Thomas looks at me, confused.
“Where is he?” I ask again, more firmly this time, but before he can answer, his eyes flick behind me. I hear the clanking of metal armour before his footsteps come to a stop right behind me.
“Is everything okay?” Rowan’s voice cuts through the space, bouncing off the glass walls. I spin on my heel, finding myself eye-level with his chest plate. Pausing for a second before craning my neck up, I meet his brooding eyes. I take a deep breath, willing myself to speak.
“No, everything is not okay, Warden.” He flicks a deathly glance at Thomas, who turns a bright red shade before heading out of the glasshouse.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice akin to a growl.
“There are four seeds. Four.”
“And?”
“Rowan. Where are the other scholars? What happened to them?” I don’t know why I didn’t think to ask earlier, when it looked like someone abandoned the place mid-action. I know what it means to be a lover of plants, to care for them. No one just leaves their glasshouse to die, especially not if it’s their job.
Something happened here.
“The king executed them,” he states, holding my stare.
“They were what?”
“They failed too many times, warned the King they couldn’t continue without risking using the last of the seeds that were left. They said once the seeds were gone, there was no going back. So he ordered them to be killed the same day. His anger took over. There was nothing we could do.”
“Do you not think it would have been fair for me to know this before I entered this… this deal?” I exclaim, waving my hands around.
“The deal would have been made whether you wanted it or not, Elodie,” he says with brutal honesty.
“Then I am no better than a prisoner. "
He doesn’t respond, only confirming my admission. I shake my head, panic rising, as I pace back and forth. I have four attempts. Only four chances to get this right. I sink to the floor beside a chunk of stone, burying my head in my hands. I feel tears fill my eyes. The silence in the glasshouse is heavy and unforgiving.
The only sound coming from my shallow breathing. When he finally steps closer to me, it’s slow and measured. As if any sudden movement might shatter me whilst I’m already cracked. I lift my head to him, blinking through the tears.
“You have four seeds,” he says firmly. “But that doesn’t mean it has to be four attempts. "
“What do you mean, of course—”
“They failed because they rushed. In a time when the kingdom was at its most unstable. Full of fear and adrenaline, they panicked.”
I laugh weakly. “And you think I’m not panicking?”
“I think,” he says, cutting in, “that you’re sitting on this stone floor in defeat of something you haven’t even started.” Stiffening at his words. “You’re afraid,” he says. “That means you understand the cost. No one else has a chance of doing this, Elodie.”
“But what if I can’t do this? What if I fail?”
“Failure after effort is merely a bruise, but failure from fear is a lifelong scar.”
I hold his stare, letting his words settle somewhere beneath my ribs.
What do I have left to lose?
Home is a memory.
My life exists in fragments now, ivy-covered stone, mist-coated skies and men in steel armour. Everything familiar is already gone. Stopping now would be easier and safer. But I didn’t survive being uprooted here just to wilt at the first sign of resistance. Failure here isn’t embarrassment. It’s final. The risk is obvious. This land is dying. And then I fall through a wall of ivy with a degree in plant science.
The timing is absurd.
Impossible.
