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Risa volunteered to orchestrate gathering the necessary ingredients, once Yarrow showed them which items were needed.

They drafted two other plants—the orchid and the daisy—to assist. Hosha, the prickly pear, offered to prepare the ingredients.

They could pound them into paste with their needle-crusted pads.

The calla lily helped, using the spike-like part of her flower like a mallet, and the flytrap used his lobes.

Dendy, along with the fireweed, the thistle, and the chrysanthemum, agreed to learn the syllables to the spell.

Terlu taught them the phrases and had them practice over and over until they could recite it perfectly with every intonation precise.

Now that the others were no longer caterwauling, Lotti was willing to lead a group of her fellow plants—the morning glory, the delphinium, and the fern—up the walls to slather the paste on the cracks.

Once everyone was trained and ready and eager, they began.

By nightfall, Terlu was so tired that she fell asleep in her own bed and didn’t wake once.

Yarrow snored lightly nearby. In the morning, they only talked about the day’s plan: which greenhouse they’d focus on next, how much of which ingredients they’d need, and how to ensure it all went smoothly and safely.

“I don’t know if they really understand what they’re risking,” Terlu worried as she munched on one of yesterday’s muffins.

Not only had she been breaking the law by casting spells, but now she was encouraging innocent plants to do so too?

This was a terrible idea. She didn’t know how the news from Marin about the fall of the empire would affect its laws, and it would be a mistake to assume the plants were safe.

He snorted. “They do. They’ve slept for decades.”

“They could be put back to sleep as punishment,” Terlu said.

“Or worse.” The muffin was still soft and sweet, just the right amount of fruit and sugar.

He’d sprinkled cinnamon on top. Finishing, she licked her fingers.

It was difficult to maintain a high level of worry while tasting sugary cinnamon, but she felt she ought to be worrying, since no one else seemed to be.

“You gave them a choice.”

She noticed he was staring at her fingers. “Yes, but—”

He handed her her coat. “ You know what you’re risking. Why are you doing it?”

Taking it, Terlu glared at him. “Fine. But if we all get turned into statues, I expect you to plant nice flowers around us.” She stalked outside as she wrapped her soft scarf around her neck.

Following her, he said mildly, “I won’t be planting anything if I’m a statue too.”

She was the one who snorted this time.

They trekked across the snow into the greenhouses.

She’d expected to find the sentient plants with the singing plants again, but only the enchanted musical plants were singing in their greenhouse, their sweet cascading harmonies reverberating off the glass in a swell of notes, without a single discordant extra singer.

Similarly, the rose room was empty of all but roses.

“Where are they?” Yarrow grumped.

“Maybe they already started?”

“It’s barely after dawn.”

Crossing into the dead greenhouses, they found the sentient plants.

In one corner of the brown-and-gray room, Lotti was slathering the paste over the cracks, while the prickly pear crushed more ingredients with a mortar and pestle.

Halfway up a pillar, Dendy recited the spell at the nearest paste-covered crack before moving on to the next one.

In another corner, the thistle was preparing more paste by whacking it with their bulbous flower head, while the fern spread it over the cracks with its frond.

The chrysanthemum recited the spell crisply and clearly.

Nearby, the morning glory dangled from a rafter, all her blue flowers in bloom, as she smeared paste on yet another crack.

The plants had all split into teams, and all around the room, each set of plants was performing the same actions: preparing ingredients, covering the cracks, and casting the spells. The air crackled with magic, so palatable that Terlu felt the hairs on her arm stand up.

“You were right,” Yarrow murmured.

“They care,” Terlu said softly back.

She didn’t dare disturb their concentration. All of them were working in concert, no words except for the spell—efficient and effective. With Yarrow, she marveled at the scene in front of them for several minutes more.

They don’t need us.

Yarrow touched her sleeve, and she met his eyes. He nodded toward the door. The two of them retreated out of the greenhouse.

“They’re helping,” Yarrow marveled. “And the spell is working.”

“Lotti must be happy they aren’t singing, though technically they could sing the spell, and it should still work, if they emphasize the correct syllables musically…”

“Do not tell them that where Lotti can hear you.”

Terlu grinned.

Yarrow grinned back, and she nearly melted into a puddle at his smile.

He held out his hand, and she took it. “Now that the plants have everything under control with the broken glass, what spell do you want to try next?” he asked.

“I’ve a few ideas, if you’re willing to risk—”

“I am.”

Together, they half walked and half ran to an empty dead green house. She didn’t want to let go of his hand, but she did when they entered, in order to pull out her notes on spells. She’d been able to split off another potential spell, but it was unclear where exactly to end the phrasing.

“For this one, there are three possible ways to vary the words in the third line”—she held the paper out so he could see it—“but what I don’t know is which is going to generate the results we want. Each conveys a slightly different meaning, like this one—”

“Terlu, I trust you. Choose whichever you want, and we’ll try it.”

“Oh. I—okay.” She supposed the last spell had worked like…

well, like a charm, so that should give her more confidence.

But that one had been far simpler to parse out than this one.

She pointed to the list of ingredients. “These are the only items we need for the spell, or at least for the first attempt.”

“What does this spell do?” Yarrow asked.

“So, the first step to fixing the structural integrity of the greenhouses is to repair the shattered glass, which the plants are working on,” Terlu said, “but the second step is to establish a layer of protection, essentially a shield that’s fitted right up against the windows.

That layer of insulation is what makes it possible to maintain the environment inside.

It’s the key to Laiken’s enchanted greenhouses.

It’s how he was able to make each one into its own bubble of summer. ”

“A shield?”

“Yes, like an invisible bubble that sits just within the glass.”

“Ah.”

She showed him the spell. Her notes were scrawled in the margins, but she’d copied the necessary syllables neatly to prevent any mistakes due to illegibility. “I think I isolated the piece of the spell that creates the bubble from the rest of it. Possibly.”

“Possibly?” Yarrow raised his eyebrows. He had expressive eyebrows, she’d noticed. “What happens if it fails?”

“That’s what I’m not sure about. See, the word for protection… There are a couple of different variations, depending on how you align it with the activation word—essentially, the verb. Honestly, it might be best if I cast this one by myself, and you wait outside?”

She was certain he wasn’t going to agree to that, and she was correct.

“No.”

She expected him to explain why, but that was all he said. “No?”

“No. I stay with you.”

“That’s nice, but if something goes wrong…”

“Then I’ll be here with you,” Yarrow said. “We talked about this.”

“Yes, but this is a different spell. A much less certain spell.” Terlu attempted again to show him the words, pointing to the ones that she was unsure about. “See here? It could create an entirely different effect if I stress the end syllable on the third line, as opposed to if I—”

He pushed the paper down and wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her up against him. Then he kissed her, even more thoroughly than he had before. She felt his tongue against her lips, and she opened her mouth. His breath was her breath.

Her thoughts scattered, and the spell slipped from her fingers. It fluttered to the ground, and she didn’t care. She wove her fingers through his hair. He cradled her back with one hand and her neck with his other. She tasted the honeyed heat in his kiss.

A few seconds, minutes, an eternity later, he drew back, and she could breathe on her own again. His voice rough, he said, “Cast the spell.”

“Okay. Yes. I can do that.” Terlu took a step back, out of his arms, and waited for her brain to begin functioning again. She picked the spell up off the ground. “Um, was that just to shut me up, or… Never mind. I don’t actually want to know. That was… nice.”

“Good.” He was staring at the ceiling, at the glass walls, at the flower beds full of withered, brittle plants, anywhere but at her.

“Right. Okay. You… um, the ingredients?”

Yarrow knelt by the basket and removed the items on the list.

“I think they should be… combined.” Why oh why did the word “combined” conjure up images that were not at all relevant to a greenhouse spell? She swallowed hard. “Yes, um, mix them.” Think boring thoughts. Boring thoughts. Like breakfast.

She thought of waking up so close to Yarrow, of the taste of honey rolls, of the way the sunlight bathed the naked wood of the cottage…

Nope, not boring. How about dirt? Dirt is boring.

Except when it was on Yarrow’s hands after a day of gardening, and he washed them off in the sink, meticulously rubbing each golden finger.

How about turtles? There was nothing sexy about turtles, right?

She thought about turtles for a while.