The Garden of All Seasons
It was not only carrots. Beside the carrots, their orange shoulders just peeking above the soil, grew scallions; beside the scallions, eggplants; beside the eggplants, cucumbers; and beyond those, tomatoes, and more besides.
In a corner of the Annex Palace lay a vegetable patch where all manner of crops were growing. In truth, it was so small that calling it a garden felt almost embarrassing—a plot with several kinds of vegetables planted in it, yet only a handful of each. The whole of it was no wider or longer than a pair of arms spread wide, and even so the plants had been set so closely together that one could only marvel they fit at all.
"And these vegetables grow in this season?"
Hyperion was no farmer, but he knew at least this much: the crops before him were not all meant to be sown at the same time. When rations came in at the border, the vegetables changed with every season. Most of those, of course, had arrived bruised, or half-rotten.
This snug little patch, however, seemed to cradle every season at once. And for all that the plants were packed tight, every one of them was growing with remarkable vigor.
"Of course they don't. They can grow, yes, but under ordinary circumstances they would never ripen properly. I have a spirit, though."
At the surprise on Hyperion's face, pride lit Laniakea's own, and she called down toward the earth in a voice brighter still.
"Mole, would you come out?"
The ground swelled at once, and a mole emerged.
"You called? We planting something new?"
Mole nosed about the familiar patch, then turned—and leapt straight into the air.
"Ack! You scared me! Wh-what is this? This is that thing, isn't it?"
Pointing a front paw at Hyperion, he stared at Laniakea in open shock, as if demanding to know what on earth was happening.
"Hand! Hand—no, put your paw down!"
"No, but this is—"
"Don't call him this!"
Flustered, Laniakea pressed Mole's head firmly down, then turned to Hyperion in apology.
"I am sorry. Our Mole still has a great deal to learn about humans!"
"What are you talking about? Where's a spirit who knows humans better than I do? That's the Emperor!"
"Shh! Please!"
Mole was still referring to Hyperion as this, and the color drained from Laniakea's face. Hyperion, who had been watching, only laughed.
"It is all right, Laniakea. One can hardly impose human rules upon a spirit."
"Oh. A human who actually talks sense."
Pleased to have Hyperion on his side, Mole shoved Laniakea's hand away as if to say that was quite enough pressing, and held out a front paw.
"I know who you are. You're the human who married Laniakea, right? The humans' emperor. I'm Mole, an earth spirit. Nice to meet you! Humans grab paws like this when they first meet, don't they?"
Entirely oblivious to the agony this was causing Laniakea, Mole preened, terribly proud of how well he understood humankind.
She pressed a hand to her brow, already wondering how she was meant to salvage any of this—and in that same moment Hyperion bent, lowered himself, and took the offered paw.
"A pleasure, spirit. May I call you Mole? I am Hyperion."
"Right, that was the name. People talk about you a lot. And I heard it from Crow Tit, too. You saved Laniakea, didn't you? Thank you!"
"That was my duty. I do not believe thanks are required. This garden, though—did it have your help? Everything seems to be growing remarkably well. It hardly appears to feel the seasons at all."
At the open admiration in his voice, Mole's shoulders hitched even higher.
"Of course! Think it's easy, making crops thrive in a scrap of earth this small? I'll have you know it's all thanks to this body's talents!"
Mole had always delighted in Laniakea's praise. In truth, a lowest-tier spirit almost never had cause to enter the human world, nor any chance to use its power. Those who could wield spirit energy were the royalty of Priatra alone, and they summoned none but spirits of the highest rank.
Living without ties to humans was not, in itself, a cause for complaint. They belonged to different worlds to begin with. Even so, among spirits there were those who grew curious about humankind and longed for some exchange, and Mole was one of them—an individual, out of lowest-tier spirits beyond counting, who had taken an interest in humans.
So even on Priatran soil he had trailed after the youngest princess, certain, somehow, that this human would one day call him forth. And when she was left alone at last, weeping and crying out for help, Mole finally spoke her name, and their bond began.
From there he grew curious about other humans as well. More precisely, he wanted to see them rejoice at the thought that his power had been of help. Was he not a being so feeble that he had taken an animal's name—mole—for his own? And yet each time Laniakea lit up and praised him, he felt his strength grow, if only by a little. If other humans praised him too, might he not be able to do still more? Given her circumstances, though, he had judged it impossible to show himself to anyone else.
"Let me show you what I can do! Try this!"
That Laniakea herself had brought another human before him left Mole so delighted he hardly knew what to do with himself. After Lucy, here was yet another—and a powerful one, even among humankind. All the more reason to boast without restraint.
Buzzing with excitement, he thrust his head up out of the garden and clambered onto a tomato stem. The plant had grown sturdy enough, but under his weight it swayed, and though the motion left him dizzy he clung to the very tip all the same and pointed at the fruit hanging there.
"Eat this! This one! This is the tastiest!"
At the sight of him patting the tomato with dirt-caked paws, Laniakea could only manage a helpless laugh.
"Your Majesty, you really don't have to do as Mole says—"
"Thank you. I will enjoy it."
Before she could finish stopping him, Hyperion plucked the tomato Mole had been showing off, rubbed it briskly against his clothes, and bit straight in.
"Oh. A human who knows how to eat."
Watching that large, unhesitating bite, Mole wriggled his hindquarters in approval and circled round and round at Hyperion's feet.
Surprise spread across Hyperion's face. The moment his teeth broke the skin, the firm flesh gave with a soft pop; juice welled up, enough to run over his fingers, and a pale sweetness, bright with a clean tart freshness, filled his mouth.
A life that had carried him from a monastery to the border had not left him unable to taste. Until he was eight he had lived in the Imperial Palace and sampled every rare delicacy it offered, so his palate was entirely sound, and he knew how to tell what was precious. If wretched meals had never troubled him, it was only because he possessed nothing like an appetite—no desire one might even call a hunger for the pleasure of food.
And yet this was that same Hyperion.
"Well? It's good, isn't it?"
He gave the mole no answer. He only took another large bite.
Chew, chew. A swallow. Chew, chew. Another.
In exactly three bites, a tomato the size of his fist was gone.
Hyperion regarded the juice on his hand for a moment, then spoke.
"May I have another?"
"Huff... huff... See? My power really is the best."
"Agree. Mole best."
While Mole and Lucy were lifting a thumb to each other in mutual self-congratulation, Laniakea and Hyperion stood beside the garden, deep in talk.
"...and that's why I meant to ask if I might borrow the Annex Palace. This is the first garden I ever made, and I wanted to keep tending it. And if you don't mind, I'd like to put in a larger field over here, on this side. No matter how hard Mole tries, there's a limit. I couldn't plant everything I wanted to try. If I had my way, I'd grow every grain the Empire has."
She chattered on, her voice far more at ease than before.
Fortunately, Hyperion had not been offended in the least by Mole's manner of speaking. Far from it—he had eaten all three tomatoes on the spot. Delighted, Mole spent his power until berries swelled along part of a nearby blueberry branch. The effort left his body briefly translucent, but he succeeded all the same, and Hyperion ate those, too.
Every last one.
Not entirely by himself, of course. He tasted a single berry first, confirmed that the sweetness had set well, then shook the rest loose and pressed a handful into Laniakea's palm before he touched another. Only after that did he eat what remained, and he shared some with Lucy as well.
"There is no need to invoke the rights set down in the contract. As I have said, authority over the buildings within the Imperial Palace is yours. Use them as you please."
From the blueberries still cupped in his hand, Hyperion quietly set the largest and firmest into Laniakea's palm, and then he asked a question.
"But if it is a garden you wish for, would the Empress's Palace not serve you better? Should you want it kept from prying eyes, planting a fresh screen of trees would pose no difficulty."
"Ah, that's... it isn't that I want to make it so large, exactly. This was the first place I made, so I've grown attached to it, and I can keep out of sight without planting trees, so..."
She answered in a rush, though even she knew how thin the explanation was. The truth was harder to say aloud: she would be leaving before long, and she had no wish to renovate the Empress's Palace for nothing.
To turn the conversation elsewhere, Laniakea let her gaze drift toward the Annex Palace.
"Now that I think of it, Your Majesty has hardly been able to use this place."
"I was never able to remain long."
To her relief, he did not press her. He simply took up the new subject—and then, as though with some regret, went on.
"I have never once slept in that bedchamber."