“Lune bl?.” He breathes them in, and I don’t know how I’d explain the wonder of the smell. Maybe muddled blackberries with cream?
“It’s the leaves,” he tells me. “Not the berries. You make tea from it.”
He picks me a bunch and puts it in my basket, flashing me a quick smile as our faces are close enough to feel each other’s breath. It’s not deliberate; it’s just by circumstance.
“Peter likes that.” He nods at the leaves in my basket and then he clears his throat.
“So…” I glance around. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Rye’s eyebrows flicker, confused. “I can see you…”
“Oh!” I let out a little laugh, shaking my head. “No, on Earth, you’d say—” I purse my mouth as I think. “Are you, um, romantic with anyone? Are you…in a…couple? With someone?”
“Ah.” He gets it. “I’m…interested in someone, yeah.”
“Oh!” I look over at him, delighted. “That’s exciting.”
He rolls his eyes and keeps walking. “Is it?”
I nod even though he doesn’t see me. “Do they know?”
“I don’t know,” he calls, not looking back. “Hard to say. They’re always preoccupied.”
I frown. “What with?”
He flicks me a look. “Other people.”
“Ah.” I nod once and wonder if he’s talking about me. He might be.
I wonder. He’s been a very good friend to me since I got here, but I thought he was just being my very good friend.
I press my lips together and glance over at him. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Yeah.” He nods, flashing me a quick smile. “Happy to.” Rye blows some air from his mouth and picks a few berries off a bush, tossing them to me.
I look down at them. Beautiful, hot pink, soft, almost velvety. “What are these?”
“Raspberries.” He smirks.
“Oh.” I laugh once, feeling a bit embarrassed.
He chuckles and walks on ahead of me, and for a minute or so, we say nothing, but I think the silence between us is the okay kind, not the bad kind.
“Can I ask you something?” I call to him.
“Yes,” he says without stopping.
“Do you forget things?”
He stops walking, pauses. “What?”
I breathe out my nose and catch up to him. “Why do I forget things here but you don’t and Jem doesn’t and—”
“Jem?” His head pulls back.
“Sorry.” I shake mine. “Jamison.”
He blinks, surprised. “Jamison?”
I swallow and sort of roll my eyes a bit.
Rye gives me a look. “When did Jamison become Jem?”
“Why does that matter?” I shrug, turning away from him to pick some flowers like I know what I’m doing.
“Do you see him?”
I pause, press my lips together, and I’m conscious of how my voice sounds before I let myself speak. “Sometimes.”
Rye stands a few metres away, just watching me. “Wow.”
“Wow what?” I frown.
He cocks an eyebrow and gives me a look, then walks past me, sweeping a branch of weeping willow aside and holding it open for me.
“He’s my friend,” I give him a look.
“If you say so.” He juts his jaw.
“I say so,” I tell him, nose in the air.
He nods, but it’s weird. He looks bothered with me.
I frown up at him. “Why are you being strange?”
“I’m not.” Rye sighs. “I just—nothing.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why you forget things.” He gives me a shrug.
“Just some things,” I clarify even though he didn’t ask for clarity, and then I realise he’s stopped walking.
He’s standing before a giant, overgrown marble arch.
There are wrought-iron gates all grown over with ivy. Rye pushes them, and they creak loudly, and for some reason, the moment turns solemn.
“This is the kingdom?” I ask, staring up at it all in wonder.
It feels almost like we’re in a greenhouse with a roof so high you can’t see it. The trees stretch ridiculously tall, so there probably isn’t a roof, but as soon as I step in, I have the distinct feeling that I’m under some kind of covering.
“Yep.” He nods.
“Whoa.” I peer around me.
It feels sacred. It really does. We stand under a tree, and the wind blows in, moving around us that way the wind does here, gentle and present all at once, rustling around your ears like a whisper, as though it has something to say. I’ve never seen anything like it here. It’s all marble and stone and overgrown, and life is just teeming from it, crawling from every crack and crevice.