Page 35

Granted, it was possible that none of Yarrow’s relatives would come, and it was even more possible that, if one did, it would be weeks from now.

It was unlikely that anyone would just abandon their life in Alyssium and rush to the remote island of Belde.

If anyone came, it would be at their convenience, when they had a gap in their responsibilities.

More likely, there would be a few letters exchanged, with a visit planned for the spring or summer.

Given the magnitude of what they were asking—for one of Yarrow’s gardener relatives to return to their distant home for an unspecified amount of time—this wasn’t going to be an immediate solution, so she should finish up the letter as quickly as possible and then return to scouring the sorcerer’s notebooks for answers.

Sitting back down at Yarrow’s desk, Terlu picked up the pen.

She dipped it into the inkwell and wrote without stopping.

It was the best way to do it, keeping the quill tip to the paper—it kept her second thoughts and third thoughts from interfering with the sentences.

When she finished, she blew on the ink until it dried, then folded the letter and tied a ribbon around it.

Yarrow had already prepared a tag with the name and address of his aunt and uncle in Alyssium, the florists.

She fixed it in place with a bit of resin that she melted over the fire.

He’d said he didn’t want to read the letter when she finished it—she had offered, but he’d insisted that she send it as soon as she was done, before he changed his mind.

He’d left her a pouch with payment to give to the supply runner to deliver the letter.

She wasn’t going to tell him she had doubts too. This was the best course of action for the sake of the plants, regardless of their personal concerns. Yarrow couldn’t do it alone. Or even alone with a former librarian and multiple sentient plants.

Maybe especially then.

“I’ll be back as soon as it’s sent,” she told the cat.

At least he didn’t seem concerned.

After banking the fire, Terlu put her coat back on and this time walked in the opposite direction: toward the dock.

Yarrow had said to bring it there to send it and leave it with the payment, which should be half the pouch he’d given her.

She didn’t stroll this time; she strode.

She didn’t want those pesky second and third thoughts to turn her around.

Once the letter was off… well, then it would be done, and it would be up to others to choose whether to be kind or not.

Terlu heard the sea before she saw it, rhythmic bursts like steady drums as the waves crashed into the rocks. Salty sea air mixed with the crisp pine of the forest, and she smiled as she stepped out from between the trees to view the expanse of dancing blue.

The waves seemed to say: Don’t worry. She felt the tension in her shoulders loosen. In the distance, the silver sails of a boat reflected the sunlight.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said. “The sea.”

She jumped and noticed the two-foot-tall shrub that wasn’t rooted in the ground. Squatting on a rock, he held his root ball beneath a wad of leaves. Ree the wax myrtle, she remembered. “It is,” she agreed.

“Yarrow said you’re writing a letter to his family,” Ree said. “I told him I’ll deliver it myself.” He fluffed his leaves, and she had the impression he was puffing up his chest. His voice sounded young. She wondered how old he was.

“You will?” She tried to figure out how to politely ask how . “It needs to reach Alyssium, which is…” She wasn’t certain exactly where Alyssium was in relation to Belde. “… far.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ree said. “I’m a halophyte.”

“Ah, congratulations?”

“I’m salt-tolerant,” he translated. “Also, I’m brave.”

“Ah.” That was all very nice, but it didn’t explain how he was going to deliver a letter across the sea. He couldn’t be planning to swim, could he? Could a shrub swim? She tried to imagine it and had to press her lips together hard so she wouldn’t laugh out loud.

“There’s a flag in the box at the end of the dock,” Ree said. “If you raise it, a supply-runner ship will know to come by. When it does, I’ll go with it.”

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like laughing. “You want to leave Belde?”

“Oh yes,” he said, the longing clear in his voice. “I’ve always wanted to see the world, to sail the sea, to feel the salt on my leaves and the wind on my bark. Laiken never understood. But Yarrow… He said if it’s what I want, then it’s what I should do.”

Terlu thought of Laiken’s daughter and wondered if Ree had known her and her dream. He must have heard the story—and heard how the daughter had never returned.

“I have to find my place,” the shrubbery said. “My purpose.”

She understood that completely. “Raise the flag, you said?”

“Yes, and a ship will come.”

Walking out to the flagpole, she noticed a box affixed to the dock beside it.

She opened it and took out a flag—the fabric was white, and it had been embroidered with silver thread in the shape of a lily.

She touched the design lightly and wondered who had created such a beautiful piece.

Did Yarrow have yet another skill? Or was this made by one of his relatives?

She wondered what his family was like. Did they miss him?

Did they worry about him? What would they do when they got the letter?

She hadn’t specified which relative should come, and she’d asked for the letter to be shared.

Any gardener would do. Presumably they’d pick whomever could be spared.

If she were lucky, maybe two or three would visit for long enough to make a difference.

Terlu clipped it to the line on the flagpole and raised it. A breeze made it dance, and she shielded her eyes from the sun to watch the silver flash as the flag flapped.

She wondered how long it would take for a ship to come this way. Yarrow hadn’t said how often they came by, only that they watched for the flag. If Belde was on a popular shipping line, it could be soon. But she didn’t think Laiken would have built his enchanted greenhouse anywhere well-traveled.

Terlu watched the ship with silver sails on the horizon and waited to see if they changed direction, but she didn’t see any noticeable shift.

It could be days. She couldn’t just stand here and wait.

She could, however, watch from within the sorcerer’s workroom, if she repositioned the desk a bit. She liked that idea.

She kept the letter and the pouch with the sailor’s payment with her for now, though Yarrow had said she could simply leave it in the box. “I’m going to watch from the workroom,” she said to Ree. “Do you want to join me?”

“I’d rather wait here. Feel the sea breeze in my leaves. Don’t you think the crash of waves is the most beautiful sound in the world?”

She smiled. “I’ll come back outside when a boat docks.”

As she headed toward the tower, she heard a sound behind her, like a trumpet. Ree gasped, and Terlu turned back toward the sea.

Beyond the dock, between the island and the sailboat, a sea serpent breached the water.

She gasped, transfixed. She’d never seen one outside of illustrations in the older library books.

Its scales were mother-of-pearl, and its featherlike fins were spread to catch the wind.

It was singing like a trumpet as it arched through the air.

It dove into the waves with a flick of its broad feathery tail.

It felt like a sign: she was doing the right thing.

Comforted and awed, Terlu went inside.

She was halfway through translating a spell that might be for window glass, or could possibly be for cleaning used jars, when she heard Ree shrieking, “A sailboat! It’s coming!”

Looking out the window, she saw a boat with silver sails sailing toward the dock. Closing the notebook, Terlu darted for the door and grabbed her coat. She was outside before she had it pulled halfway on.

Waving to the sailboat, she skipped down the steps to the dock.

The wind had picked up since she was last outside, and she hugged her coat closer as she stood on the dock, barely keeping herself from hopping from foot to foot.

Ree was already at the end of the dock, quivering with excitement.

Terlu didn’t pause to consider why she was so excited too until she could see the face of the sailor:

Another person!

More than that, it was a person from beyond the island of Belde. It was easy to believe that the rest of the world was only a distant memory, not a thing that currently existed, while you were surrounded by impossible greenhouses.

The sailor was a woman with silvery skin, the same tone as her sails. Her white-and-black striped hair was tied back with a silver ribbon, and she wore all blue with black boots up to her knees. She grinned at Terlu as the boat slid beside the dock. “Tie it off, would you?”

She tossed a line to Terlu, and Terlu (to her relief) caught it. She knelt to tie it to one of the clamps on the dock—she’d tied off canoes often enough on Eano that her fingers remembered how to shape the correct knot, despite her years in the library.

“You the one who raised the flag?” the sailor asked. “What do you have for me?”

“Hi,” Terlu said. “Thank you for coming. It’s really nice to… Well, lovely to meet you.” She pulled the letter out of her coat pocket.

“I’m Ree,” the shrub said. “And you… wow. Hi. You’re a sailor .”

The sailor laughed, not unkindly, and said, “Hello, Ree. Yes, I am.” To Terlu, she said, “You could’ve just left the note in the box. That’s what the gardener does. You the new gardener? What happened to the other one? He okay?”

“He’s fine. I’m…” She had no idea how to describe who she was or why she was here. She held out the letter, as if it was a viable answer. “I’m a friend. I’m helping with the greenhouse.”