Sasha blinked. “What?”
“For science.” I gestured to the flowers around us. “Did they respond when we were uncontrollably giggling?”
She considered that. “I don’t think so. But that laughter was forced, not genuine.”
“Exactly. Maybe forced laughter doesn’t work, but the real thing does.” I stood, moving to the center of the room. “Watch.”
I proceeded to do my best impression of Lord Turrenchecking his reflection, complete with an imaginary mirror and dramatic hair smoothing. I exaggerated his vanity to silly levels, taking poses and making concerned faces at invisible blemishes.
Sasha pressed her hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh.
I added more details, including Turren’s tendency to check his reflection in literally any surface, including teacups and other people’s eyes. His elaborate theories about which colors enhanced his complexion. The way he’d pause mid-conversation to ensure his hair remained perfectly arranged.
Sasha broke, her laughter bursting out. The sound filled the room, and I smiled along with her.
Around us, leaves unfurled, colors brightened, and blossoms opened wider. The transformation was immediate and undeniable.
“Well,” Sasha said when she could speak again, still giggling, “that’s scientifically conclusive.”
My grin widened. “Told you.”
Savory made a sound from her perch.
Sasha translated. “She wants to know if you’re going to catalogue the precise angle of my smile for your research.”
“That seems like crucial data,” I said. “For science.”
Another sound erupted from Savory, and she scrambled across her perch as if insisting her comment be shared.
“Now she’s suggesting we test whether arguing has the opposite effect,” Sasha said, “but she’s concerned we might kill the flowers.”
I turned toward the raven. “Your witch is very thorough. I appreciate that about her.”
Savory ruffled her feathers, looking smug.
We spent another hour testing theories anddocumenting responses. By the time we needed to leave for our investigation of the gardens, the sitting room looked healthier than it had in weeks.
A small victory, but a real one.
The day passed in a blur of investigation. We questioned the head gardener, who had no explanation for the widespread wilting. We interviewed botanical staff, who seemed genuinely distressed by the plants’ decline. We examined festival preparation areas, finding the same pattern of dampening magic everywhere.
By evening, we’d gathered data but no definitive answers. Just more questions and the growing certainty that whatever was happening had existed for more than a few months and was deeply rooted in the court itself.
Dinner in the informal dining room felt almost normal. Lords and ladies filtered in, claiming their usual seats. Lord Turren arrived first, adjusting his lavender jacket to make sure it lay smoothly across his hips. Lady Kenneth followed, practical as always in a tunic and pants. Lady Edwina swept in with her velvet pouch of divination stones rattling.
Sasha and I slipped back into our public roles, but everything felt different now. We’d shared understanding, private jokes, and a connection that buzzed beneath the surface.
We held hands under the table after we’d settled into our seats.
“Good evening, Your Majesties,” Lady Kenneth said. “How was your day?”
“Productive,” I said. “We’ve been investigating the plant situation.”
“Any progress?” Lord Turren asked, though he seemed more concerned with his reflection in a polished spoon than our answer.
“Some theories,” Sasha said. “Nothing conclusive yet.”
Lady Edwina pulled out her divination stones and waved them in the air. “Perhaps the cosmic patterns can provide guidance.”
