have seemed strange to Tauryn, to suddenly have another wandering land that had for long been his alone.