Plenna tied an orange ribbon around Heena’s neck, then Heena tied a green ribbon around Jaycin’s neck, and finally, Jaycin tied a purple ribbon around Plenna’s neck. Sera had been certain Plenna would be a purple mother, Leela thought sadly. She could almost hear her whispering, Told you so, in her ear.
When the last ribbon was secured, the High Priestess proclaimed, “A new triad is formed! All praise them! Praise Mother Sun!”
“Praise her!” the Cerulean called back. Plenna began to cry, and Jaycin took her in her arms and kissed her while Heena stroked her hair. And then all the Cerulean were laughing and clapping because young love shone brighter than the brightest star—that was what Leela’s green mother always said.
The ceremony was repeated as another triad was wed, then another. Four weddings that lasted until the hour of the owl, when finally it was time for the celebratory feast.
Minstrel flowers sang as tables were brought out and laden with food and drink. Pitchers of crystal-clear water and decanters of sweetnectar were placed among platters of crisp fried eggplant, freshly sliced tomatoes with basil and seresheep cheese, stuffed squash blossoms, salads of apples, plums, and nasturtiums, and of course, a traditional Cerulean wedding cake in the shape of a dome, light and spongy and frosted with silver icing, dotted with blue roses.
“Go run and help Freeda with the water,” her purple mother said, and Leela hurried to carry one of the large earthen pitchers to a table that was wanting.
“Thank you,” Freeda said. She towered over Leela, clutching the remaining pitcher against her large chest. “Be a dear and bring those forks along as well, will you?”
Leela grabbed the forks and put them beside the pitcher, but she did not go directly back to her mothers. She wandered through the crowds, searching . . . until at last she found Sera’s purple mother. She was sitting at a table alone, twisting a napkin in her hands and staring at a platter of glazed carrots with unseeing eyes. She looked worse than before—thinner, fragile, her bones straining prominently underneath her skin.
Leela was not quite sure what to do. She took a hesitant step forward. Sera’s purple mother looked up from the carrots, and when their eyes met, Leela stopped in her tracks.
It was as if a light had been turned off inside her. Cerulean eyes were bright with the magic of their blood—it was the place where their magic shone through most clearly. But the eyes Leela stared into were dark and flat. They frightened her. Sera’s purple mother had always been full of joy and laughter. Leela did not know the woman sitting before her, and her heart sank.
She could not help Leela any more than Leela could help herself. She should not have thought to burden Sera’s poor mother with more heartache when she was clearly too distraught with grief. The bench opposite was empty, and she sat across from Sera’s mother, no longer thinking of her own plans, wishing only to comfort.
“I miss her, too,” Leela said, not sure if Sera’s mother was listening or if Leela herself just needed to talk to someone who understood. “I miss her more than anything. It’s an ache in my chest that won’t go away, a pain in my heart that throbs worse with every beat. I am angry all the time. I am angry at my mothers, at my friends. I do not even know who I am anymore. And I wished to . . . to speak with you about something, but now I think I would only make things worse.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “Perhaps I need to learn to deal with things on my own,” she murmured.
“The Night Gardens,” Sera’s purple mother said. Her voice was faint and hollow, like it was coming from the bottom of a well.
“Yes,” Leela said. “The Night Gardens. That’s where she . . . where she was lost to us.”
Sera’s mother lurched forward, holding her head in her hands. “Leela . . .”
“I am here.” Leela reached out and put a hand on her elbow. Sera’s mother peered at her from between her fingers.
“I feel I am going insane,” she whispered. “I remember things that can’t be real. Ever since the Night Gardens.”
“I have brought you some food, Kandra.” Sera’s green mother appeared with a plate piled high. Leela sat up, putting her hands back under the table. “Oh, good evening, Leela.”
“Good evening, Green Mother.”
Sera’s green mother smiled, but her smile was too tight and did not curve upward. “How have you been?” she asked. “We do miss hearing your laugh around our dwelling.”
Sera’s purple mother flinched.
“I have been . . .” Leela trailed off. She could not lie to Sera’s mothers. “I have been very sad.”
Sera’s green mother swallowed. “Yes. It has been difficult for us all. But what a lovely celebration.” She swept out her hand at the crowds eating and drinking and chattering happily. “It is sure to put all grief out of mind.” But her voice cracked on the last word and a tear spilled down her cheek. Sera’s purple mother closed a frail hand around her wrist.
“Stop it, Seetha,” she said. “Stop pretending. Please.”
Sera’s green mother scrubbed the tear away, putting the plate on the table. “You must eat, Kandra. You must.”
Leela opened her mouth, unsure of what to say but devastated at what was happening to Sera’s family. At that moment someone shouted, “The Lunarbelle, the Lunarbelle!” A group of novices began to sing, the minstrel flowers joining them, and several Cerulean musicians took up their harps and lyres and frame drums. Everyone rushed to form circles to begin the dance.
“Leela!” Elorin was at her side, smiling, with a wreath of pink and yellow tulips in her hair. “Come, let us dance!”
Leela allowed herself to be pulled away from the grieving women, joining Elorin as they formed a circle with Baarha, Crailin from the Aviary, and a few of the cheesemongers. They clasped hands and began the complex, intertwining dance, but when the Lunarbelle ended and everyone sat down to eat, Leela saw Sera’s purple mother sitting in the same spot, her plate of food untouched, twisting the same napkin with a lifeless expression.
Later that night, Leela lay awake, her stomach in knots.
She wondered if she would ever have a night of unbroken rest again. But she could not ignore the niggling feeling in her chest that was telling her to go to the Night Gardens. Even though Sera’s purple mother had seemed beyond the reach of reason, something told Leela that she would find her there. Some deeply buried instinct called to her to trust herself.
She threw off her covers and slipped out of the window, her orange mother’s snores fading as she crept through the glass dwellings, past the Apiary, wading through the moonflower fields until she came to the Night Gardens. Silence enveloped her completely as she entered them. No birds sang or crickets chirped. The Night Gardens had always filled Leela with a sort of fearful wonder, but tonight all she could think of was the last time she had been here. Yet she was determined not to let the past frighten her.
She brushed aside a low-hanging cloud on the leaf of a nebula tree and made her way through the gardens, all the scarlets and purples and grays bleached white in the moonlight. A will-o-wisp floated past her, its eerie blue light casting strange shadows on the tree trunks. She knew where she was going without really knowing, her feet carrying her of their own accord, and when she reached the raised dais jutting out over the falling water of the Estuary, she stopped. The memories were painfully clear—she could almost see Sera standing there again, falling into nothingness. Into death.