Eunny squinted at him. “What about the ones who got it right? Extra credit? Tough luck?”
Ollas chuckled. “The question is struck for everyone.”
“So they get nothing for getting it right the first time around.”
“The point is more to educate the whole as evenly as I can.” His smile turned wry. “It’s not a perfect approach.”
“I’ll say,” Eunny scoffed, though she was more flummoxed than disdainful. “I’m still convinced my Intro to Herbalism professor wrote his tests as opaquely as possible so he could yell at our miserable scores and turn it into a lecture about detail and intuition and ‘your excuses don’t mean anything to your patient if they’re dead, Miss Song.’”
Ollas tilted his head toward her. “You think I’m a soft-hearted progressive turning out a weakened generation of emotionally fragile would-be scholars.” Though he tried to keep his tone neutral, amusement crept in.
“That was specific. I take it Admin hasn’t always approved?”
“There have been discussions, but no one’s come for my head yet.”
Eunny laughed. “I’ll give you that your approach is a damn sight nicer than what we got at the House of Healing, but maybe body magic needs to be more exacting. People get touchy about pain, who’d have thought? Or I’m just bitter. Possessing empathy and expressing it… Eh. Not the same.”
“You’re plenty empathetic.”
Eunny rolled her eyes. “No wonder your students love you.”
“I get my share of bad reviews.” Ollas grinned. “But you didn’t come here for my thoughts on pedagogy.”
She shrugged, gaze roving around the greenhouse before settling on the rear antechamber’s door, which reminded her of the trayful of baby plants she’d found a few days before. She glanced sidelong at him, eyebrows rising. “You started another project without telling me.”
“Project?” A furrow marred his brow, then recognition hit. “Oh, the divisions. Yes, come see.”
Ollas hopped down from the counter. He grabbed the potting tray he’d been assembling before she came in and beckoned for Eunny to follow him into the antechamber.
“Isn’t it my job to help with your stuff?” she asked.
“I can manage a few steps,” he said with mock indignation.
Eunny poked him. “Your arm’s moving pretty well, too. You don’t really need me at all.”
“I need you,” Ollas blurted out. His hand came up, stuttering in the air as if he couldn’t decide whether to press his fist to his mouth or make some other gesture. He settled for an exaggerated roll of his recovering shoulder. “I still need you for the overhead lifting.”
The pleased feeling was back, fluttering giddily in her chest. Eunny pinched her lips together to keep from grinning from ear to ear like a fool. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”
She squatted next to the seed tray, careful not to touch anything. Just her luck that she hadn’t thought to bring her gloves. The faint pulling sensation was back, but not nearly as intense as the night she’d fallen into the outside patch. It was more of a hum, vibrating unobtrusively at the back of her mind, waiting.
“I’ve been looking into the origin of the plants outside. They’re from the delegation.” Ollas cleared space on the rack’s upper shelf so Eunny could place the seed tray on top. He glanced at her, apprehension crossing his face. “Are you— We don’t have to work on?—”
“It’s fine,” Eunny said with a casual shake of her head. “How’d you get your hands on these?”
“The Sentinels confiscated everything at the camp at the time. These were just seeds back then, deemed mundane. The record log was incomplete, so I’m still trying to hunt down the notes we took when they were first brought in, but I remember Rai and some of the Sentinels’ mages testing them.”
“If they’re not magical, why are you fussing with them now?”
Ollas caressed a leaf with one hand. “They’re… changing. See how the leaf blade is widening? They’re developing distinct petioles.”
Eunny squinted. “Meaning?”
He chuckled. “They’re looking more like this”—he tapped the philodendron next to them—“and less like grass.”
“And that’s rare?” she guessed.
“Very. And they feel… It’s almost like I can—” A spark of golden light flickered at the tip of his index finger. One little spark that fizzled as quickly as it had appeared. Ollas huffed to himself, as if this was a common occurrence. “It’s like they want magic, but they don’t react to it. Not that I can give them much, so I’m going with the next best thing.” He nodded toward the potting tray and the variety of soil mixes and amendments he’d gathered.
