Rowan strides much further ahead, and as I struggle to keep up, everything pulls my attention at once before he leads me beneath a stone archway, heavy with trailing ivy.
Then I see it.
The glasshouse.
It’s nestled amongst the tall pine trees, like a quiet secret at the edge of the forest. A domed roof sits atop the curved panes of glass. Low mist, a stark contrast to the softened, warm glow of the lights from within. There is a narrow stone path leading to its door, with small lanterns lining either side. I stop to take a breath, marvelling at the wonder in front of me. The glasshouses back home were beautiful, but this… this is something else. And no matter how much I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, my life feels even farther away than I could have imagined. Rowan stops in front of me, his brows furrowed as he waits for me. He doesn’t rush me, just lets me be. I think he will remain silent, go ahead of me and wait, but he surprises me by moving to my side.
“Someone built it for the scholars some time ago. The King wanted them to have the best resources the land could offer.” He looks down at me before staring ahead at the glasshouse, and I am increasingly aware of his tall figure towering over me.
“No one comes here anymore, not since—” he cuts himself off. “You should be able to work here undisturbed,” he adds before heading towards the iron doors.
“Not since what?” I call after him. I know there are things this castle does not offer freely. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That all I need is the gate and to get out of here. But silence carries with it a weight, and I have always been good at noticing the things that aren’t said. He doesn’t respond to me, though, simply opening the door and gesturing for me to enter. I feel a smile tug at my lips as I take in the sight in front of me.
Warmth spills out to meet me, wrapping around my skin like a soft embrace. Daylight filters through the tall panes of glass, lanterns emitting an amber glow from the roof. Worktables stretch along the windows, crowded with half-finished notes, wilted brown trays of seedlings, and round-bellied flasks of varying sizes. Mortars and pestles rest near broken leaves, like a science experiment abandoned. Wilted and dead plants hang in pots from the ceiling, and I can only imagine what it must have looked like before. At the centre lies a pond, moss coating the sides of the rocks peeking through the surface. A dainty iron bridge crosses directly over it, leading to a narrow staircase that curls up from the stone to a platform filled with rows upon rows of empty pots and tools.
I’m lost in the quiet beauty of it before I understand the gravity of the situation. I spin, facing Rowan, who appears to know what I’m going to say already.
“Everything is dead.” Gesturing around at the colours of warm brown and orange decorating the glass.
“Like I said, no one works here anymore,” he says simply.
“What so everyone just up and left? Just stopped working? Let it all die?” He holds my stare a while longer before taking a steady breath. “How am I supposed to cultivate this plant if the place is full of decay?” Even I’m surprised by the sharpness in my voice.
“Give it life. If anyone has the knowledge, it’s you.”
“What if I were lying? What if I know nothing about plants?”
“The overalls you arrived in would say otherwise. Unless you cover yourself with soil for pure fun?” I chew on my lip, taking in the dead plants around me. “You can find all the notes and any information you need within this glasshouse. I will take you here every morning after breakfast, where you will remain until the last bell. If you need to access the forest or surrounding gardens, I will assign one of the junior knights here on post,” he states calmly. I only have it in me to nod. Whilst I have more freedom than before, this is still a glorified prison. The once-ethereal beauty of it twists into my glass confinement.
He must notice my expression as he looks at me with that same expression Sam used to give me. “You are not a prisoner here whilst you carry out your work. You are now under my protection.” It’s the closest he has come to kindness, the words settling somewhere in my chest, warmer than they should be. Whether he meant them that way, I don’t know. We stand there in silence, his gaze holding mine a moment longer than necessary before he looks away, his expression changed.
“I feel like a prisoner,” I whisper under my breath.
“I know,” he replies.
The words too soft to have come from the High Warden I have come to know. Turning to leave, the glass door closes behind him with an echoing thud. I am alone once again.
No answers and no hope.
I’m not sure at what point I ended up knee-deep in dead leaves and broken pots, sleeves rolled to my elbows and dirt worked beneath my nails. The glasshouse was and still is a mess.
There was no way I could even do anything in here until it’s in some kind of functioning state. Notes lie scattered across the worktables, pages warped and ink smeared from the water that once spilled there. I tried to find out some information on the plant that I need to, by some miracle, cultivate. But the surrounding mess worked its way into my head. So, instead of researching, I chose to procrastinate by cleaning.
I groan, reaching to scoop the dead leaves into the bag beside me. The place looks marginally better than when I started, but there’s a long way to go if I want to actually do anything in here. As I wipe soil from the lower planter sides, something brushes my palm.
I freeze.
It’s not a leaf or a plant, it’s soft.
I draw my hand back slowly and look down. At first, I’m relieved to see it’s just a mushroom, burnt orange, rounded cap with small white spots on the top.
It’s definitely not the sort of mushroom I’m used to seeing, but a mushroom nonetheless.
I frown, continuing with my cleaning when it moves. Not much, just a small shuffle and a wobble, but my breath catches and I feel myself freeze in panic.
And then it turns, impossibly, and I see its face, simple and small, two dark eyes set into the stem blinking at me. It has two little stumps for arms and two little stumps for legs. I mean, it’s impossibly adorable. But I can’t help the shock that stirs through me.
