Or deliberate.
It can’t be a coincidence.
Can it?
“I just don’t think I am the answer the King thinks I will be.”
“Good,” he says. My eyes blink as I narrow them at him. “Be the answer you want to be for yourself.”
“But Rowan, if I fail, the king will…”
“It will not be your blood on this floor.”
What does he mean by that?
The words settle in me, terrifying and steadying all at once. I have no choice but to try.
Succeed or fail, I have four chances.
Four.
I spent the rest of my day looking through the scholars’ notes. I wanted to know what they had ruled as completely useless and if there was anything that they were hopeful about. They had tried almost every variable: light manipulation, water saturation, wind, temperature control — everything I would have reached for instinctively.
But they altered and adjusted every attempt. There was no baseline, no record of what the seed did when left alone. So I concluded that I’d risk the first seed not as a solution but as a control. Normal soil, normal moisture, no forced cycles, no intervention beyond what would happen naturally in the wild. And that is all I could bring myself to do, for now. It was a start, at least. I locate a clean seed tray and prepare the bed as I would normally do.
The soil here is richer than what I’m used to. Darker and thicker, so I need to assess how it handles water throughout the day. That’s what my control is for.
The seed rests in my palm.
I stare down at it longer than I need to before I place it into the soil, covering it over with a dusting of dirt and place a cover over the top. I don’t know if it needs dark or light to germinate, but if I’m going off the knowledge I have from home. Most seeds prefer the dark for germination, so I’m going with my gut. The little Rustcap has made its way over to the patch of soil I’m working on, watching me carefully. It never seems to come too close, but is always nearby. “You look after this seed, okay?” I say to it before I hear footsteps behind me, followed by a soft call from Thomas telling me it’s time to leave. I follow him back into the darkness of the garden, my eyes helplessly searching for Rowan.
Three more seeds remain.
The thought rests heavily on my shoulders, the number repeating itself like a curse.
Three seeds.
Three chances.
Three. Three. Three.
When sleep finally calls to me, I don’t dream of the glasshouse. I don’t even dream of back home. I dream of the way Rowan said my name, as if it meant something. Like I was someone worth betting on.
Chapter 10
Elodie
I’m halfway through pulling on my overalls when Thomas appears in the doorway.
“You won’t be needing those today, miss.”
I give him a confused look before asking, “Why not?”
“The High Warden has asked that I take you straight to the stables this morning instead.”
I freeze.
“What? No… I need to get back to the glasshouse. I need to do some more research.”
