Liliana Blossom's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

Liliana stood at the edge of the shadow and watched the blue jay peck at her wet paint. The bird hopped along the top of the sign, dragging one claw through the letters. It cocked its head, opened its beak, and repeated her line back to itself in a voice like a rusted hinge. I came to listen came out as I came to lissssen, then Icamelissen, then a jeering rattle that was not words at all. The jay laughed at its own sound. Then it lifted off the board and flew low into the dark trees, carrying her mangled message toward whatever ears waited there. Her stomach dropped. A king who had sworn off love would not need much excuse to refuse her. A witness that mocked her was worse than no witness. She almost stepped into the shadow to chase the bird. She stopped herself. The girl at the treehouse had told her the shadow was his to cross, not hers. She turned back down the path to find something she could send after the jay, something the king could not mishear. She walked until her legs shook and found a stone bench she had not seen before, set just off the path. Moss covered the seat. Vines wrapped the arms. Someone had laid fresh wildflowers across it in a careful line. A man sat at one end with his hands on his knees. His beard was black and his boots were worn. On the bench beside him rested a clear jar sealed with wax, a folded note tied at its neck, and inside the jar an opal heart caught the light and threw it back in soft colors. He did not look surprised to see her. He moved the jar closer to his own hip to make room. "Sit," he said. "You've been running." Liliana sat. She told him about the jay, about the garbled words, about the king who would now hear only nonsense. William listened without moving. When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment. "A bird can't ruin a true message," he said. "If he wants the sound of it, he'll come to your mouth. Go back. Say it yourself at the edge. Out loud. Once." Liliana walked back to the shadow. The sign still stood. The jay was gone. She set her hands flat against the painted lilies and spoke her line into the dark, clearly, once. Her voice did not shake. She waited. Nothing answered. Then, at her feet, a single white petal drifted down from nowhere she could see and settled on the toe of her foot. Not a summons. Not a refusal. A mark that he had heard her, and that the next move was still hers to make.