“Thank you,” Yarrow said. He rubbed his face with his hands, and she noticed how tired he looked—as tired as she felt. “I can’t… It’s not enough. We couldn’t save them all. This is why I needed a sorcerer, to keep this from happening.”
Ouch.She knew it wasn’t her fault that she’d been sent instead, but the words still stung. “I’m sorry.”
He lowered his hands. “I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, and she knew hedidmean it, though she didn’t think he blamed her.He simply wishes someone else was here.It wasn’t personal, even if it felt very, very personal.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you need another sorcerer,” Lotti said.
Risa added, “We don’twantanother sorcerer. They might force us to sleep again.”
“What we neeeed,” Dendy said to Yarrow, “are more ofyouuu. More gaaardeners.” He waved his leaves expansively.
Yarrow shook his head. “There’s only me.”
Across the walkway, the fireweed, Nif, was sparking faintly, and the other plants were clustered around him. The morning glory cuddled against him, shivering so hard that her petals fell. The daisy was quietly sobbing, water sliding down their stem.
Terlu knew the obvious answer. She didn’t even have to think about it. “You could ask your family for help. Just until I find the right spells to strengthen the greenhouses. You said they never visit. Maybe it’s time. If even one of them came, it would double what you can do alone.” She didn’t have the expertise to be of much use—she had no illusions about that, though she’d done her best—and the sentient plants didn’t have the size or strength. “Extra bonus: you’d have the chance to make sure they’re all okay.”
His eyes slid to the dead greenhouse, and she could tell he wasconsidering it. The pain of the most recent loss was written in the lines around his eyes. He shook his head, though. “I wouldn’t know what to say. I don’t… I’m not good with words.”
That wasn’t a no.It’s a good idea.She’d thought from the beginning that this was all too much work for one gardener, and she’d thought he shouldn’t be without his family. “I could help.”
He looked so vulnerable as he stared at the windows.
“I could write it for you,” she offered.
“I…” He halted. “Yes. Yes, please.”
Sitting at Yarrow’s desk, Terlu wrote the letter on pale yellow paper. And then she rewrote it. And then she glared at it for a while. And then she went for a walk in the woods.
The air was as crisp as a ginger cookie. She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her coat as she trudged beneath a sky that was vibrantly blue. Snow, lacing the trees and coating the ground, shimmered. It crunched beneath her feet as she walked between the trees. She didn’t have a destination in mind and didn’t think she was going anywhere in particular until she walked into a section of the woods that felt familiar.
Frowning at the trees, she tried to figure outwhyit was familiar. She hadn’t spent much time outside the greenhouse, with the exception of the walk between Yarrow’s cottage and Laiken’s workroom. She hadn’t even been back to the blue cottage, the one that she’d picked out as hers. Since then, there had been a string of more important things to do, such as finishing that letter, helping Yarrow search for seeds, or helping replant the rescued plants—all of which she should be doing right now. Really, she didn’t have time for a stroll in the woods, but she’d felt the need to clear her head. She didn’t know why it was so hard to write a simple letter.
Walking slowly between the trees, Terlu realized why she knew this spot: it was where she’d awakened, where she’d been given a second chance. She wished she knew the date—it could be her re-birthday, celebrated each year with honey cakes. Of course, that was assuming she got to have re-birthdays and that she wasn’t turned back into a statue after anyone official discovered that she not only cast another spell but was planning to cast many more.
Thatwas why this letter was so hard to write, she admitted to herself.
When she’d suggested it to Yarrow, she’d been thinking of him and the plants and the greenhouse. She hadn’t been thinking about herself. If anyone answered the letter and came back to the greenhouse, Terlu would be vulnerable. They could choose to report her, and she would, once again, be guilty. Worse, she’d be a repeat offender.
The wind blew, and snow flew off the branches of nearby pine trees. It swirled around her, sparkling in the sun like flecks of diamonds. She turned to face the greenhouse, barely visible through the forest.
She didn’t regret what she’d done. Waking the plants was the right thing to do, and saving the greenhouses would be too, if she could figure out how to do it, but the law was the law, as overreaching and draconic as it was. For as long as the Crescent Islands Empire stood, one didnotdefy imperial law, as she really should have learned by now.
Such a shame the lesson didn’t stick,the other librarians would say.
Her family… How would they feel if they knew she’d been condemned, saved, and then lost again, all because of her own reckless choices? She watched a bird—a cardinal, with brilliant red feathers bright against the snow—fly between the pines, and she wondered if Rijes had really meant for Terlu to return to a life of crime so quickly. What if she’d misinterpreted the head librarian’s letter?
I didn’t misread anything.
The thought was as sudden as it was definite.
This was exactly why she’d been sent here. But she was also certain that others weren’t likely to be as open-minded as Rijes. The head librarian was a rare person: highly intelligent, highly educated,and highly empathetic. How did Terlu know anyone else would be as willing to forgive the blatant defiance of imperial law?
She trusted Yarrow—he cared more about his plants than legalities codified by some faraway emperor—but could she trust his family?
On the other hand, do I have a choice?
The Greenhouse of Belde was too much for a single gardener to maintain, even with the assistance of a former librarian and a somewhat excessive number of talking plants. Yarrow needed expert help, and he was finally willing to admit it. She couldn’t let her own fear stand in the way.If I’m turned into a statue again, at least I’ll know I did the right thing.
