Page 22 of Growing Memories (Valley of Sylveren #2)
Chapter Thirteen
Being able to tromp around Sylveren’s grounds without pain was the new height of luxury for Ollas.
He wasn’t fully recovered, but now his aches were the familiar kind of soreness.
A dull pain that told him he hadn’t worked those muscles in a while.
It was the kind of feeling that said he was getting stronger.
Which he hoped was true; hauling in a single sack of grow mix from Trunk to where the elective’s work was housed in the Adept levels’ main greenhouse, Sapling, had left him a sweaty mess.
His curls were plastered to his temples, loose shirt clinging in places and probably adorned with stains to match.
A large clay pot sat on the ground near the greenhouse’s long main counter.
A philodendron had long since climbed out of its container and spread throughout the greenhouse, defying all attempts to prune and tame its growth.
Ollas was pretty sure a variation of the plant had taken up residence throughout every building in the complex; not quite the same, but a guardian variety that had adapted to the different conditions.
Its protection qualities had softened over the decades, maybe even centuries, of Sylveren’s history, changing to reflect the latent magic collecting in the various greenhouses each iteration of the plant called home.
Where the Magisters’ greenhouse specimen was grace and power, with variegated, blade-shaped leaves the length of a forearm, the plant in the Adept levels’ greenhouse was more robust. Dark green leaves the size and shape of dinner plates.
A few splits, but nothing like the Magisters’ plant.
Not unlike the even bulkier cousin that lived in the Initiate greenhouse, the Sapling plant looked hearty, capable of withstanding the trials and tribulations of living in those years’ buildings.
Ollas stuck his finger in the soil and reached for a trickle of his magic.
Instead of a steady flow, his had always been more of a faucet with a slow leak—occasional drips that emerged at their own leisure.
Tired as he was, it didn’t surprise him when his magic’s response was more of a fizzle.
The lower leaves ruffled once, giving him the impression of mild annoyance.
Not unlike a horse twitching to shoo a fly on its flank, not even worth the effort of a tail swish.
“Sorry, friend,” he murmured, straightening up.
His brief gleaning of the soil’s contents didn’t reveal anything aside from the standard potting mix.
Given the age and level of entrenchment, Ollas guessed that the vine had other sources for nutrients throughout the greenhouse.
The hearty stems thrummed with latent magic, some innate to the plant and some likely stored from so much exposure to young mages going about their work.
He didn’t recognize the signature, as it was, of the medley of spellwork within the leaves, but rather something inherent in the magic’s structure.
An old enchantment for roof integrity, perhaps?
Or maybe a fire suppressant charm—the Initiate levels greenhouse had a full slate of fire, flood, and general explosion-proofing spells, along with general safety enchantments that were refreshed yearly.
It seemed fitting to Ollas that the old protector vine would evolve to embody such defenses.
Giving the leaf a last admiring stroke with his finger, he noticed new growth at the base as the plant readied itself to flower.
Going to the nearest counter, Ollas scrounged around until he found an old seed packet and stub of a pencil.
He scribbled a note to himself on the back so he wouldn’t forget to make changes to his lesson plan and incorporate it into his class.
It was rare for these old philodendrons to bloom, between how long it took for them to grow to maturity and the decades-long cycle between blooming periods.
Even then, the exact triggers that sent the plants into flowering were hard to predict with?—
Ollas’s hand jerked. He bolted upright, hissing in pain as his back protested.
He ignored it, mind racing. It wasn’t unheard of for flowering only to be brought on by the most discriminating convergence of conditions.
In some cases, those triggers caused the plant to change in appearance.
Like going from plain and grass-like to variegated and leafy?
Slowly, thoughts whirling together, Ollas left Sapling and made his way back toward Trunk.
It was a wild theory, but everything about those delegation plants was a little unconventional.
He’d submitted a request for the Sentinels’ records on the delegation rescue and likely wouldn’t hear back for at least a week, maybe longer.
But he’d already started some propagation experiments, so what harm was there in trying a few more?
He was keeping notes on the process per the school’s standard guidelines, and Rai knew, vaguely, that Ollas was fussing with some old Trunk stock.
So long as he covered expenses and kept the school informed, no one was likely to complain.
Ollas doubted anyone was even paying attention, Trunk not being a hotbed for cutting edge research.
Once inside the storage greenhouse, Ollas’s tired body forced him to rest. He settled onto a stool and stretched his bad leg out, wincing as his knee cracked.
But at this point, any stiffness was temporary.
He’d managed all his gardening duties, light though they were, all afternoon with minimal trouble.
Which meant his days of needing Eunny’s help were well and truly over.
Which wasn’t wholly bad; having to sit and watch had made him feel so inept.
But needing her? Just her. He couldn’t call it beginning , not when he’d been ensorcelled for so long.
But something had started to change . His wistful longing was turning into something more, felt like it had turned a corner, ascended a level.
It felt like maybe, possibly, there was a chance for something real.
She’d been willing to help out with his delegation plant experiment, even though she usually avoided anything to do with that awful time.
Would she follow him down the path of this newest theory about the radical change in the plants?
It was hard to imagine her slogging up from Sylvan, especially when he had no idea what exact conditions the plants needed to flower.
The tedium of the elective’s numerous trying-and-failing-to-start seeds had been bad enough.
But more than their greenhouse adventures, he liked having her in class, too.
It was sort of like when someone audited a course.
Considering that Eunny was a novice to grovetending and the elective was far above her level, she managed fine.
Got along with the students, many of whom knew of her through her repair café or her aunt’s teashop.
Ollas wanted her to stay. They were on the verge of…
something. So many times, now, it had felt as if the affections he’d carried were about to culminate, to be revealed.
And Eunny, she sensed it. In the carriage.
The greenhouse. His godscursed kitchen table, his temporary bed , when he’d been so close to throwing caution to the wind and finally kissing her.
Only it was his nerve that kept failing.
Had him confessing feelings when he knew they couldn’t be heard.
He might as well not have said anything at all.
With a groan that was only partly due to his aching joints, Ollas grabbed a trowel and went out to the overgrown section behind Trunk to gather more fodder for his propagation experiments.
He knelt, sinking his fingers into the loosened earth.
Taking a deep breath, Ollas mentally reached for any remnants of his magic.
A few drops came to him, wicking into the soil much easier than he’d expected.
But then the magic was gone, and the plants didn’t have even the slightest aura of the arcane about them.
Unperturbed, he dug up another clump and levered himself back up to his feet in time to see Eunny coming toward him.
“Look at you, no cane or anything. Guess I’m out of a job,” she teased.
“Yeah, I…” Ollas paused, glancing at her as he murmured, “Can we not, just for—just for a little bit, can we not talk about you…”
“Me?” Eunny said, drawing out the word. “Me, what, exactly?”
“Leaving.”
“Oh. Sure.” Faint spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “Sorry, I, uh—” She blinked, a frazzled note in her voice. “I forgot to tell you that I sent Dae home with one of your secret plants.”
“Ours now, or are you backing out on me?” Ollas joked. “I have a theory on why they’re changing.” He quickly explained his idea about the plants changing for a bloom cycle as they went back into Trunk.
“Okay,” Eunny said slowly, helping him gather an assortment of propagation supplies. “So, you think these are one of those special ‘blooms once a century’ kind of things?”
“Not a century, but something like that.” Ollas dragged out the old ledger with its one sparse entry pertaining to the seeds-now-turned-plants. Finger skimming across his faded scrawl, he tapped one spot. “Six years ago, we were having an unseasonable amount of rain.”
Eunny didn’t look convinced. “It rains all the time here. We’re having a lot now, but is that really all it takes?”
“Well… No, probably not in this case,” Ollas admitted. “We’re missing something else, but it’s a start!”