The last rays of sunset slid over the treetops in the inner garden. The sky blazed in gold and lavender tones, and the soft murmur of water from the central fountain wove a tranquil melody, as if the entire palace had fallen silent just for them.
Silvania walked slowly, her cane brushing the cobblestones with a gentle, almost ceremonial rhythm. Dyan followed a few steps behind, his hands clasped behind his back, observing her with that mix of tenderness and concern he no longer tried to hide. Her long silver hair, her regal bearing, and firm gaze, despite her weariness, were still captivating. The wrinkles on her face, barely etched, only managed to give her an air of unyielding wisdom.
"Do you remember when we planted that lemon tree?" Silvania asked, pointing her cane at a small, already flowering tree. "You said its fruits would protect us from winter fevers."
Dyan smiled. "And you told me that if that were true, you'd plant five more."
"I never did."
"But you survived every winter," he replied, with a knowing smile.
They stopped under the bougainvillea-covered pergola. The air smelled of damp earth and young leaves. Silvania sat with a sigh, and Dyan took the bench beside her.
"Are you going to leave without saying goodbye to her?" she asked, glancing sideways.
Dyan didn't answer immediately. He picked up a fallen flower and twirled it between his fingers. "I said goodbye as she wanted me to... in silence."
"That's not how she would have wanted it," Silvania said, setting her cane aside. "It's the way you chose so you wouldn't break in front of her."
"I'm already broken, Silvania. I'm just trying to keep the splinters from hurting anyone else. Do you think she would willingly accept a farewell? We both know that."
Silvania watched him for a long time, then slowly leaned her head on his shoulder. She didn't always do it, but sometimes she needed it too urgently, more than prudence would advise, but she wasn't one to be swayed by trivialities.
"You and I know that love isn't broken by distance. But we also know that some things, if not tended to, rot."
Dyan didn't reply. He just took her hand in his and held it with the same gentleness with which he held the oldest pages of his grimoires.
"I'm not asking you to come back, Dyan," she finally said, in a quiet voice. "I just want you not to forget who you were here. What you did for us."
The mage nodded, his eyes lost in the first stars of the sky. "I can't forget. Not her. Not you. Not this garden."
"Then come sometimes. Even trees blossom better when someone talks to them," Silvania said, with a sad smile.
And so they remained, in silence, with the scent of bougainvillea enveloping them, both knowing that this evening would be one of the last they would share.