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The domed conservatory was high-ceilinged and paneled with fine glass, supported effortlessly by beams of white-painted steel which curved far above their heads. Within the center grew a copse of large trees whose branches had been carefully coaxed to peer gracefully into the stillness of the reflecting pond below. If the trees had leaves Taka couldn’t tell; locks of curly, grey-green moss dripped in thick clusters off the branches, dangling down almost to the surface of the water.
Taka took a deep breath, drew into his lungs the scent of green. Humidity clung to everything within this part of the garden, nourishing the bare, silvery roots of the orchids. Brilliant blooms of fuschia and purple extended from the hanging baskets anchored to the many circular arches which framed a winding path.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Taka asked Hoa, twisting gently to look behind him. She was standing with her face tilted up and her hands clasped behind her back, her clear brown eyes studying the hundreds of tiny yellow flowers that grew abundantly on each arch.
“Ah,” Hoa sighed, not acknowledging him, lifting her hand to tuck strands of straight, inky hair behind a pointed ear. “I almost forgot you were here.”
“You wound me.” Taka grinned. “I was just about to compliment you, but I will settle for comfort after taking so grievous an injury.”
“Hold your compliment and your tongue,” Hoa said, and only the amused light in her eyes gave her away. “Now move aside, if you please. You’re spoiling my view.”
Taka stepped aside, allowing Hoa to stroll past him. “Spoiling your view, really,” he muttered. “As if I didn’t belong in here.”
“Vanity is unbecoming!” Hoa called back over her shoulder, still walking.
Taka sniffed lightly. “I speak only the truth,” he said, addressing a large ladyslipper clothed in lilac and jade. “I am just as handsome as you.”
“Hey Taka! Found one! Look at this!” Hoa pointed down at her feet, where there was a pale orchid with what could only be described as a comically oversized scrotum. The orchid was white, save for the bulbous pouch, purplish, striated with brown. “This one can be you.”
“Maker’s balls,” Taka grumbled.
“How did you know its name?” Hoa asked, impish. The grin she gave him was bright and flashing. There were dimples in her cheeks.
“Um,” Taka said, momentarily at a loss for words.