“The founders’ descendants will do that sometime between eleven and midnight. It’s a strict time frame that the founders implemented.”
“And how does it work?” I asked.
“They impart some of their magic into the original Floracantus that created the shield,” Yasmin said casually, dabbing some moss onto her ferns.
“Buthow?” I hadn’t been able to find anything about it in the library books I’d read. There was so much inherent knowledge in the magical botanist community that I was missing.
“Above our magical grade, B. None of us are founders’ descendants,” Coral said.
I pressed my lips together, not satisfied by the answer, but tried to suppress my curiosity.
“Well, let’s hope whatever they do, it works, and there’s no more flickering,” Aurielle said.
We spent the next hour sipping our hot drinks andwrangling our wreaths into shape. I made mine in a petite size so that it would fit on the door of my aunt’s apartment. “What are you all doing with your wreaths?” I asked.
“We’ll hang them around here. Watch this.” Yasmin signaled to one of the tree affinities who was roaming the room.
“Leif, can you hang these for us?”
Leif lifted his hands, muttered a Floracantus, and directed their three wreaths—one by one—to hooks on the walls around the room, where they draped beautifully.
“Some students go all out and make a bunch. The school is going to be covered with these and garlands soon,” Coral said.
I smiled. I should have known that, as magical as Evergreen Academy always was, this season would be even more enchanting.
As the week went on, Coral’s words came true. The school’s campus transformed into a cozy winter wonderland, incorporating hundreds of plants of the winter season.
When the night of the winter solstice finally arrived, we joined the procession of students bundled in coats, hats, and gloves, carrying the lanterns we used for the garden parties toward the forest. Most of us had decked our heads with crowns of greenery, holly berries, and tiny pinecones.
After a fifteen-minute walk through the forest, we finally emerged in a small clearing, and I sucked in a breath. A massive rectangular wood table was stretched out across the space, hanging lights decorating the sky above. Charcuterie boards and hot drinks decked the expanse of the table, which was decorated with fresh greenery nestled around hundreds of votive candles. The stars shone brightly overhead, as if they encouraged our gathering.
“It’s likeStarry Nightcome to life,” I breathed.
“Did you know Van Gogh was supposedly tripping on absinthe when he painted that?” Coral said from my left. “They really should have had some magical botanists overseeing their production. We could have removed the psychoactive.”
“Way to ruin a perfect moment, Coral,” Aurielle said with a laugh.
We took seats on one of the long benches that spanned the tables, and I inhaled the rich smell of oranges, cinnamon, and cloves. Simmer pots were magically emitting the enchanting fragrance, even though there wasn’t a heating coil in sight.
Professor East stood and cleared his throat. “Tonight, we celebrate the return of the light. The darkest days are over, and our plant friends will have more access to the sunlight that fuels everything we do here. Tonight, we enjoy a celebration of Midwinter’s Eve together before you each depart to spend the holidays with your families. Take a moment to reflect on all we’ve seen, learned, and shared during this season.” He lifted a glass, and we each raised ours in return. “To the returning of the light.”
“To the returning of the light,” everyone called out, and I joined in, warmth blooming in my chest as I said the words.
“Now, let’s eat.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
An hour later, after feasting and dancing as vines snaked around the arms of many of my fellow students and leaves floated in the air, the hour neared midnight, and the group began to make its way deeper into the woods.
“Is the party over?” I asked, disappointed.
Yasmin shook her head. “There’s one final tradition.” When she didn’t say more, I followed along with the rest of the group. A few of the students toward the front of the pack were merrily singing a Christmas carol, and I caught a line about enchanted boughs of holly.
A few minutes later, we emerged by the creek, and I noticed dozens of pools of water, each with steam rising from them into the cold night sky. I whipped my head to Yasmin.
“I didn’t know there were hot springs out here.”
“There’s a tradition that originated in Japan of celebrating the winter solstice with a soak in the hot springs with some citrus fruits.”
