No, the point was to leave messages.
That was always the point, although the messages changed frequently over the generations. He really didn’t care what the message was now, so long as he got to be the deliverer. He’d been waiting a long time for such an opportunity, fearing that when the reign of kings died, so had everything else.
Instead, it was all reborn, just like the return of Planting Season. Except it was reborn with such calculation and planning that the man had been stunned. There’s plundering and murdering, and then there’s this. He hadn’t quite worked out what all of this was yet, but it was certainly better than nothing.
He stepped out of the shadows of the kitchen and over to the mug of flowers on her work table. He squinted at it, amused. Usually the first blooms of Planting Season were hearty things, able to take a dumping of late, wet snow. They’d just shake it off and rise defiant from the cold ground. But these—these were just stems, with only a hint of “flowerness.” What did the captain do to them?
The man in black glanced over to the door that led to the combined eating and gathering room. He heard her turn a page in some old book, oblivious to his presence.
He’d leave her a message, but it wouldn’t be noticed.
He snapped off one of the traumatized flower tops and placed it deliberately on the other side of the table. But he knew what her reaction would be. She’d assume she had dropped it over there and simply forgot.
That was the thing about villagers—they saw only what they expected to see. It was said that Guarders left no signs, but that wasn’t true. They left their messages everywhere, but like a soiled rag on the ground that everyone in a crowded stable feels is someone else’s responsibility, it’s bypassed, stepped over, or completely ignored.
Guarders never attacked without first leaving a warning. That would be unfair.
It was the villagers’ faults for not noticing the warnings.
He noiselessly slipped out the back kitchen door, down the back porch, and into the night.
---
Mahrree went to admire her stems again before blowing out the kitchen candle, and noticed one of the flower tops on the other side of the table.
She smirked to herself as she picked it up, and immediately thought of what her father would say.
Guarder snatched! Or rather, Guarder snapped.
Mahrree chuckled quietly. “Oh yes, Father,” she murmured. “Guarders are now interested in rearranging half-dead flowers. How unpredictable of them.”
But something heavy lingered in the air, and she felt her father more distinctly. He was more than memory. When it was important, it was as if he had never left her side.
Remember, my daughter—Guarders are unpredictable.
Mahrree bit her lower lip. It wasn’t as if someone in black had suddenly taken an odd interest in the stems. She knew what he really meant: she needed to be cautious. There was no cowardice in caution. It’s not like she had anything of interest to the Guarders, but still—
She swallowed hard and glanced at her back door. Just to be safe, she latched the lock. But she was not about to needlessly burn a candle in the window to ward away any intruders.
“What else should I do?” she whispered to the quiet kitchen.
Nothing for now. Just . . . be aware.
Mahrree nodded. “Father? I was just wondering, what do you think of Captain Shin?”
The mood in the room lightened.
Perhaps a more important question is, what do you think of the captain?
“I don’t know what to think,” she answered automatically.
Oh, I’m sure you do, or you wouldn’t have bothered to try to revive those stems. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.
Mahrree shrugged, a smile of embarrassment lurking around her mouth. “So what do you think of him?” she asked again.
Good man. I like him. Doesn’t know beans from flowers, but that’s all right—he’s not a farmer.
Mahrree chuckled as the influence of her father faded away. She floated the broken flower top in the water of the mug, blew out the candle, then went to bed.
Chapter 9 ~ “Debate the merits of Perrin and Mahrree continuing the debates--”
Mahrree had felt flustered ever since last evening’s encounter when she was alone with him for barely five minutes, but now she was about to face Captain Shin again on the platform. She paced nervously before the young oak tree and warm spring, doubting that she could go through with it. Tonight there was a huge crowd, near capacity at four thousand, with more coming in.
She tried to calm her breathing. Rector Densal was reading an announcement from Idumea about an improved messaging system, but she couldn’t concentrate on what he said. She considered running off or faking a sudden illness, but then she heard the rector call her name.