The Enchanted Greenhouse(59)
She didn’t regret what she’d done. Waking the plants was the right thing to do, and saving the greenhouses would be too, if she could figure out how to do it, but the law was the law, as overreaching and draconic as it was. For as long as the Crescent Islands Empire stood, one did not defy imperial law, as she really should have learned by now.
Such a shame the lesson didn’t stick, the other librarians would say.
Her family … How would they feel if they knew she’d been condemned, saved, and then lost again, all because of her own reckless choices? She watched a bird—a cardinal, with brilliant red feathers bright against the snow—fly between the pines, and she wondered if Rijes had really meant for Terlu to return to a life of crime so quickly. What if she’d misinterpreted the head librarian’s letter?
I didn’t misread anything.
The thought was as sudden as it was definite.
This was exactly why she’d been sent here. But she was also certain that others weren’t likely to be as open-minded as Rijes. The head librarian was a rare person: highly intelligent, highly educated, and highly empathetic. How did Terlu know anyone else would be as willing to forgive the blatant defiance of imperial law?
She trusted Yarrow—he cared more about his plants than legalities codified by some faraway emperor—but could she trust his family?
On the other hand, do I have a choice?
The Greenhouse of Belde was too much for a single gardener to maintain, even with the assistance of a former librarian and a somewhat excessive number of talking plants. Yarrow needed expert help, and he was finally willing to admit it. She couldn’t let her own fear stand in the way. If I’m turned into a statue again, at least I’ll know I did the right thing.
Why wasn’t that more comforting?
A hint of movement caught her eye, and she glanced over to see a cat-size gryphon swoop beneath a branch. It held a fish in its beak, and its lion tail swished behind. A lone feather fell from its wings as it brushed against the needles of a pine tree. Iridescent black, it drifted down onto the snow. She crossed over to it and picked it up.
She was going to have to trust that whoever answered the letter cared about the plants and about Yarrow and that would be enough to override whatever devotion they felt to imperial law, or whatever moral qualms they had about aiding and abetting a criminal.
It was that or continue to let Yarrow try to save the world on his own.
I said I’d try to help, and I’m going to.
Feeling more resolved if not exactly better, Terlu walked back to Yarrow’s cottage. As she knocked the snow off her shoes, the winged cat stretched sleepily in her bed. She tossed the gryphon feather to the cat. With a delighted “Murp!” Emeral wrapped his paws around it and lazily chewed on the tip. He purred as he munched and kicked his hind paws.
“Once I send this letter, we could have a new visitor. Are you ready for that?” she asked him. “Do you think Yarrow’s ready?”
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.