Zinna smiled softly again and gave a small nod.

“The gardens will be fine. I’ve recently remembered how much I do love the open air. The smells of plants and flowers drifting on the breeze…” She tilted her head, letting her gaze wander over the landscape with a wistful breath. “The few plants tough enough to survive this blight, anyway.”

She paused, taking in the subtle curves of the garden paths, the stubborn little blooms clinging to life where they could. It wasn’t lush, but it was alive. That mattered more than she expected it to.

Her eyes flicked back to Nymera. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and closed it again with a quiet exhale. Something unspoken flickered across her face—uncertainty, maybe, or restraint.

After another glance around the open space, she caught sight of a quiet seating area nestled beneath a canopy of twisted old trees. “There,” she said softly, inclining her head toward the bench.

The two walked in companionable silence, the rustle of leaves and the faint ringing of Zinna’s bells the only sound between them. When they reached the stone bench, Zinna sank into it slowly, smoothing out her blue and silver skirts with practiced fingers. Her bangles chimed as she adjusted her sleeves, though her motions were restless.

“I…” she began, then faltered. She glanced at Nymera, then down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know where to begin. I know I can’t speak entirely freely. I’ve learned to keep my most passionate opinions behind my teeth.”

She let out a soft, wry breath—equal parts bitterness and sorrow.

“But I don’t want to lose you, too,” she added, her voice quieter now. “Even though I know I will, sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time before the Queen Mother must be... locked away. For safety. For order. For appearances.”

She shook her head, not in disagreement, but in resignation.

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t already been whisked off to some distant keep or enchanted grove,” she said, eyes flicking up with a faint, crooked smile. “Though I’d wager Ba and Edgar have a small army of invisible guardians trailing your every step.”

Her gaze shifted again—not to the flowers or the paths, but to the empty air around them. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she searched for a sign of the unseen. 

She shook her head with a soft, almost bitter chuckle. “Freedom,” she sighed, the word dry on her tongue. “It’s a lovely idea, isn’t it? Shame it’s only ever been an illusion.”

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