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She had kissed and been kissed before, but never like this, like she was the most precious jewel in all the Crescent Islands.

His lips were warm and soft and tasted like honey—how did anyone taste like honey when they first woke?

His hands were on her back, pulling her so close that she could feel his heart beat through the fabric of their shirts, and she wanted to be closer, to be enveloped by him—

A thud thumped on the door. “Yarrow! Terlu!” Lotti called from outside.

They broke apart.

Yarrow disentangled himself and threw himself out of bed. Terlu felt as if a bucket of snow had been dumped on her head. He yanked open the door and demanded, “What’s wrong? Is another greenhouse failing? Which one?”

“No. Not that.” Lotti hopped inside and then shook her petals and leaves. Bits of snow flew around her. “Eeks! Cat!”

Half falling out of bed, Terlu launched herself forward and grabbed Emeral before he could fly at the little rose. She cuddled him as she carried him to the icebox, where she offered him some grouse. Forgetting the talking plant, he dedicated himself to nibbling on the unexpected breakfast.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Yarrow said. He was shedding his nightclothes and pulling on work clothes, heavy pants with many pockets and a warm shirt, and Terlu tried not to remember how it had felt to be pressed against him—that moment had passed, and she had no idea if another mistake like that would happen again, or if he wanted it to.

Lotti sighed dramatically. “It’s the other plants.”

“Are they hurt?” Yarrow demanded.

“No.”

“Are they asleep again?”

“No.”

Terlu tried not to glance over at Yarrow as he buttoned his shirt over his chest. His chest hair was golden, tapering in between his muscles. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Are they being unkind to you? I can talk to them.”

“It’s not that,” Lotti said. “They’re… singing .”

Slowing as he secured his belt around his waist, Yarrow scowled at the little rose. “They’re supposed to sing. Laiken spelled them to sing.”

“No, no, not the enchanted musical ones. They’re great. It’s the others, the ones like me. They’re trying to sing with them, and they’re terrible . Well, not Dendy, he’s fine, but the others!”

Yarrow grunted. “That’s hardly an emergency.”

Lotti flopped dramatically onto the wood floor. “It is to me. My ears!”

“Do you have ears?” Terlu asked, curiously.

She hadn’t inspected Lotti’s petals up close to see if she was formed different from other non-talking plants.

As far as Terlu could tell, Lotti didn’t have ears or eyes or a nose or a mouth.

Her petals moved when she spoke, but not because they were lips.

Perhaps because of the vibration in the air?

Terlu very deliberately didn’t look at Yarrow again, even though he was fully dressed now.

Lotti waved her leaves in the air dramatically. “Obviously not, but I do have perfect pitch, which the vast majority of my fellow sentient plants do not have.”

Frowning, Terlu tried to remember the exact words of the spell that created Caz.

It could have been all wrapped up in the word “ansara,” which had the root word for “life,” but it wasn’t life as in breathing and existing—that was linked with rwyr —it was connected with experiencing life…

If the magic translated that as experiencing the five senses…

“What do you want me to do about it?” Yarrow asked mildly.

“Take me with you today,” Lotti begged. “I told the others that you need my help with the magic. Please, Terlu, let me help you with the spells. I’ll do anything. Sort ingredients. Prop up your notes. Sit quietly in the corner and pretend to be invisible. Whatever you need.”

Terlu glanced at Yarrow to see what he thought, but he looked to be waiting for her to decide, as if her opinion mattered more than his. He cares what I think. Values it. She couldn’t think of anyone else who had ever—

“Ooh, wait—am I interrupting something?” Lotti asked. She hopped forward and plopped herself down in front of them both. She folded her leaves as if they were multiple hands clasped in front of her bud. “What did I miss? Come on, details.”

Terlu felt herself blush furiously. “Not at all, and nothing.” Focus, Terlu Perna.

She’d wanted no plants with them in case anything went wrong, but today she was planning on experimenting with a much smaller, more focused kind of spellwork.

Maybe it was okay? It wasn’t as if she needed to be alone with Yarrow for any reason…

“I thought you’d want to spend time with the other sentient plants, at least the ones who aren’t singing.

Why do you really want to come with us?”

Lotti’s petals drooped. “They… They don’t understand that I miss Laiken. For them… it’s different for them. He was different with them. And I… just need a little break.”

Terlu wanted to give her a hug. No matter what kind of man Laiken had been, what problems and flaws he had, he’d still been important to Lotti. Of course she’d miss him. “If you promise to be silent when I’m casting the spell…”

“I can be silent! Silent as a mouse, which is an odd expression since mice squeak and chitter and have those scratching paws when they—”

“Let me just get dressed, and then we can go.” Terlu stepped into the bathroom to wash and change into a sturdy wool skirt and blouse.

She took an extra minute to take a deep breath and convince her cheeks to quit blushing such a vibrant pink.

It was just a kiss, she told herself firmly. It probably won’t even happen again.

When she came out, Lotti was still talking, describing the melodies of her fellow plants in tones of horror. Apparently, some were trying to add lyrics to the singing plants’ music, and the rhymes were unbearable.

Terlu pulled on her shoes and coat. She took the spell she’d worked on the night before.

It was short—only three lines long—and it was entirely possible that it wouldn’t work at all, now that it had been excised from the context of the larger enchanted-greenhouse-creation spell, in which case, Lotti would be in no danger at all.

“Carry me,” Lotti ordered, and Terlu picked her up.

“Can we also bring a mortar and pestle?” Terlu asked Yarrow. “I think we should mash the ingredients into a paste this time. If I’m doing smaller magic, it will need to be directed.” Or at least that was her current theory, which seemed to match her recent experience.

He took a mortar and pestle from his kitchen supplies and added it to the basket of spell ingredients. He then handed her one of the leftover rolls from dinner the night before. “Breakfast?”

“Thank you.” Their fingers brushed as she took the roll, and she stared at their hands for a moment—his golden and hers lavender—and wondered if he felt what she felt, but by the time she looked up at his face, he’d turned away and was opening the door.

Outside, the morning air was crisp and smelled like the sea.

“Did you want to, um, talk? About earlier?” Yarrow asked.

In front of Lotti? “Later? Maybe?” Or not at all. If he was going to talk about how it was a mistake, then she’d rather the silence, at least for now, at least until the feeling of his mouth on hers faded from her lips.

“Good,” Yarrow said.

They kept walking.

“I could handle the singing until the rhyming started,” Lotti continued to complain. “Do you have any idea how many words rhyme with ‘blue’? So many. So very many.”

Yarrow led them to another dead greenhouse, far from the rest.

While Yarrow blended the ingredients into a paste, Terlu studied the words of the spell. Lotti hopped from one dead flower bed to another. “Were these unique species?” the rose asked.

“Unique to the Greenhouse of Belde, yes,” Yarrow said. “Thankfully, as far as I know, none of these species are extinct in the Crescent Islands. It was a tragedy but it could have been worse.”

“Can you send for more seeds and regrow them?” she asked.

“If the greenhouse can be fixed, yes.”

“Good,” Lotti said. “Laiken saw this as both a sanctuary and a fail-safe. If the rest of the world destroys their plants, at least all won’t be lost.”

“He didn’t have a high opinion of people,” Terlu observed.

“He loved plants,” Lotti said.

Terlu didn’t remind her how Laiken had let her fall dormant, or how he’d enchanted the others to sleep. His love wasn’t the kind of love that Terlu ever wanted. Do not look at Yarrow, she told herself firmly.

Yarrow glanced over at Terlu. “Are you ready?”

No. “Yes.”

Standing, she took the paste from Yarrow and walked to the closest wall of windows. Cracks ran through the glass. She chose one, dipped her fingers in the paste, and smeared it over the first crack.

“Careful,” Yarrow said behind her. “Don’t cut yourself.”

She was being careful. It was cracked but not shattered, and it wasn’t sharp.

He cares. That had to mean something. He hadn’t just kissed her because she was there, had he?

She didn’t think so, but it wasn’t a question she was ready to ask.

Terlu finished coating the crack as far as she could reach, until she was out of paste.

Now, the words.

It was a simple spell: a noun with descriptors to identify the target, a verb (“strengthen,” with the connotation of healing), and then the invitation to the magic of the world to flow via the verb to the noun.

That was what magic was: coaxing the ineffable spirit of the world’s magical energy into a chosen path.

She hadn’t actually read much about magic theory—those were dry texts, usually geared to echo lectures, and since she wasn’t in school for sorcery, she’d skimmed past them.

She was far more interested in how language was used.

There was beauty in the precision of its poetry.

“Terlu?” Yarrow asked.

“Sorry.” She took a breath and then spoke the words:

Svaniga vi rayna,

Ami pri nessava,

Biana te biana me vi pri rinaka.

She finished.

Silence.

“That’s it?” Lotti asked.