Page 29

At dawn, Yarrow made apple-and-cinnamon muffins. She had no idea how he got them mixed and baked so quickly, but by the time Terlu’s eyes opened, the cottage was filled with the smell of early autumn, even while the snow fell again outside.

She stretched. “You are a wonder.”

“Huh? Me? ”

It occurred to her that it was possible no one had ever admired this man, ever seen him as more than a son, brother, cousin, nephew…

the one who stayed behind. She wondered if he had any inkling of how special he was, to devote his life to the care of living things who—with the possible exception of the sentient plants, who had been asleep—could never really care for him in return.

She hoped the sentient plants, now that they were awake, were properly nice to him.

If they weren’t… well, she’d never yelled at anyone before and wasn’t sure she could, but she could certainly tell them she was disappointed in them and that she expected better from them.

That approach definitely worked on her when her parents had used it.

Hopefully I won’t have to. None of them seemed to have any grudge against Yarrow, though she couldn’t say the same about their views on the resurrection rose. “I hope they were kind to Lotti.”

“She’ll be all right even if they weren’t.”

“I think she’s sensitive, even if she hides it,” Terlu said.

It must have been hard to be blamed for decisions you didn’t remember making—or never made.

Laiken could have lied to Lotti as well.

She might not have known what he’d intended to do when he entered the greenhouse with the sleep spell.

Or maybe she had known, but she hadn’t thought to question the man who had created her.

She’d trusted him. And now to be the target of so much vitriol while the little rose was still mourning the loss of her father figure… Poor Lotti.

“I think she’s tougher than she looks,” Yarrow said. “Like you.”

Terlu barked a laugh. “I’m the least tough person I know. I was so unable to handle being a little bit lonely that I broke imperial law.”

He shrugged as he pried the muffins out of the tin and arranged them on a plate. He wrapped a few in cloth napkins, embroidered with vines. “People were cruel to you, and it didn’t make you bitter. What else would you call that?”

“Na?ve? Needy? Pathetic?”

“Strong,” he insisted.

Yet again, Terlu felt speechless in front of him.

Yarrow handed her a wrapped muffin and her red coat. “I’m heading into the greenhouse. Do you want to come?”

“Ah… Yes. Sure. Of course.”

Wow, he was being friendly . And kind.

Outside, fresh snow blanketed the forest, covering their footprints from last night. The sky was a soft dove gray, and a lone bluebird sat on a branch and sang.

“Why don’t the birds leave for the winter?” Terlu asked. “Why not go someplace warmer?” Her island always had an influx of birds every winter. She loved when they arrived, filling the skies and covering the roofs.

He shrugged.

“You feed them.”

“I like to bake; they like to eat.”

“You take care of every plant and every bird, every living thing on this island,” Terlu said. “Who takes care of you?”

Another shrug. Him and his shrugs, she thought. She never knew shoulders could talk so much. “I don’t need taking care of,” Yarrow said. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m grown.”

“That has nothing to do with it.” As they reached the door to the greenhouse, Emeral flew from the treetops into Terlu’s arms. He nestled against her, instantly purring.

“Who did you have looking after you?” Yarrow challenged.

“No one,” Terlu said.

He held the door open, and she and Emeral went inside.

“But if I had,” she added, “maybe I wouldn’t have ended up as a statue.”

They walked through the greenhouses, with Yarrow pausing to check on various plants. He pulled a few weeds from a flower bed, pinched dead blossoms from a petunia, and examined the leaves of a bush that was covered in white berries.

After he stopped to fuss with a perfectly healthy-looking clump of daisies, Terlu asked, “Shouldn’t we check on Lotti and the others?”

“Yes, we will.”

He straightened, and they continued to the next room, where he paused to re-pot a plant, shifting it from a smaller clay pot into a larger one, where it had space to expand.

Its leaves flopped over the sides of the pot.

As he watered it, he seemed to feel that Terlu was watching him, and he glanced up at her.

Gently, she asked, “Are you delaying?”

“No.”

She waited.

“I don’t know what we’re going to find,” Yarrow admitted.

“Come on. Lotti will be waiting for us.” She led the way, with Emeral curled, as usual, around her neck like a furry and feathery scarf.

She ignored her own imagination, as it helpfully supplied her with all the ways it could have gone wrong after they left last night, starting with the others being cruel to Lotti and including all of them reverting to catatonic states as her spell failed for some unknown reason that she couldn’t fathom but could still be possible.

She took a deep breath as she opened the door, and then the chatter from within hit her like a wave. Grinning back at Yarrow, Terlu stepped inside the sentient plants’ greenhouse.

All the plants were clustered on the walkway, their pots abandoned. The ivy was in a coil like a snake, and the thistle was laughing, its leaves quivering and its burrs bobbing back and forth. Bits of soil fell off its soil ball, wrapped in roots.

“ This is how humans dance!” the daisy cried, and it bounced in a circle with its petals flapping as it waved its leaves up and down.

The fireweed cackled, nearly falling over.

“No, it’s more like—” The thistle trotted on its roots, while shaking its purple flower back and forth as if it were a head bobbing to a drum beat.

Lotti laughed and clapped her leaves together. “Yes, that’s it!”

“How about this?” the ivy offered. It spiraled up into a column and then swooped down and began undulating around the other plants while they laughed and cheered.

“Guess they survived the night,” Terlu said, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the dancing plants. Survived and thrived.

“Terlu!” Lotti screeched. “Yarrow!” She hopped toward them, and the other plants hurried to circle excitedly around the two humans.

The winged cat let out an affronted hiss at the chattering and laughing plants before he launched himself off Terlu’s shoulders toward the rafters. Perched above them, he began to lick his feathers, while glaring disapprovingly down at the mobile flora.

Lotti bounced around Terlu’s ankles. “You missed Viria telling us about the time Laiken almost mixed up wild carrot and hemlock.”

Terlu wondered which one was Viria. Except for Lotti and Dendy, they hadn’t shared their names. She opened her mouth to ask.

“Both have clusters of white flowers,” Yarrow said, “but the stem of a wild carrot is covered in little hairs, while the stem of hemlock is smooth. Also, hemlock is poisonous.”

“It’s ooonly funny becaaause nooo one was huuurt,” Dendy said.

“Nah, it’s objectively hilarious,” Lotti said.

“The look on his face!” The calla lily, whom she guessed was Viria, tossed their white flower back and laughed, their yellow spadix quivering. “After that, he insisted his gardeners label every single plant—hundreds of thousands of signs meticulously written out and placed in each and every pot.”

Dendy said in his deep, slow voice, “He remoooved them laaater.”

The laughter faded.

“I liked having a sign with my name,” the prickly pear said in a squeaky voice. “A gardener drew a picture of me on it. I looked pretty.”

Several of the closest plants hastened to reassure the prickly pear it was still very pretty, and the cactus told them they were pretty too—and the compliments flew back and forth, escalating until they’d all fully established that each of them was as pretty as sunshine in the springtime, after which an argument broke out between the ivy and the flytrap about whether the sun was lovelier in springtime when it was sprouting season or summer when they could bask in its heat.

Terlu interrupted them. “Since you don’t have signs anymore, can you tell us your names and whether you prefer we refer to you as she, he, or they? We’d love to get to know all of you.”

Behind her, Yarrow murmured, “Would we? All of them?”

She knelt on the walkway, and the plants bunched around her, each of them calling out their name: the philodendron was Dendy (he), the ivy was Risa (they), the orchid Amina (she), the calla lily Viria (she), the thistle Tirna (they), the fireweed Nif (he), the wax myrtle Ree (he), the prickly pear Hosha (they), the flytrap Sut (he), the morning glory Zyndia (she), the fern Mirr (they)…

She committed as many names as possible to memory.

“And how are all of you feeling? Are you all right?”

Yarrow added, “Do you need anything?”

The wax myrtle bush, Ree, launched into a sea shanty: “All I need is the wind at my back, the deck at my feet, and the seeeeeeeeeea before me!” He shook his leaves as he sang.

“Hush,” Lotti told him. “Yarrow is serious. He’s nice, and he wants to help.”

And that prompted an outpouring from all the plants: they were fine, they were a little dry, one requested a new pot, one thought the soil could taste better, one wanted more humidity, one said the ivy (Risa) snored, another said the calla lily’s (Viria’s) laugh was too loud, the chrysanthemum wanted to know when her favorite gardener was coming back, and the fern (Mirr) wondered why they hadn’t been mixed up with the other non-talking plants.

They all wanted to know what they’d missed while they were asleep.

Crowding around Yarrow, they asked him about gardener after gardener, by name, until Terlu thought he was going to bolt through the door and keep running until he reached the dock.

He inched backward, shifting behind Terlu, as the plants crowded closer.