Chapter 9 Sasha #2
An environmental magic disruption might relate to the wilting plants and could be affecting both plant life and people, but the mechanism remained unclear.
I stared at the third point, my pencil hovering over the paper. The wilting plants and the giggling had not started at the same time, according to Dominic. That didn’t mean they weren’t related, but they may not be.
I took a few notes about the wilted plants, though I couldn’t come to any conclusions. A glance inside showed a few plants here, also wilted.
Savory tilted her head, watching me work. The tree that loses its leaves in autumn isn’t dying, merely transforming. Sometimes what appears as chaos is simply change we don’t yet understand.
“That’s lovely,” I said, still writing. “But not particularly helpful for solving this mystery.”
Isn’t it? You’re looking for corruption when perhaps you should be looking for transformation. What if something is changing the court’s magic rather than poisoning it?
I paused, considering her words. Change versus corruption. It was an interesting distinction, and one that might explain why my fingers had sensed something off about the tea leaves without being able to identify an actual source.
I needed more data.
Turning to a fresh page, I created a new heading, Festival and Plant Death, and wrote down the known facts as Dominic had laid out for me.
Then I studied my notes, looking for connections. The emotion-responsive plants were suffering most. The festival featured emotion-responsive flowers. And people were experiencing uncontrolled emotional responses in the form of giggling.
I wrote out my hypothesis, that something or someone was disrupting emotional magic and energy in the court.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
“Your Majesty?” Alaina’s voice called through the wood. “I have your tea samples.”
I rose, crossing the sitting room to open the door. Alaina stood in the hallway with a young servant beside her, both carrying trays laden with various tins and containers.
“Thank you so much for bringing these personally.” I stepped aside to let them enter.
“It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty.” Alaina directed the servant to set her tray on the low table between the sitting room chairs, then placed her own beside it.
“I’ve brought you a variety of leaves to experiment with.
The spring harvest blend we served this morning, plus several others.
Summer moonlight, autumn spice, winter frost, and the ceremonial blend we use for special occasions. ”
I moved closer, examining the collection. Each tin was clearly labeled with elegant script, and Alaina had included measuring spoons, strainers, and even a teapot for brewing.
“This is perfect,” I said. “I truly appreciate the thoroughness.”
“I also included some of the cakes,” Alaina added, gesturing to a covered plate. “In case you wanted to study those as well.” Eat them, she meant, not study.
I smiled, neither confirming nor denying her assumption. “You’re very thoughtful.”
Alaina beamed. “If you need anything else, just ring. I’m happy to provide whatever you require.”
“Actually,” I said as she turned to leave, “I do have one more question. I’ve noticed there’s a lot of giggling here in the court.”
“Ah, yes, we’re happy people, aren’t we?”
“Have everyone always laughed this much?”
She paused, thinking. “Actually no. We’re a cheerful group but it does seem excessive lately.”
“How long has the excessive laughter been going on?”
Her brow furrowed. “Let me think. It was…oh, I believe not long after our court received the missive from your grandmother with the marriage proposal.”
“Have you experienced it yourself?”
“A few times, Your Majesty. Usually after the midday meal, though once or twice in the morning. It felt forced. Disruptive. I never could figure out what triggered it.”
“Did you notice if it happened after eating or drinking anything specific?”
Alaina’s frown deepened as she considered. “Not that I could tell. Sometimes I’d have tea and be fine, other times I’d have the exact same blend and end up giggling. It was the same with food. There was no consistency that I could see.”
Which supported my theory that this wasn’t simple contamination. If it were, the pattern would be clearer.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s very helpful information.”
“I do hope you can sort it out, Your Majesty,” Alaina said. “It’s been disconcerting. It’s hard to properly season a sauce when you’re laughing too hard to taste it.”
I could imagine that would be challenging. “I’ll do my best.”
After Alaina and the servant left, I returned to the balcony with my notes and the tin holding the spring harvest blend she’d indicated everyone drank this morning.
Savory hopped closer, eyeing the tin with interest.
“No,” I told her. “You’re not testing anything. Your stomach has been through quite enough today.”
I was merely going to observe, she said with a lift of her beak.
“Observe from some distance away, then.”
I opened the tin carefully, letting the scent of dried tea leaves drift up. It smelled earthy and slightly sweet, with hints of flowers. Nothing obviously wrong.
Reaching in, I trailed my fingertip through the leaves, trying to recapture that sense of wrongness I’d felt in the kitchen. The texture seemed right, neither too dry nor too damp. The color looked proper for spring-harvest leaves.
But then I felt that same faint magical residue that didn’t belong.
I pulled my hand back, studying my fingertips. They looked normal. But the sensation lingered, like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
What do you sense? Savory asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s like the leaves have absorbed something or been exposed to magic they shouldn’t have encountered. But it’s so faint, I can’t identify what.”
Perhaps you’re knocking on a door that’s meant to be felt. What does your magic tell you?
I blinked at her. “My magic?”
Your plant affinity. You’ve been treating it like a minor talent, something barely worth acknowledging. But you sensed these leaves were wrong when no one else did. Maybe that magic has cleared its throat and is eager to speak.
“I don’t really know how to listen to it. It’s not like my strategy magic, where I consciously direct the power. The plant thing just sort of happens.”
Learning is an ongoing process, Savory said. The garden grows whether the gardener understands how or not, but understanding makes for better blooms.
She flew over to the rail and hopped along it. Perhaps the bigger issue here is that you’ve been working alone. My magic could complement your own. You’ve never fully taken advantage of what I can offer you as your companion.
“Because that felt like taking advantage of you.”
I chose you, Sasha. That means I want to be a part of your magical life, not because I want to be a glorified pet who can speak to you in your mind.
She was right. I’d just never quite seen it in this way. “I’m sorry.”
Let me feed some magic into you and see what happens.
“Alright.” I girded myself, though I wasn’t quite sure why. “Do it.”
It’s not torture. It’s true companionship.
She stared into my eyes and a light, comforting feeling swept through me, the kind of feeling you got when you lay in deep grass and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. Or when you snuggled under your warm blankets on a chilly winter’s night.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
Thank you. Now try again.
I looked down at the tea tin, then back at my notes scattered across the small balcony table.
Taking a breath, I reached out to a plant sitting on the low table beside me.
I didn’t just touch the leaves. I tried to feel them.
Really feel them, not with my fingers but with whatever part of me connected to growing things, the part of me my companion could enhance.
At first, nothing came through, just the normal sensation of dried plant matter against my skin.
Then, gradually, something else emerged. A whisper of what these leaves had been when they were fresh and growing. The memory of sunlight on the leaves, of the roots drinking water from rich soil, of the plant generating new growth.
And underneath that, something unexpected. Not poison exactly, but interference of some sort. The leaves remembered growing strong, but something had come between them and their natural magic, creating distance where there should be connection.
Dominic said the wilted plants couldn’t access the court’s magic properly. Maybe something was blocking the connection.
I opened my eyes and found Savory watching me.
“It’s like a barrier,” I said slowly, trying to put the sensation into words. “Between the plants and the power they should be able to draw on. I can feel the magic there, waiting, but the plants can’t quite reach it.”
And the giggling?
“Maybe it’s also a barrier between people and their ability to control their emotional responses?”
Could the two be related? I’d be foolish not to think they could but foolish to decide they were. I had theories but nothing solid. Yet.
You should test the samples, Savory said. See if they all carry the same wrongness or if some are clean.
Good idea. I spent the next hour using my rusty plant magic to analyze the leaves in each tin Alaina had provided. The results were frustrating. All the samples showed the same barrier between plant and magic. Even the tins from different harvests and different times of year showed the same taint.
Whatever was causing this had permeated the entire tea supply.
After taking some notes, I walked to the potted plants scattered around our suite. My analysis suggested magical interference was blocking their connection to the life force they needed. I made notes about the pattern, sketching rough diagrams of which plants were most affected.
“The emotion-responsive varieties are suffering worst,” I told Savory. “But even the regular decorative plants show signs of magical dampening. It feels…different than the tea.”
Two mysteries, then? she said.
“Perhaps.”
The wise gardener tends each problem separately.
I tested the cakes next, breaking off small pieces and trying to sense anything about odd about the grain, though I was way out of my realm with this. Why had I basically ignored my plant magic all these years?
Because strategy magic made me feel safer. Not that plant magic felt unsafe, but in my determination to ensure my sisters didn’t feel the lack of our parents, I’d neglected everything else.
What do you feel? Savory asked.
“That same oddness I sense with the tea leaves, though it feels different than the barrier I sense with the wilted plants.”
Everything was contaminated. Or rather, everything was affected by some kind of magical disruption.
Which meant the problem with the plants may not be about tainted tea or cakes. This could be something bigger, something touching the entire court.
“I need to do more studies, but I don’t think the two issues are related,” I told Savory.
She tilted her head while I shared my conclusions.
Excellent work.
“Perhaps. But I’m no closer to finding the cause.”
Identifying a problem is the first step toward finding a cause.
The sun had shifted lower in the sky. I’d been working for hours, and my stomach reminded me that I’d skipped lunch.
Someone knocked on the door
“Your Majesty?” someone called out. “The king asked me to bring you lunch.”
I opened the door to find a servant carrying a tray holding covered dishes. The smell of fresh bread and soup made my mouth water.
“Thank you,” I said, directing him to set it on the dining table in the sitting room. “That’s very kind.”
“His Majesty wanted to be sure you ate,” the servant said with a small smile. “He worried you’d get absorbed in your work and forget.”
And he was right.
My smile rose. Dominic had been in council meetings all afternoon, but he’d still thought to send me food, even predicting that I’d lose track of time.
It was thoughtful, the kind of gesture that could soften my resolve if I let it.
But I couldn’t risk that distraction, not when the court’s mysteries demanded a clear head.
After the servant left, I tested the meal, touching the bread and even the soup, finding it untainted by whatever was affecting the tea and cakes. At least I had a way of testing the food and drink.
I was grateful, because the food smelled amazing.
I sat and lifted my spoon, scooping up a big bite of the soup.
It was delicious, both savory and perfectly seasoned, with chunks of vegetables and herbs that made me want to ask Alaina for the recipe. I ate quickly, realizing how hungry I was.
After finishing my meal, I returned to the balcony, determined to organize my thoughts before dinner with Dominic. I wanted to present him with coherent theories rather than scattered observations.
Piecing together theories kept my mind sharp, occupied, and away from stray thoughts about Dominic and what this marriage might mean beyond a simple alliance.
I was here to fix things, to prove my value through results, not through whatever warmth tried to creep in and blur the lines.