Psyche

Chapter 22

Wherever Erik's palace was, the climate was certainly temperate and pleasant. Psyche thought this as she walked through the garden, smelling all the flowers and enjoying the site of many plants, trees, and flowers she did not recognize. She was familiar with a few of the trees and some of the flowers, which were of Atlantean origin. Still others, she knew of because they grew in the garden of her parents' palace - many that had been obtained from traders or gifted from the many courtiers and diplomats who populated her the Atlantean court.

Still, so many of the plants and flowers were completely new to her. She examined each one, smelling them, touching them gently and looking for variations. Eventually, she retrieved a notebook and she began taking notes about each plant, hoping to make a catalog for the library.

As she knelt next to a bed of delicate white blooms, she heard a rustling noise. It was too loud to be an animal, even one of the kittens. Brownie was at her feet, as well.

Psyche stood up, looking around. The rustling was coming from behind a nearby topiary.

"Erik? Is that you?" said Psyche, clearly and projecting her voice toward the rustling she heard.

"Your ears are keen, Psyche," said Erik.

"Are you going to stay behind that bush? Or are you going to let me see you?" she said, knowing what the answer would be.

"You know better than that," he said, trying and failing to suppress haughtiness.

From behind the topiary flew a silken mask, which landed at her feet. She picked it up and looked at it.

"I thought you might join me for a picnic. Of course, you'll have to trust me to lead you around the garden."

Psyche slowly put the mask over her eyes, adjusting it so it was snug and wouldn't accidentally fall. She stood awkwardly for a moment before she felt Erik's strong arms around her waist and his lips against her cheek.

"I'll spread a blanket in the meadow. I've had the servants prepare a basket, including an Atlantean wine."

"Which vintage?" she asked, suddenly realizing just how much she missed certain comforts of home.

"I didn't think to ask, but perhaps you will be able to determine the vintage by tasting," he said.

She could hear him preparing the picnic area, including the popping sound of a jug opening. "I do enjoy the wine of my homeland," she said as he took her hand and helped her to the blanket. His hand was warm as it always was, as well as comforting and strong. There was nothing monstrous about it, she said, and when he let go, she felt the loss.

A few moments later, he placed a glass of wine in her hand. She delicately swirled, inhaled the aroma, which was slightly spicy.

"This is Atlantean. From the northern region. Red grapes, harvested about five years ago."

Erik laughed. "We'll have to make this a game."

She sipped and let the taste of home be absorbed by her tongue. It filled her entire being with pleasure, as well as pleasant memories, memories which were now bittersweet since she did not know if or when she would ever see her homeland again.

"Tell me about Atlantis," said Erik.

"You've been there," she said, "You said you had seen me before. I have never left Atlantis."

"I've been there once or twice, but it's not the same as having lived there. I've only been a brief visitor." 

She was about to answer when she heard a clattering of plates. "I've got fruit, cheese, and bread as well as some walnuts and cranberries," he offered.