"Perhaps we should take a vote?" Dame Aubergina suggested, twiddling her thumbs through another quiet night. The emptiness of the thronestool had to be addressed. Three dozen dinners had gone by without a trace of Lady Kabech, Alphonse or any of the cohort they had travelled with, except for Lady Kabech's horse, which would have been wiser to remain lost.

"Nobody has put themselves forward, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say none of us shall," replied the young lady, Soyle, earning nods from the other aristocrats arranged around the fungal palace's great pod. "If any of us are caught in that thing when she comes back, we'll be in the tannery with Bertroot."

Over a hundred had gathered in the interest of their own relevance to the society, yet nobody had the ambition to seize the empty seat. And no-one had addressed the bird in the room, either.

He was a large fellow compared to any of them, generally regular in shape except for the grey feathered wings and tail, and red, talon feet. Also, the skin of his face and arms was as dark as burnt stew, making the white of his eyes disconcertingly apparent as he scanned the assorted aristocracy.

The birdish fellow had appeared the night following Lady Kabech's departure, and had not uttered a sound since. All any of them knew was that he was an Ambassador from Amphelius, thanks to a written label pinned to the drapery he wore. On one occasion, Aubergina had seen him sizing up some of the palace curtains, probably searching for a change of outfit.

Whispers started to circulate, and every so often, eyes would dart to their feathered guest. First came murmurings of blame, then came the ideas. Soyle was the first to make a move. Standing up, she lifted her purse from her bustier and procured a small toffee. She then lured the Ambassador to the seat with her unique talent for making old sweets seem to be the most appealing morsels in the world.

"This can be your seat now. You've been here so long, I can hardly believe no-one has offered you a stool at our table!" Soyle said. She roused some applause from the aristocracy as the Ambassador sat.

"Much thanks," he said.

The toffee dropped, and so did jaws. If their guest could speak their tongue, any number of scandals might spread.

The Ambassador cleared his throat and cooed more appropriately, with a smile that indicated that he would maintain the charade of ignorance if they all did the same. The slip was cordially forgotten, and any guilty glances conspicuously ignored.

"Someone, bring our friend his bag of seeds so he can get nice and comfortable," Soyle said to a loitering servant, then picked up her toffee, brushed off a hair, and offering it again.

The bird accepted it, gave it a nibble, then wrapped it in its paper and passed it back. Soyle returned it to her purse to await its next victim, then resumed her own seat so proceedings could continue. However, her coy glances to the Ambassador did not slip Aubergina's notice. Fortunately, when his seeds arrived, they had his full attention.

"So that is settled. Are there any objections to our new appointment for head of state?" said one of the younger fellows, rising from his stool.

It was shame Baron Goord followed with his need to complicate things. "What are we to call this feathered fellow? We can't refer to him as Lord Bird and expect to be taken seriously. The common folk will think we have gone mad and appointed an owl!"

The Ambassador hooted twice, then nodded gravely. Cheeky bugger.

"He needs no name. All that matters is that the seat is occupied and we all agree that it is," said Aubergina.

"But what if someone asks?" Goord persisted.

"It is occupied, nothing more. That is all anyone outside this pod need know," she replied, thankful that the fellows around the Baron stopped him from blubbering again. "Now, onto dinner and supper. I felt the asparagus has not been at its best lately, so I motion that we replace it with a carrot dish."

"What about a dish with seeds in—"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Soyle. He may sit there but I hope you are not suggesting that he eat as one of us." Aubergina snapped at the young fool.

"I am. All in favour?" Soyle said defiantly. There were some quiet muttering, but the motion seemed like it was not going anywhere, until Soyle's toffee returned.

"Aye!" cried the dim-witted majority.

By the end of the week, Soyle had them all eating sweets from her hand, as well as grubs for breakfast, eels for lunch, seeds for dinner and shelled creatures for dessert that required entirely new utensils to eat. The distraction proved a popular change from debating the usual concerns of the country, but the novelty was bound to wear off.

* * *

Kabech hacked at the ground with hoe in hand, making a trench in the volcanic crust to plant some lettuce seeds. It was a good spot, with two small geysers and a lava pit to warm the seedlings. Yam, the farmer, had taught her well, and while it was not the adventure she had expected, she was enjoying herself. There was no gossip out in her small piece of nowhere, no malcontent masses to quash, nor petty politics between nobles to manage either.

With a deep breath, Kabech took in the musty night air. Time had taken a new meaning out here. No longer was it counted from meal to meal. Instead her nights revolved around her vegetables, always needing devout care and attention. Tonight was her night to tend the lettuce, then sing to the turnips. It would have Kabech's first market night too, but with her face in all the farmers' almanacs across Tyrunvern, she was reluctant to attend the event.

Once the turnips had been suitably serenaded, she headed home to handle the night's stew. Kabech tapped into the wall to fill a pot with shroom juice which she set on the hovel's small stove. When it boiled, it was time to add the vegetables. All she had to do was ignore the screams as she dropped them into the pot then secure the lid to prevent their escape.

They were worse than paupers sometimes, and this was one of those nights.

The carrots were putting up a fight, but Kabech could have kept them down if she had not been momentarily distracted by Yam's entrance. The carrots seized their chance immediately, escaping with a shower of hot juice. Sodden and boiled half to death, they worked Yam's crate of unsold veggies into a tizzy and had them all skittering about underfoot.

"I couldn't sell so much as a seedling. Word is, the noble folks in the palace have gone off their veg, and that's trouble for all of us," Yam sighed, then upturned his empty crate and sat on it.

"Are they all dead?" Kabech asked, snatching up one of the carrots as it made a futile attempt to dash past her. She almost pitied the plant as it was boiled for a second time.

"Nobody knows," said Yam. "But there's word going around that some bird-folk have been seen with all sorts of unnatural things."

"I see." Kabech peered pensively at a beautiful beet that was trying to hide inside a shroom's cup. She had never taken the time to admire the forms of her crops before, but that root showed potential as more than just wilted bits in a stew. "I might have an idea, but I shall have to smarten up my potato sack first."

Yam lifted his head with a frown at her burlap sack. "'Fraid that's the nicest sack I had, Kabby. Used to take my prize winning turnips to show in that one."

"Bring me your second nicest and some thread. I am in need of a new gown."

When her order was carried out, she fashioned herself a new dress that was so rustic it would give even the coarsest farmer a rash. It was bound to start a trend, but Kabech had another in mind. She took up Yam's empty crate, flipped it upright and strode out the door to gather some dirt and their handsomest vegetables. Her plan need not account for the ripeness of the bulbs, so she collected a few of the adorable little sprouts as well as luscious older sprouts.

"You will be accompanying me, I hope, as palace gardener," Kabech told Yam, sizing up his spud sack as he followed her. He would need trousers, certainly, but otherwise it should do. "If the aristocracy will not eat the local vegetables, I'll see to it that they decorate with them. Also, there will be such fuss about our sacks that they'll buy them all up and leave all their finery for the taking."

"Surely they'd know sacks are no good. I've never known a night without an itch."

"That is precisely why they will love them. Fashion demands discomfort, the greater the better," Kabech said and sat the crate outside. "I would ask for one more night in our shroom, though. I have grown terribly fond of life out here."

Yam smiled, the odd twist to his mouth made leaving as difficult then as it had been after her first night. So rarely Kabech had seen a genuine smile made to her. Alas, the palace would take it from him, she knew that well.

She took his hands and led him to the table and served their last supper. Her eating was slowed by her unwillingness to take her eyes from his quaint, pointed face. However, the moment they were done she took him to the crates and burlap blankets they shared as a bed and made the most of their final moments without the scrutiny of company.

Elated as Yam had been then, when Kabach awoke before breakfast, a solemn change had come over him that broke her heart in two.

"I suppose we'd be living separate lives even if I go with you to the palace," he said. "Our Lady couldn't be seen with a common farmer like me, even with a fancy title like palace gardener."

"I wish I could say your Lady could be seen with whomever she likes, but I couldn't lie to you like that," she replied and held his dirt-stained hands.

"Then I should stay here, a humble farmer who will always wait for his Lady's personal patronage, if she can ever spare the time." Yam's smile returned, and though it pained her, it would be for the best. He should be kept safe from court life, and it was her right to be allowed to retire to the countryside on occasion.

"I will make time, and you will never be without someone to buy your produce." Kabech could not keep a smile from crossing her own lips, and she embraced her dear farmer. After she had held him for as long as he allowed, she dressed and took her leave with the crate of what vegetables had stayed put through the night.

"Take my horse," Yam insisted, trailing after. "She'll find her way home if you care to send her."

He gave her a hand up onto his mare, then brought her the box of veg to sit in her lap.

"I'll send her with another that you can train, so I will always have a way to find you." Kabech said, still struggling to set off.

Yam flashed her one, last, wonky smile, then patted the horse's flank and sent her cantering off into the night. Kabech may have welled up a little, but she did not weep. It would have been selfish to stay when she could do more for Yam from her seat in the palace.