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As a librarian who had once brought a spider plant to life, Terlu knew she should be uniquely suited to react in a sensible way to a talking rose. Still, when the moment came, she was completely flustered. “You’re alive!”

“Ugh,” the rose said, “you’re one of those .” It waved its lacelike leaves and pitched its voice high. “Ooh, a talking flower! How’s it possible? She doesn’t have a throat or lungs or lips. How can she be talking?”

“If you’re really asking, the talking is due to a complex spell that involves seventeen ingredients and precise pronunciation of five lines of First Language text,” Terlu said, “but what I should have said was: How are you alive after who knows how long without water, soil, or sunlight?”

The plant lowered its leaves sheepishly— her leaves, Terlu amended; the rose had referred to herself as “she.” “Oh. Sorry,” the rose said. “I thought you meant— Well, I can exist dormant for a number of years. I’m what’s known as a resurrection rose. My name’s Lotti.”

“Nice to meet you, Lotti. I’m Terlu.” She tried very hard not to gawk at the rose. She hadn’t expected to find a sentient plant here, so soon after what happened with her spider plant. As far as she knew, they were rare. Was this fate? Or did the universe have a twisted sense of humor?

“You said ‘who knows how long.’ How long was I asleep? Years? How many years?”

It was a very good question—and one that Terlu sympathized with.

Six years, echoed in her head. Judging by the state of the workroom and the layers of dust, it could have been far longer for Lotti.

Terlu wished the gardener was willing to talk.

She had even more questions now. “I don’t know.

I just got here myself. In fact, I’m not quite sure where here is.

” She wondered how much of her own story to tell the plant and decided it wasn’t a secret.

“You see, I was recently resurrected myself.”

“I don’t know what that means since you’re a human and not, well, me, but I don’t care enough to ask,” Lotti said. “Let’s find Laiken. I’m sure he can clear all of this up.”

“Laiken?” Wait, was that the name of the gardener? No, he said his name was Yarrow. Did he know about Lotti? If so, why had he left her to shrivel in an abandoned workroom?

“You know Laiken. Bushy beard. Never combs his hair. Very powerful sorcerer who created the wonderous Enchanted Greenhouse of Belde.”

Not the gardener then, and he didn’t sound like anyone Terlu knew and certainly no one she’d seen here, but if the rose was talking about the sorcerer who had created all of this…

the one who Yarrow had said died… You don’t know they’re one and the same, she told herself.

She couldn’t say he died when she wasn’t certain they were talking about the same person.

Lotti began to vibrate and then, using her leaves as if they were legs, jumped several inches straight up to the rim of the pot before plopping back down.

“Oof. One more try.” She crouched, squishing her petals tight together, and then she leaped up with petals and leaves extended.

On her second try, she nearly cleared the top of the pot.

“Do you want help?” Terlu offered.

“No, I got this.” Third try, Lotti wound her leaves in a circle as if she were trying to build momentum. She only reached halfway up.

Fourth attempt, she tried to climb, using her leaves like arms.

“Really, I could just lift you—”

“Nope,” Lotti puffed. “If you could not watch, please…”

Terlu turned aside politely and tried not to worry. She was glad that the water had helped Lotti—no one should be forced into that kind of not-life. Still, though…

I wish I hadn’t been the one to wake her.

Given that she’d been convicted for bringing a plant to life, any judge who saw Lotti would be very, very suspicious.

This time, Terlu hadn’t cast a single spell, but would anyone really believe her?

It felt like a terribly suspicious coincidence.

To the outside, it would look like she’d been revived merely to make the same mistake again.

She’d be popped right back into the North Reading Room if anyone knew.

“It was an accident!” didn’t sound plausible when it was a crime she’d already committed. Even I would judge me guilty.

If the first punishment was eternity as a statue, she couldn’t even imagine what the fate for repeat offenders would be. The thought of being transformed again, of losing this precious second chance before it had even begun…

I can’t let anyone find out.

Luckily there was no one here to—

The door banged open, and Yarrow filled the doorframe. In an exasperated voice, he said, “Are you always where you’re not supposed to be?”

Terlu yelped. And panicked. Her mind started whirring like a pinwheel in a windstorm: I can’t go back—I can’t go back—I can’t—I can’t.

She started feeling the squeeze in her throat that she’d felt when the spell was cast on her, and she remembered how her limbs had stiffened, how her eyes and her mouth had dried, how her heart had slowed while her mind panicked.

She heard a plop and a tiny cheer as the rose successfully jumped out onto the table.

Quickly, Terlu scooped the rose back into her pot.

“Shh, please. I’ll be back. Promise,” she whispered, and then she spun around to face Yarrow, who stood in the doorway.

Words tumbled out of her mouth, high-pitched and silly-sounding, “Yes, of course, you’re right, so sorry, I shouldn’t be here.

Silly me.” She hurried across the workroom, grabbed Yarrow’s arm, and propelled him out of the sorcerer’s tower, back into the sunlight.

I can’t lose this. I can’t. I can’t.

What could she say to distract him?

I could kiss him.

That would certainly distract him. But no, that was absurd.

She barely knew him. Just because his golden lips looked kissable…

No. What else? What was it she was supposed to be doing?

Looking at cottages! “Of course this wasn’t one of the cottages.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Clearly not for me.

I did find one cottage that I think would do nicely. ”

“Good.” He stared at her hand on his arm.

She stared at her hand too. It occurred to her that, until Yarrow, it had been six years since she’d touched anyone.

Beneath his coat, his arm felt solid. Muscly.

He probably spent a lot of time shoveling.

Or hauling soil? She wasn’t certain what gardeners did.

Had she really had the idea to kiss him?

What in all the islands was she thinking?

It’s been even longer since I’ve kissed anyone.

A moment passed.

Neither of them spoke.

Terlu removed her hand. “I’ll show you.” Backing away, she hoped he couldn’t tell that her voice was shaky. She charged toward the road.

Behind her, he didn’t move.

She thought for an instant that she’d messed it all up—he was going to go back into the workroom and see the sentient plant, and then she absolutely would look guilty after rushing out of there without explaining. He’ll never believe any explanation now.

She shouldn’t have tried to hide the rose.

And what was Lotti going to think of her? Terlu had essentially done what Yarrow had done to her, rushing off without any explanation. I’ve mishandled all of this.

But she didn’t know how to fix it. Not immediately, at any rate.

As soon as Yarrow left her (which, based on their prior interactions, should be in less than three minutes), she could scurry back to Lotti and apologize profusely and explain.

She’d tell the little rose everything: what she’d done and what had been done to her. Maybe the rose would understand.

Not many had understood. At the trial, she’d seen it in their eyes: disapproval, disappointment, pity.

Especially pity from the other librarians.

She wondered if anyone had told her family about her fate and what they had thought.

She’d written to them every week up until her arrest, sometimes only a few lines—a description of a citrus tea that reminded her of home, a note about a shop with tools that Cerri might like, a request for a recipe, an anecdote about a street performer who’d danced with silk scarves.

She wondered what they’d thought of her silence after that. Had anyone told them about her fate? She half hoped they hadn’t and that they’d thought their daughter died of natural causes, an illness or an accident, rather than that she’d caused her own downfall.

Yarrow didn’t reenter the sorcerer’s tower.

Instead he merely locked it with the key and replaced it on the hook, which did make her wonder why he locked it at all—perhaps the door didn’t latch firmly enough without the lock?

Or it’s to discourage people like me from letting themselves inside.

He trotted down the path toward her, away from the resurrection rose, and she felt like she could breathe again.

She flashed him a smile that she didn’t feel and began to chatter about the various cottages: which ones she liked, which one had a flock of feral gryphons, and what work she’d need to do to make one livable.

“I have a chimney brush,” he said, “and a ladder.”

“Great!” She hurried toward the little blue cottage. “This is the one. What do you think?” She looked back at him in time to see his face fall. He recovered quickly, reverting to his unreadable stoic face that he wore so often. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

“I can choose another one.”

“It’s yours.” He turned and began to stomp off, and she was going to let him this time. She had to return to Lotti, as well as work on the cottage.