Page 1 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

Chapter one

Alone

Mara felt the earth trembling, but she didn’t turn her attention away from the prickly pear that was unfurling its delicate blooms before her. There had been a sprinkle of rain earlier that day—rare for the season—and the drops of dew on the bud scattered onto the ruched silk petals of the blossom like tears. They sparkled in the dawn light, and she allowed herself to be transfixed by them until her visitor announced herself with a forceful footstep and a sniff that feigned disdain.

“I am not ready to leave here,” Mara whispered before her friend could ask. “Not yet.”

“I had gathered that,” Ofelia said gently, “when you did not return.”

Mara turned to greet her, rising slowly to her feet. “You think I am overly dramatic.”

Ofelia stood a few feet away, her rich brown skin glowing in the warm light of the sunrise. She wore no glamour, though her wings were furled, falling behind her like a mantle. “Dramatic? Yes. Overly?” She shrugged, her silvering braids sliding over her eloquent shoulders. “I have encountered worse.”

With a reluctant laugh, Mara stepped forward into her friend’s embrace. “It is not that I haven’t missed you.”

“Of course.” Ofelia held her close for a long moment, then laughed, sending vibrations through Mara’s body. “Though there is indeed much you have missed. I have stories upon stories to tell.”

Mara’s body recoiled despite Ofelia’s comfort. “I am not—”

“Ready. Yes.” Ofelia drew back, loosely grasping Mara’s elbows. “It is all right. The stories will await you. Though I will tempt you with them still. You have missed some grand adventures. And I shall not recount them until your return. Is that not a temptation?” Her golden eyes were twinkling.

Just the word adventure made Mara shiver. No, she was not ready. “Perhaps in a few months.” Or a few years.

Ofelia’s expression softened. “I understand,” she whispered. “Do you wish me to leave?”

Yes. “No.”

Ofelia nodded. “Of course.” She did not leave, but stood silently gazing at Mara.

Finally, Mara whispered. “I still wish to be alone.”

“I know.” Ofelia inhaled deeply and stepped forward. “It has been five years, Mara.”

“It was to have been centuries.” She could not keep the bitterness from her voice, even had she tried.

Ofelia’s jaw set. “You know as well as I that the world sets its own times. There is nothing that is certain.”

Mara turned away, traced the gossamer edges of a cactus blossom, collecting its tears. She could not take them into herself, drink their energy, but she could let them fall. They left dark circles on the sand that faded almost instantly. “As do hearts,” she finally murmured.

After a moment, Ofelia chuckled. “I was mistaken,” she said lightly. “You are indeed the most dramatic. Though with good cause.”

Mara could not keep her gaze from lifting, scanning the horizon. She was far from the highway, but she could feel it like a wound. “It is not fair,” she said at last. Her voice was petulant, but she refused to care.

“It is not,” Ofelia agreed. She stepped forward into Mara’s periphery, leaning sideways into another embrace. “I do not fault you. I merely wish you to live again.”

“I will.” Mara stretched out a hand, sent forth her grief. Another blossom unfurled, showing colors unknown to man. She traced the blossom’s fragile edges with a fingertip. “But not yet.”

Ofelia said nothing to that, simply tightened her arm about Mara’s waist. Mara leaned into it, accepting the comfort for a moment.

But it clawed at her, the need for solitude, and she stepped away. “Thank you.”

Ofelia did not pursue her, though she turned to watch Mara’s retreat. The dawn turned her wings to a halo behind her. “I wish I could do more for you,” she said in a quiet voice. “But no matter how you festoon the desert with your grief, no matter how you wallow in your mourning, you must also accept it. Tristan is gone.”

Mara turned away, casting her gaze down the hillside. It glowed with unseasonal blooms—some too late, some too early. A fitting tribute, her heart whispered. But not enough.

“Yes,” she said at last. “He is. But… He is not.” She turned to her friend, fire burning behind her eyes. “He is not gone yet. Not from my heart.”

“Of course not.” Ofelia reached out a hand, stroked Mara’s cheek, which she belatedly realized was sandy with earthly tears. “But you are alive. You must live.”