Chapter 7
Elodie
“Butterflies?” I repeat.
The word feels absurd in my mouth.
How can a butterfly be a key?
“My High Warden will give you the information you require. You will have access to our glasshouse and all its resources.” My mouth feels dry, his voice feeling distant as fear takes hold of me. Kael and Rowan move towards me, the conversation clearly over. I turn back to the King, my tone panicked.
“But I don’t know about butterflies. You said yourself, I’m a plant scientist,” I stutter. “And I’m not really even that.”
“You do not need to be an expert in butterflies,” he says, turning to face me. “Just the plant they rely on to survive.”
I furrow my brow, waiting for more information. But I’m not given anything else before the King turns to Rowan. “I trust you can assist the botanist girl with her duty, High Warden?”
Rowan simply nods before giving a curt “Sir.” It appears I’ll be occupying his wing a while longer.
Both trapped in this arrangement.
At least one of us actually chose this castle.
I can’t imagine he is enjoying this either, though. A disruption to his normal routine. He is a man of very few words, and somehow those few words need to help me cultivate some magic plant in a land I know nothing about.
And if I can’t…
“Hawthorne,” Rowan’s voice cuts off my thought as I fall in step behind him. The walk from the King’s throne room is silent. A few weary glances pass between Rowan and Kael.
I know there is something there.
I just don’t know either of them well enough to get in the middle of it.
So I stay quiet. Quiet as Kael wishes us a good evening. Quiet as Rowan brings me food. Quiet again when he leaves me alone again, as he does every evening. I feel hollow, as though all the panic has finally burned itself out. I’m alone in a way I have never been before.
A knock thuds on my bedroom door. The warden.
Here to take me to breakfast in the common hall.
The air in the room is cold enough that it causes a sting in my lungs as I dress.
Throwing on my overalls, I glance in the mirror at my pale skin.
I can’t remember the last time I felt the sunshine on my cheeks.
My skin is drained of any colour.
My freckles are almost disappearing from my nose.
Even my hair looks darker. The vivid copper is now almost a dull brown.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and yank open the bedroom door. Rowan leans against the wall, his face down as he chews on his lip.
“I know my way to the common room, you know. I could just meet you there,” I say.
There’s no way he would let me, of course, but why not just test my invisible shackles anyway?
“You could. But you won’t. You’re a flight risk.
Did you forget your little adventure to the gate?
” Is he trying to be funny? As if my trying desperately to return home was just a little adventure for me.
Did they expect me to just arrive here and choose to stay, like I don’t have an entire life back home waiting for me?
Choosing to ignore him, I move past him towards the door.
“I’m hungry. Are we going now?” I whisper, crossing my arms over myself.
He narrows his eyes at me. His jaw clenches once before he nods and steps ahead of me.
Following behind him, I keep my head down and wait for instructions.
Every day is the same. Breakfast, then back to the room with only a few dusty books to prevent my mind from spiralling.
Corridor to corridor.
One stone wall to the next.
But today could be different. I know it has something to do with the deal I am being forced into with the King, but I don’t care.
Because at least I can find that small part of myself that I’d left behind at that ivy wall.
I can get my fingers dirty, breathe in the fresh air that reminds me of who I am when everything is so uncertain.
There is comfort in the weight of soil, in the way life responds when you give it time.
When you nurture it. I have always found something so grounding about nature, especially in the trees.
They stood long before humans ever did. Witnessed us light that first fire, forge our first weapon, build our first factory.
Watched us use them, shape them, and then discard them.
And still they remain. Leaves swaying patiently in the wind.
I have a feeling they will still stand when there is nothing left to remember us by but the echoes of things we once thought mattered.
“Hawthorne, I said this way,” Rowan’s deep voice comes from ahead of me. The sudden sound of my second name drags me out of my thoughts. Rowan is standing ahead of me, looking irritated and on edge.
“I am not one of your knights, you know,” I say. “You don’t need to call me by my surname. Elodie is fine.” He ignores me, obviously.
We pass into the gardens, and they are nothing like the clipped lawns or ornamental bushes I had pictured when the King had told me I could access the area.
Ivy weaves unchecked over ancient stone, threading its way up arches and columns as though the castle has been quietly surrendering itself for centuries.
Statues half-consumed by green, their faces softened by time, watching in patient silence.
The paths are uneven, darkened by moisture.
The grey sky, a constant blanket, wrapped around the castle.
Rowan strides much further ahead, and as I struggle to keep up, everything pulls my attention at once before he leads me beneath a stone archway, heavy with trailing ivy.
Then I see it.
The glasshouse.
It’s nestled amongst the tall pine trees, like a quiet secret at the edge of the forest. A domed roof sits atop the curved panes of glass.
Low mist, a stark contrast to the softened, warm glow of the lights from within.
There is a narrow stone path leading to its door, with small lanterns lining either side.
I stop to take a breath, marvelling at the wonder in front of me.
The glasshouses back home were beautiful, but this…
this is something else. And no matter how much I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, my life feels even farther away than I could have imagined.
Rowan stops in front of me, his brows furrowed as he waits for me.
He doesn’t rush me, just lets me be. I think he will remain silent, go ahead of me and wait, but he surprises me by moving to my side.
“Someone built it for the scholars some time ago. The King wanted them to have the best resources the land could offer.” He looks down at me before staring ahead at the glasshouse, and I am increasingly aware of his tall figure towering over me.
“No one comes here anymore, not since—” he cuts himself off. “You should be able to work here undisturbed,” he adds before heading towards the iron doors.
“Not since what?” I call after him. I know there are things this castle does not offer freely.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That all I need is the gate and to get out of here.
But silence carries with it a weight, and I have always been good at noticing the things that aren’t said.
He doesn’t respond to me, though, simply opening the door and gesturing for me to enter.
I feel a smile tug at my lips as I take in the sight in front of me.
Warmth spills out to meet me, wrapping around my skin like a soft embrace.
Daylight filters through the tall panes of glass, lanterns emitting an amber glow from the roof.
Worktables stretch along the windows, crowded with half-finished notes, wilted brown trays of seedlings, and round-bellied flasks of varying sizes.
Mortars and pestles rest near broken leaves, like a science experiment abandoned.
Wilted and dead plants hang in pots from the ceiling, and I can only imagine what it must have looked like before.
At the centre lies a pond, moss coating the sides of the rocks peeking through the surface.
A dainty iron bridge crosses directly over it, leading to a narrow staircase that curls up from the stone to a platform filled with rows upon rows of empty pots and tools.
I’m lost in the quiet beauty of it before I understand the gravity of the situation. I spin, facing Rowan, who appears to know what I’m going to say already.
“Everything is dead.” Gesturing around at the colours of warm brown and orange decorating the glass.
“Like I said, no one works here anymore,” he says simply.
“What so everyone just up and left? Just stopped working? Let it all die?” He holds my stare a while longer before taking a steady breath. “How am I supposed to cultivate this plant if the place is full of decay?” Even I’m surprised by the sharpness in my voice.
“Give it life. If anyone has the knowledge, it’s you.”
“What if I were lying? What if I know nothing about plants?”
“The overalls you arrived in would say otherwise. Unless you cover yourself with soil for pure fun?” I chew on my lip, taking in the dead plants around me.
“You can find all the notes and any information you need within this glasshouse. I will take you here every morning after breakfast, where you will remain until the last bell. If you need to access the forest or surrounding gardens, I will assign one of the junior knights here on post,” he states calmly.
I only have it in me to nod. Whilst I have more freedom than before, this is still a glorified prison.
The once-ethereal beauty of it twists into my glass confinement.