Page 59 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Wren

‘Mark not the thorns, but rather what they’ve kept safe through the ages’

– An Encyclopaedia of Deadly Plants

T HE E MBERVALE SISTERS stood in the quiet conservatory, which was empty but for Dessa working on her own opus nearby. The redhead was so consumed with her project that she hadn’t looked their way since she’d arrived, her eyes fixed on the parchment she was scribbling away on.

Thea stood with her arms folded over her chest as she surveyed the potted plants before her. ‘Which ones are from Delmira?’ she asked.

Wren pointed to a pair, their silver-white petals gleaming in the morning light that poured into the conservatory. Vibrant green leaves stretched towards the glass ceiling; their edges seemed to pulse with life.

‘Those two are full specimens, from the soil they’re in to the plant itself – all transported from Delmira.’ She pointed to a different pot. ‘That silvertide was transplanted to local soil, the most nourishing that the Master of Lifelore had to offer from his personal supplies.’

Thea’s brow crinkled. ‘It doesn’t look as... perky as the ones from Delmira, does it?’

So far, they had managed to keep Thea’s arrival hidden from the eager council, and Wren had never been more grateful to have her sister by her side.

They had talked about Delmira at length, with Thea openly airing her fears and concerns about what taking on the crown might mean for her, for Wilder, for the future they’d envisioned together.

Wren had always thought of Thea as reckless and impulsive, but her talk of securing funding and defences was measured and considered. Wren suspected she had managed to get some time in with their strategist friend as well, for her observations were laced with calculation and long-term planning.

Wren had slowly begun to share what she’d learned about the underworld of the midrealms throughout her years as the Poisoner, and what they might encounter from certain high-borns of each kingdom.

Wren didn’t like where the discussions had taken them, didn’t for one second accept that there was only one way to solve their dilemma – but it felt good to talk, and for the first time in a long while, she felt as though she wasn’t alone.

Sharing her work with her sister was another unexpected joy, and she found Thea waiting for her response expectantly, a far cry from the girl who used to skip lessons with Farissa.

‘At first I thought perhaps the transplanted specimen was in shock from being moved,’ she explained.

‘They often need some time to recover, but its leaves are still curling, see? And some parts are wilting...’ She moved along the bench, gesturing to another set of planters.

‘These were propagated from cuttings. And these over here? From seeds...’

Toying with the end of her braid, Thea paced down the length of the bench, contemplating Wren’s work.

Wren led her to another table. ‘Everything here is the same species of rose from various locations across the midrealms: our gardens here in Drevenor, greenhouses in Ciraun, florists in Aveum, farms in Tver... We’ve sourced samples from everywhere.’

‘So you’re saying it’s all about the Delmirian soil?’ Thea asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice. ‘Not the plant itself?’

‘We thought that at first,’ Wren ventured.

‘But we’ve sent other alchemists in secret to bring back more samples, and there have been mixed results.

In some soil, it doesn’t matter how you try to cultivate the silvertide – seeds, cuttings, repotting the whole thing – they all flourish.

But in other soil, still from Delmira, they flounder.

They don’t have the same effect in the cure I’m trying to replicate. ’

‘And that’s why you’re struggling with it?’ Thea asked.

‘That’s the theory. But I feel like I’m hitting a wall with this research. Every lead I chase down just brings me to dead ends or more questions. I can’t work it out. I can’t make it right...’

Thea scanned her tormented expression and called to Dessa, ‘I think we may need an actual alchemist’s help here.’

As Dessa looked up from her tools, Wren noted the dark circles beneath her eyes, her unwashed hair.

‘It’s fine,’ Wren said, offering her friend an understanding smile. ‘Dessa has her own opus to work on. We’re all under a lot of pressure.’

But Dessa shook her head and approached them. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much. This thing with Zavier has really shaken me up...’

‘Me too,’ Wren admitted. ‘Please don’t apologize.’

Dessa turned to Wren’s work instead. ‘For what it’s worth, you’re doing everything you can, Wren. This is a complex problem and it’s not going to be solved overnight.’

‘It’s been months, Dessa. I can’t help feeling like I’m letting everyone down. Like I’m not working hard enough or fast enough.’

‘You were always going to feel that way,’ Thea interjected. ‘You’re a perfectionist. You’re too hard on yourself.’

Dessa nodded. ‘She’s right. You’ve been working yourself to the bone. We’ve all seen how you’re tearing yourself apart over this. But why don’t we try to look at it with fresh eyes...’

Wren laughed. ‘My eyes are far from fresh, Dessa.’

‘Well, that’s why Thea and I are here,’ she said simply. ‘Tell us about the silvertide that has flourished.’

‘I just went through all of that,’ Wren replied, trying to quash her frustration.

Dessa smiled. ‘No, you told Thea about the different samples and methods of cultivating. I’m asking you to talk us through the roses that are thriving.’

Wren examined her work, the numerous pots and blooming white buds. ‘Well, it’s obvious that Delmiran soil has something to do with it, as the masters told us in our many meetings...’

‘So that’s the common denominator of the successful attempts.

What of the less prosperous samples that are also from Delmira?

Obviously there are variations in soil across a kingdom due to landscape, altitude, minerals and salts, temperature and water, but beyond that.

..’ Dessa finally drew a breath before ploughing ahead.

‘Is there another point of difference between the Delmirian samples we haven’t factored in? ’

Thea hopped up onto one of the tables, dangling her legs over the side while she shrugged at Wren. ‘Consider me out of my depth, sister. This is all you.’

Wren smoothed down her apron and stood before the cluttered benches, scanning each of their labels where the origin locations were listed.

She traced over them with her finger. There were her own contributions: Cottage Garden , Forest near Cottage , Northern Side of Swamp , Thezmarr Border, Northeastern Route to Tver .

.. Then she turned to the samples that had been brought back by other alchemists in secret.

Their locations were specified by coordinates.

‘I need a map,’ she said.

‘Over there.’ Dessa pointed to a large easel, where a map of the midrealms had been pinned.

‘That’s someone else’s project,’ Wren objected.

‘Wren, you might be saving the world,’ Thea laughed. ‘I think that justifies borrowing someone’s map.’

Wren found herself before the large expanse of parchment, admiring the scope of the topographical detailing. Dozens of pins lay in the tray of the easel, and she reached for one. ‘Dessa, can you read the coordinates for me?’

As Dessa called out the longitudes and latitudes of where the samples had been taken, Wren located them on the map and pushed pins into the parchment. By the time they reached the last coordinates, Wren’s stomach was sinking.

She stepped back and reviewed her findings. Dessa and Thea came to her side and stared at the locations dotted across the parchment.

‘Well? What do you see?’ Dessa asked.

Wren closed her eyes, bracing herself against more disappointment. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ Thea pressed, scowling at the map.

‘I mean I don’t know what the point of differences might be between these locations and the others,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve never been to these places. I’m not familiar with any of them.’

‘That’s alright!’ Dessa waved off her concern. ‘You could always ask the alchemists who retrieved them—’

‘Wait.’ Thea held up a closed fist – a warrior’s signal to stop. She stared hard at the pins. ‘You’ve never been to any of these places?’

Wren shook her head. ‘Not that I can recall. And if I did, it was nothing more than passing through.’

Thea pointed back at the tables, to the labels written in Wren’s own hand. ‘But you’ve been to all of those locations?’

‘Well, yes. I gathered those samples myself.’

‘That’s not what I mean,’ Thea said. ‘You’ve been there before ? When it was barren? That’s how you discovered all this?’

Wren’s skin prickled. ‘Yes...’

‘So that’s the point of difference!’ Thea grabbed her shoulder. ‘Everywhere you’ve been, something has flourished!’

Wren shook her head with a sad smile. ‘I’ve been lots of places, Thee. Not everywhere produces thriving plants.’

But Thea hadn’t released her shoulder; in fact, she was only squeezing harder, motioning with her other hand to Wren’s silvertide samples. ‘Then what is it about those locations that’s special?’

Wren faltered. ‘I...’

Slowly, she walked back to her workbench and looked to the labels again, her heart rate increasing. Cottage Garden , Forest near Cottage , Northern Side of Swamp , Thezmarr Border , Northeastern Route to Tver ...

She pictured herself in each and every barren place, not as she was now, but as she had been back then, in the wake of the shadow war. Her skin prickled once more, and this time, a whisper of power flickered beneath it.

Wren turned to Thea and Dessa. ‘Come with me.’

With her heart in her throat, she shouldered her satchel and left the conservatory, crossing the grounds with long, purposeful strides. She paid no heed to the greenhouses or the manicured gardens. She passed through the iron gates, hardly realizing that she’d broken into a run—

‘Wren!’ Dessa called from behind. ‘Wait!’

But Thea was racing right alongside her, the two sisters running in tandem, the trees and buildings blurring together as the wind whipped through their hair.

Only when they reached the edge of the meadow did Wren skid to a stop, a cry on her lips.

In the place where she had unleashed her storm, where Torj had shielded her from herself, there was a sea of wildflowers, more vibrant, more resplendent than ever.

It was as though the meadow had been holding its breath before, and now it flourished in reckless celebration, painting the world, as wild and untameable as Wren’s magic.

Lightning sang in her veins, and the scent of rain danced in the wind.

As she gazed at the meadow’s wild beauty, an unbidden image of the silvertide rose flashed in her mind – its silver petals unfurling despite the thorns that guarded them, just as her magic had finally broken free of its constraints.

She understood it now: the thorns were not meant to cage, but to strengthen.

Dessa gasped when she caught up with them, staring at the blaze of colours, shaking her head. She turned to Wren in wonder. ‘It’s not the Delmirian soil that will complete the cure, or end this battle...’ she murmured. ‘It’s you .’