Chapter 19
Elodie
I finish up in the glasshouse with the third seed planted. Deciding to use a combination of the techniques that almost worked for the scholars. Except I also added in some extra magnesium salts since that always used to work back home if I was ever struggling with a particular batch of seeds.
I have no reason to think this will work, but I still feel hopeful about it. I think I’m just trying to stay hopeful, because if I let myself fail any more than this, I might break.
Waving goodbye to the little Rustcap, I leave a pile of dead stems in the usual place for him.
“I should really give you a name, little guy, but I’m hoping I can eventually get out of here so it doesn’t feel fair to you,” I say, its eyes blinking a few times.
Its gaze weakens me, compelling me to yield.
“Okay, fine. If I were to name you, which I’m not saying I am.
It would be… Pip.” I smile at myself, hearing how stupid I sound talking to a mushroom.
Although considering my life at the moment, maybe it’s not that crazy.
Placing all the tools back in their place, I head out the glasshouse door towards the dark stone path.
My mind wanders to what almost happened between me and Rowan earlier.
Would we have kissed if the knight hadn’t knocked?
I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but denial is a hell of a lot easier right now. As if my thoughts alone conjured him, I spot him outside, a stern look on his face. Head down, facing the ground, deep in thought. He exhales slowly when he sees me, and I offer him a worried smile.
He looks as if he’s seen a ghost.
“I know I said I prefer you less sunshine and roses, but you didn’t need to take it so seriously.”
“The King,” he says. “He’s shortened the window.”
“The window for what?"
“Everything.”
“Well, what does that even mean? I’m trying as hard as I can here. I am not some magical woman from another land sent to save this place.” My words falling out of me before I can even register what it is I’m saying.
“He is getting sicker. I can see it myself.” His fingers curl slowly at his sides. “He’s running out of time. "
“Out of time for what?” I say, not understanding how any of these fit together.
“How does my opening the gates for this kingdom have anything to do with him being sick?” A pained expression crosses his face as he hesitates, making me wonder what consistently makes him look so tortured.
He takes a seat on the bench, gesturing for me to follow.
Resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin, he turns to tell me.
“The king is sick. It’s a curse. Every king who rules has the misfortune of living with it.
Widowsbloom contains the only remedy capable of sustaining his life.
” I should feel shocked, furious, outraged that the fate of this kingdom, of Kael, of everything I’ve been literally dragged into, is rooted in something so deeply selfish.
But I don’t. Instead, I feel a dull, bitter understanding. He’s a coward.
“Kael told me that widowsbloom is poisonous, though?” I ask.
“It is. To everyone except the one with a king’s mark.”
“How much time has he got left?” is all I bring myself to ask. Rowan casts a glance my way as if surprised I’m not more shocked at his words.
“I couldn’t say, but with the threats he was making today…weeks, maybe?”
“What threats did he make?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I need to know what’s at stake here.” He lets out a long sigh, clearly deciding that withholding information won’t work for long.
“For every day that you do not come up with a solution,” he huffs, “he’s taking one of my knights.”
“What?”
“One knight will die each day there is no answer.” The cruelty of it makes my face turn sour.
How can a man sit on his throne and threaten the very people that honour and defend him?
Then I’m hit with a realisation, not only do I have my life and Kael at stake here.
I now have Rowan’s knights, whose blood would entirely be on my hands if I fail.
“He can’t do that. Surely there’s a way around this?” I stutter out in a panic. “Why can’t you all just decide to overrule him, let him die?”
“That’s not how this works, Elodie,” he says, his voice sounding defeated. “Elodie, what are you doing?” He reaches to grab my arm, stopping me from moving.
“The king has decided, and I’m forced to do precisely what he wants.
I won’t stop until I figure this out.” I pull my arm away and return to the glasshouse, leaving no chance for him to object.
The door slams shut behind me as I head to the workbench, finding Pip still munching away on his leaves.
Moments later, Rowan follows behind me. I don’t turn to look at him, keeping my mind focused.
“I’m not here to force your hand,” Rowan says, his hands up in the air.
“You don’t need to be here. It’s fine.”
“Well, I’m here anyway. It’ll get dark soon. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“Fine.” I flip through the notebook that I started writing myself, learning the variables of the glasshouse, jotting down temperatures, soil acidity, mineral contents.
I think I’m half hoping the mess of notes somehow jumbles together to form an answer.
So far, no luck. Rowan takes a seat beside me, taking off his heavy chest plate of armour with a groan.
“I’ll be able to check if the seed has cracked soon, to see if it’s germinated,” I say, but he just gives me a confused look.
“So who taught you to do all this?” I’m surprised by the genuine interest in his tone.
“Well, I studied it mostly, got a degree, and then I found a junior botanical job. A close friend that I worked with, Sam, he taught me a lot also, helped me learn more than my studies ever could,” I say, smiling at the thought of home. “He’s the one who taught me chess too,” I say.
“Sam sounds like he was more than a friend to me,” Rowan says, a tone of jealousy slipping into his voice. I give him a stare before replying,
“It was never like that with Sam. We were just good friends. He looked after me like a brother,” I say, honestly.
If only I could speak to him now and have his help in some way.
I bet he could figure this out. I should have said yes when he asked me if I wanted him to take on the job of clearing the overgrowth. Hindsight’s a bitch.
“You smile whenever you say his name,” Rowan mutters.
“I smile at a lot of things, Warden. What’s your point?”
“My point is that you do it subconsciously.”
I fold my arms, turning towards him, “Maybe I’m just a pleasant person.”
“Not when you’re annoyed.”
“Is that so?” I tilt my head, deciding to bite. “You seem very observant for someone who pretends not to notice things.”
“I notice everything, Hawthorne.”
“And what else have you noticed about me, Warden?”
He rises from his chair, moving closer to me.
“You say my title when you’re trying to provoke me.”
“That’s hardly incriminating and extremely obvious.”
“You say ‘you're fine’ to almost everything, even when you’re not.” I open my mouth to disagree, but he cuts me off, his arms landing on either side of the workbench, barricading me in.
“You tap your fingers on your leg when you’re trying not to argue. You apologise to the plants when you trim their leaves. You bite your bottom lip when you’re nervous. You hold your breath when you’re aroused and you hate blueberries with a passion.”
My eyes remain fixed on his.
There is nowhere for me to go, his shadow enveloping me.
I swallow thickly, my cheeks turning red.
“Careful, Elodie.”
His mouth is so close to my ear it sends shivers down my spine. “That blush of yours is giving you away, and if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll stop noticing things and start taking them instead.”
My heart beats loud against my ribcage.
I close my eyes, letting my breath hitch in a way I know makes his pupils blow wide. I can feel the tension in his arms.
His body coiled tight.
“You’re right, Warden.” I whisper, my voice dropping to a low, honeyed thrum. I lean in, brushing my lips against his ear, mimicking his own move.
He goes deadly still.
Pressing my knee just a fraction firmer against him, I feel him shudder. His grip on the workbench tightens until his knuckles turn white.
“But it would seem you’re the one clearly frustrated here.
Wouldn’t you agree?” I pull back just enough to catch his gaze as I let the question hang in the air, looking down to where my knee is brushing against him.
His eyes are dark with hunger, jaw clamped so tightly the bone looks ready to snap.
I brush past his arms, stepping out of them before grabbing my notebook.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.
I need to save your kingdom, remember?” I smirk at him.
Walking away to the other side of the glasshouse, he remains in complete stillness.
The further away I get, the more my breathing picks up.
Wiping the sweat off my palms onto my overalls, I shake with nerves and adrenaline.
I bury my face in my hands, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
Whoever that version of myself was, I don’t recognise her.
But the look on his face makes me think I want to.