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I’d barely started working on my garden the following day when a servant in a crisp black uniform appeared at the archway entrance. Parzival cleared his throat, unwilling to risk the ire of my plants. Ten years ago, a new groundskeeper from a distant village made the mistake of entering my sanctuary without knowing the dangers. He’d brushed against one of the crunchertraps and lost a chunk of his thigh.
As he howled in pain, the other one snapped at his rear end. I heard the screams from above in my room and looked out my window to find several species of my flora had de-rooted to chase the poor man. It took me an hour to wrestle them back into their places. Once blood spilled within the garden walls, some of my plants became opportunistic and vicious.
I’d worried my uncle would be angry about his new groundskeeper getting maimed, but I should have known better. He found it amusing. It was one of the rare times he’d even seemed pleased with me, which nearly made me want to do away with the whole garden, but I loved it too much and couldn’t do that. I’d brought Briauna to heal the injured man. Feeling horrible about the incident, we found safer employment for him in a location far from here. Ever since, though, no one had dared enter the walled enclosure without my permission. That was exactly the way I wanted it.
“Yes?” I asked, setting my trimming shears down.
The tractvine I was tending primarily grew underground as it should, but the coiled top with a single yellow bloom could take over the garden if I didn’t keep it under control. If anyone upset it, the vines under the soil would shoot out and wrap around a person’s body, squeezing them to death and then slowly consuming them like a snake. All the while, it secreted toxins to break down the body faster.
It was a gruesome way to go. The plant typically grew in the thickest forests to the north and wasn’t easy to acquire. Thankfully, I had a natural affinity for flora, so I could coax the seedlings to leave their home. I also offered mice to keep them busy and content during transport.
“Lord Morgunn has requested your presence in his office.” The stuffy butler looked me up and down scornfully. “I advise you to wash and change into something presentable first, but do hurry. He does not wish to be kept waiting long.”
This was one elf I wouldn’t have minded tossing into my garden to feed my plants. Parzival wasn’t only a butler but also a close confidant to my uncle. More than once over the years, he’d caught me doing something “questionable” and snitched on me. Lord Morgunn was especially cruel in his punishment if his favorite servant told him about the offense.
One time, when I was fifteen, Parzival caught me sneaking out of my room at night. He had my ankle chained to a tree in the northeast orchard. The whole night, I had to fend off vicious night creatures by throwing stones and using my wind magic, which I wasn’t very adept at using then. While most fae parents used creative punishments to keep their offspring in line, my uncle was brutal.
“I’ll hurry,” I said, taking the trimmers to a lock box at the far end of the garden.
If I left them out, some of the plants couldn’t be trusted, and bad things might happen to my passive varieties that couldn’t move or fight back. I didn’t need another massacre to clean up after leaving out the shears last time.
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