The Enchanted Greenhouse(73)
Three of the other sentient plants chimed in, each of them off pitch in a different way. “Blue so blue!” The thistle joined in with a shrill arpeggio that did not match any note producible by any known instrument. Nearby, the delphinium warbled discordantly.
Terlu winced. I take it back. That’s terrible. “Um, Dendy?”
He kept singing while the polyfloral chorus harmonized （or more accurately failed to harmonize） with his melody:
“The fish beeelow swim in the stewww
Of the ocean that’s alsooo bluuue…”
She raised her voice. “Dendy?”
“Hmm?” He stopped singing and swaying. “Oh, heyyy, Terluuu. Wait. That also rhymes! Want me to sing a song about youuu and your eyes so bluuue?”
“They’re purple, and I’m sorry to interrupt your creative pursuits, but we could use your help, and the help of the other plants, if they’re willing.”
Nif shot a three-inch flame into the air, and the flytrap doused it.
“Ignore them,” Risa said. “Go on.”
She explained about the spell—how it repaired the cracks, but it was a painstakingly slow process. They’d experimented with smearing more paste over cracks, but regardless of the amount of ingredients used, each utterance of the spell only seemed to work until it hit a fork in the crack, which meant that for a badly splintered pane, it needed to be repeated multiple times before it was smooth. “It’s the first step to fixing the greenhouses. If we can make the glass sound, then we can focus on how to insulate the greenhouse and then how to regulate the temperature, provide the water, and handle all the other necessities.” She couldn’t, though, spend her time researching other essential spells if all she was doing for hours on end was sealing cracks in glass. “It needs to be your choice, though,” Terlu continued. “According to imperial law, only trained sorcerers are permitted to work magic. What I’m asking—well, I shouldn’t be asking at all. It’s illegal, and if you’re caught, the consequences could be serious. You absolutely should say no if you feel at all uncomfortable.”
Breaking off their cacophony, the sentient plants began to whisper to one another. The enchanted trees and flowers that belonged to the room continued to croon, softly and sweetly. Risa lowered the daisy onto the floor, and the fireweed stomped out the last of his sparks.
“Think about it,” Terlu said, backing away. She did not want to pressure them into this decision. She could keep healing the cracks herself, if she had to. “You don’t have to decide right now—”
“I caaannot speak for the others,” Dendy said. “But it is a yes for meee.”
She cautioned, “There is a substantial risk—”
“Weee all saaaw the greenhouse die,” Dendy said. “If I caaan help, then of course I waaant to help.” The other plants crowded forward, all of them chiming in that they agreed with the philodendron.
The morning glory, Zyndia, rose up on her vine and proclaimed, “For light and life!”
The others cheered.
“For glory and love!” she cried.
More cheers.
Terlu smiled. She hadn’t expected this much enthusiasm. She’d thought maybe a handful … but all of them seemed adamant.
“For—” Zyndia began.
“That’s enough, dear,” the fern, Mirr, said. “But yes, we will help.”
“It’s not glamorous work,” Terlu warned all of them. “And it might take a while—there are a lot of failed greenhouses, and they each have hundreds, if not thousands, of cracks. You’d be risking your freedom, even your lives, for a tedious task.”
“A necessary taaask,” Dendy said. “Correct?”
“Well, yes, if the glass can’t be fixed, the greenhouses can’t be used,” Terlu said.
The ivy vine coiled around Terlu’s feet and wound up her calf to her knee. “Then we will do it,” Risa said. “It’s nice to be alive, but we also want to matter. Besides,” they added as they slithered down and coiled themself in a pile, “I hate singing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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.