He snorted. “They do. They’ve slept for decades.”
“They could be put back to sleep as punishment,” Terlu said. “Or worse.” The muffin was still soft and sweet, just the right amount of fruit and sugar. He’d sprinkled cinnamon on top. Finishing, she licked her fingers. It was difficult to maintain a high level of worry while tasting sugary cinnamon, but she felt sheoughtto be worrying, since no one else seemed to be.
“You gave them a choice.”
She noticed he was staring at her fingers. “Yes, but—”
He handed her her coat. “Youknow what you’re risking. Why areyoudoing it?”
Taking it, Terlu glared at him. “Fine. But if we all get turned into statues, I expect you to plant nice flowers around us.” She stalked outside as she wrapped her soft scarf around her neck.
Following her, he said mildly, “I won’t be planting anything if I’m a statue too.”
She was the one who snorted this time.
They trekked across the snow into the greenhouses. She’d expected to find the sentient plants with the singing plants again, but only the enchanted musical plants were singing in their greenhouse, their sweet cascading harmonies reverberating off the glass in a swell of notes, without a single discordant extra singer. Similarly, the rose room was empty of all but roses.
“Where are they?” Yarrow grumped.
“Maybe they already started?”
“It’s barely after dawn.”
Crossing into the dead greenhouses, they found the sentient plants. In one corner of the brown-and-gray room, Lotti was slathering the paste over the cracks, while the prickly pear crushed more ingredients with a mortar and pestle. Halfway up a pillar, Dendyrecited the spell at the nearest paste-covered crack before moving on to the next one. In another corner, the thistle was preparing more paste by whacking it with their bulbous flower head, while the fern spread it over the cracks with its frond. The chrysanthemum recited the spell crisply and clearly. Nearby, the morning glory dangled from a rafter, all her blue flowers in bloom, as she smeared paste on yet another crack.
The plants had all split into teams, and all around the room, each set of plants was performing the same actions: preparing ingredients, covering the cracks, and casting the spells. The air crackled with magic, so palatable that Terlu felt the hairs on her arm stand up.
“You were right,” Yarrow murmured.
“They care,” Terlu said softly back.
She didn’t dare disturb their concentration. All of them were working in concert, no words except for the spell—efficient and effective. With Yarrow, she marveled at the scene in front of them for several minutes more.
They don’t need us.
Yarrow touched her sleeve, and she met his eyes. He nodded toward the door. The two of them retreated out of the greenhouse.
“They’re helping,” Yarrow marveled. “And the spell is working.”
“Lotti must be happy they aren’t singing, though technically they could sing the spell, and it should still work, if they emphasize the correct syllables musically…”
“Donottell them that where Lotti can hear you.”
Terlu grinned.
Yarrow grinned back, and she nearly melted into a puddle at his smile.
He held out his hand, and she took it. “Now that the plants have everything under control with the broken glass, what spell do you want to try next?” he asked.
“I’ve a few ideas, if you’re willing to risk—”
“I am.”
Together, they half walked and half ran to an empty dead greenhouse. She didn’t want to let go of his hand, but she did when they entered, in order to pull out her notes on spells. She’d been able to split off another potential spell, but it was unclear where exactly to end the phrasing.
“For this one, there are three possible ways to vary the words in the third line”—she held the paper out so he could see it—“but what I don’t know is which is going to generate the results we want. Each conveys a slightly different meaning, like this one—”
“Terlu, I trust you. Choose whichever you want, and we’ll try it.”
