The Enchanted Greenhouse(43)
Sitting cross-legged beside the basket, Terlu sorted through the ingredients. “Yes, but I think we should start with just one. In case it doesn’t work.”
“It’ll work,” Yarrow said.
Picking up a branch with berries on it, Terlu examined it. The spell hadn’t specified how many white-cloud berries, but this would do. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not a sorcerer, and this is an untried spell. For all I know, it could turn plants into ducks.”
“Gah!” Lotti said. “No ducks.” She shuddered, all her petals vibrating, and added darkly, “Had a bad experience with a mallard once.”
“You are a sorcerer,” Yarrow said to Terlu.
She shook her head. They’d been through this, and she’d thought she’d been very clear: she wasn’t the person he’d hoped she was. She tried not to let it hurt that he wished she was someone else.
“A self-taught sorcerer,” he amended. “You learned the language. You studied the texts. Yes, you did it without official sorcerous training, but just because it wasn’t all formal doesn’t mean you didn’t learn. Tell me: When you cast the spell that created your spider-plant friend, did it work?”
It did. First try. “Only because I’d prepared … All right, point taken, but I still think it’s wiser to start with one plant, if only because then we can greet them and acclimate them one by one. It’ll be a lot if we wake them all at the same time.” She knew how shaken she’d been when she was revived. “I don’t want to cause them any distress.”
He shrugged. “I just think you shouldn’t undervalue yourself.”
She opened then closed her mouth. “Thanks.” He didn’t say much, but when he did, his words hit her right in the heart.
Lotti flapped her leaves at them. “Enough with the mushiness! We’ve plants to save!”
Terlu felt herself blush.
Ducking his head to avoid her gaze, Yarrow knelt beside her and began to organize the ingredients into piles, dividing them by type.
Lotti climbed out of the basket and scurried up onto the shelves with the potted plants. “Hmm … Who first…”
“Choose a friend,” Terlu suggested.
Lotti waddled past another pot. “Not you then,” she said to the fireweed.
Yarrow neatened the piles of ingredients, straightening the stems and branches and lining the berries and nuts into precise rows. It reminded her of the rituals of the Temple of the Stars, whose acolytes believed that if they did not position the sacred stones in precise patterns, the stars would cease to shine and sailors would lose their way. She’d read their myths once, full of stories of lost wanderers and forgotten dreams, saved by the careful precision of those on land. “How did you learn to be a gardener?” Terlu asked him. “Did you study somewhere, or were you self-taught?”
“There wasn’t a school, if that’s what you mean, but I had plenty of teachers. My father. My grandma and grandpa, before they passed. Uncles and aunts. Lots of cousins. Everyone had their specialty.”
He misses them. She could hear it in his voice. She wondered if they ever missed this place, if they were ever tempted to return, if they were just waiting for an invitation. “You should invite them for the Winter Feast.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Much too far to travel for a meal.”
“It’s not just a meal.”
He shrugged.
“You’re not taking into account the cakes.”
Yarrow grinned. “Honey cakes.”
“And blueberry cake. Lemon cake. Vanilla swirl cake. Also, candied oranges. Have you ever had candied orange covered in chocolate? It’s amazing. My grandfather candied the orange slices himself. Secret recipe. He never told anyone. So far as I know, he never even wrote it in code. You know, it makes no sense that Laiken wouldn’t arrange for anyone to refresh his spells on the greenhouses, given how much he cared about protecting his plants.”
“He thought he’d always be here,” Yarrow said.
Pausing by an orchid, Lotti asked in a forlorn voice, “How did he die?”
“An accident,” Yarrow said. “He fell down the stairs. A great sorcerer, perhaps the greatest sorcerer of his generation, but he still broke his neck. My father was the one to find him when he didn’t come to care for the orchids. He used to tend them himself daily—he wouldn’t let anyone else touch them. After Laiken died, my father said his spirit lingered to lecture him about the care of orchids for three hours, before finally falling silent.”
“Orchids are fussy,” Lotti said, dismissing the one she’d paused beside. She moved on to the Venus flytrap. “Foolish Laiken. He should have kept me awake. Maybe I couldn’t have kept him from falling down the stairs, but at least then he wouldn’t have died alone.” Her voice wavered on her last words.
Terlu imagined how she must feel, both angry and sad and then angry that she was sad and sad that she was angry. There was a horrible helplessness to knowing your fate was out of your hands. Lotti hadn’t been able to save herself, and she hadn’t been here to save him.
“I’ll keep you watered,” Yarrow promised.
“You’ll teach me to water myself,” Lotti said, and then added wistfully, “Please? I want to know how to work the pump. I don’t want to have to depend on anyone ever again.” She heard the knot of emotions in Lotti’s voice. She’d relied on Laiken, and he’d let her down. Terlu’s heart ached for the little rose. Their stories weren’t similar, but she knew how it felt to be powerless over your own fate, to be set aside and forgotten.