Chapter 16
sixteen
. . .
Tansy
We plant together.
It’s not a ceremony, not exactly. There’s no incantation spoken aloud, no circle drawn in chalk or salt. But the sun is warm and high above us, and the air hums with something sacred. Magic, yes. But also something simpler. Something human.
My knees are buried in soft moss, and my fingers are stained with soil.
The seeds we’re pressing into the earth are tiny, some no bigger than the crescent of my small finger.
Calendula, basil, marigold. Solenne hands them to me one by one, like tiny promises.
Like she’s giving me something precious and waiting to see what I’ll grow.
“Wider spacing,” she murmurs gently, her voice just above the breeze. “The basil needs room to breathe.”
I nod, adjusting. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re learning.”
I glance up. She’s kneeling beside me, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid, a few strands escaping to curl around her temples.
There’s dirt smudged along her cheekbone and a streak of green near her collarbone from the last tangle of mint we coaxed into place.
She looks like the sun carved her from honey and iridescence. Like she belongs here, among the green.
I sink another seed into the soil. My magic curls lazily beneath my skin, not pulsing or panicking. Just … present. Grounded.
Solenne reaches for the watering can beside us and tips it carefully, letting a slow arc of water fall across the freshly planted row. I watch the earth drink it in, and something flickers inside me. Peace, maybe. Or something even rarer … safety.
“They won’t come again,” I say casually, my voice threading through the birdsong and leaf rustle. “The sigil I found … it was the last of their reach.”
She glances at me, brows lifting slightly. “You’re sure?”
I nod, brushing a damp curl back from my cheek. “It snapped the second I burned it. And the new one I carved? That wasn’t just shielding. It rewrote the tether.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her gaze on the garden bed in front of us. Then she says softly, “You severed the root.”
I nod. “I did.”
There’s pride in her expression, but also something softer. She sets the watering can aside and shifts toward me.
“I’m proud of you,” she murmurs, reaching up to tuck a sprig of thyme behind my ear.
It’s such a simple gesture, careful and grounding, but it makes my breath hitch. The green leaves tickle my temple, and her fingers brush my cheekbone just lightly enough to make my whole body hum.
“Thyme for courage,” she adds, voice teasing.
“Oh my gods,” I groan, “Did you just make an herb pun?”
Her mouth curves into a rare, warm smile. “You’re rubbing off on me.”
We sit like that for a moment, close and quiet, the garden spinning golden around us. I reach for her hand without thinking, lacing our fingers together. Her skin is warm from the sun, her pulse steady. It’s like touching the center of a tree, rooted and alive.
“I never thought I’d have this,” I admit, voice barely louder than a breath. “A garden that listens. A morning that doesn’t start in fear.”
Solenne brushes her thumb across the back of my hand. “You made this with me.”
I shake my head. “I always made things messy.”
“And this garden is messy,” she agrees. “But it’s alive. It’s magic. And it’s ours.”
My throat tightens. I lean in before I can talk myself out of it, pressing my lips to hers. She meets me halfway, the kiss soft and steady. Familiar now. Real.
When we part, the thyme still tucked behind my ear, the air around us shimmers faintly with gold.
The garden blooms wider.
And this time, it doesn’t feel like magic losing control. It feels like the world finally catching up to the shape of us.
We spend the rest of the morning in tandem.
She hums a low melody while she works, and I follow it like a thread through the overgrown beds.
Sometimes I talk, nonsense mostly, about which herbs need pruning or how I want to build a trellis for the climbing beans.
Sometimes I just reach for her hand in passing.
Every touch feels like a seed pressed into fertile ground.
Every breath, a root taking hold.
By midday, the garden looks like something from a story …
golden light caught in every leaf, petals curling toward one another in sleepy communion, vines weaving between our ankles like they’ve claimed us.
We sit on the stone path with our backs to the cottage and share a plate of berry scones I charmed to stay warm.
“I’m still learning how to stay,” I say finally, voice soft. “But I’m not leaving.”
Solenne looks at me, her eyes unreadable for a moment. Then she leans forward and kisses my temple.
“Good,” she says.
And the garden blooms golden around us.