“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“No, it appears you do not,” he looks to Rowan as they share a brief look.
“My High Warden here told me you were a botanist back where you came from?” he says to me. I turn to Rowan, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.
Why is that even important enough to share?
“I guess so,” I say.
“You guess. Were you not a botanist?” He remarks.
“Well, I was a junior assistant at a botanical garden so I wasn’t exactly, you know… a leading researcher or anything like that.” I say, crossing my arms over myself.
“But you studied plant science, no?” he asks.
“Yes, I did.” I look once more at Rowan, who refuses to look my way.
“Then I propose a deal to you,” the King says, pacing in front of me. I choose not to speak. He pauses his steps in front of the window, his focus drifting to the view beyond the glass.
“You wish to return to your world. We wish to restore what we have lost. Our goals align,” he says, and I feel the two knights tense behind me.
“I’m not sure I quite understand what you mean?” I ask.
“There is ancient magic buried beneath these soils. It lingers in the stones,” he continues to stare out the window. “The gates have been sealed and rendered useless,” the King says plainly. He turns from the window at last, fixing me with a look that feels like a verdict.
“The key has broken.”
“The key?” I ask. Rowan told me about a key… but I definitely didn’t use a key to get here.
“Every threshold has one.” He continues calmly. “Ours no longer answers.” I pause, trying to process what he is saying.
“And you think I can fix it? The key?” I shake my head. “But I know nothing about magic or your systems or—”
“You understand growth,” he cuts in. “You know cultivation. What thrives and what withers when conditions change?” He turns to face me fully now, his expression darker. “My scholars have studied this land for decades. Named every variable, exhausted every theory. They have bled this problem dry of answers,” he pauses. “But you came through that gate, full of knowledge that I need. Whether it’s a coincidence or pure luck, I don’t care. You are here now, and you will help us.” He looks to Rowan, giving him a small nod, barely noticeable.
“You either restore the key,” he says, “or you will remain a prisoner of the state, no longer a guest under my courtesy.” I swallow thickly. I doubt I have any other option here.
Clearly, the decision will be made for me, regardless.
He speaks as if I have a choice.
I don’t.
“What is the key?”
He holds my gaze long enough to make my skin prickle.
“Butterflies.”
Chapter 7
Elodie
“Butterflies?” I repeat.
The word feels absurd in my mouth.
How can a butterfly be a key?
