“Meep,” the cactus said from the garden door, before darting back out to play with the chicken—the two of them seemed to be playing some variant of tag.
“The cactus wants you to know they prefer ‘they’ to ‘it,’ ‘she,’ or ‘he,’ ” Caz told Kiela.
“Ah, okay. Thanks for telling me,” Kiela said. “Wait, you can understand them?” She hadn’t realized the cactus could communicate, especially at such a grammatically nuanced level.
“Sure. It’s a plant thing.”
“How intelligent are they?” She kept her voice low, in case the cactus was insulted by the question. She didn’t mean to be insulting—she just had very limited experience with this. She didn’t recall any of her books mentioning the developmental speed of accidentally enhanced plant life.
“They have a working understanding of theoretical astrophysics.”
Staring out at the cactus and chicken, Kiela said, “Really?”
“No. But they do like poetry.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“They prefer free verse.”
“Huh.” She rather loved the idea of the spider plant and the cactus reciting free verse poetry to each other. She wanted to ask whether they wrote their own or drew from the masters, but her mind shifted back to that hint of red in the greenery. How much did she have to worry about the rescued woman? What would Radane think of a sentient succulent who was advanced enough to appreciate poetry? Maybe if Kiela visited Larran, she’d be able to determine whether Radane had overheard her spellcasting with Sian, whether she had been spying on her, whether she was a threat at all, or whether it was all Kiela’s own paranoia. “I’m thinking of visiting Larran . . .”
Caz made a rustling sound that was suspiciously like a giggle.
“. . . to check on Sian and to try to determine if Radane is a threat.”
“Mmm, of course.”
“And to ask him how to cook fish.” She winced at herself. Okay, now it just sounded like she was making up excuses. “But first, I want to finish the spell for Halio.”
“Which spell for who?”
“Remember the older woman with the dry spring? She bought some jam on our first day? I almost have the spell for her. I just need to confirm the pronunciation of line three.”
“Ooh, research!” He sprinted into the bedroom.
“Cactus?” Kiela called. “Can you mind the shop? ‘Meep’ if anyone comes.”
The cactus waddled into the cottage, followed by the chicken.
“Don’t let the chicken escape,” Kiela told them.
“Meep,” the cactus said.
Kiela wasn’t certain what that meant, but it sounded like agreement? She’d have to ask Caz if he could teach her to speak plant. She was fluent in several languages, as was any librarian in the Great Library, but flora wasn’t included. She wasn’t certain it was a recognized language—Perhaps it should be.“Thanks.” She followed Caz into the bedroom, where he’d already hauled out a dissertation on the linguistics of ancient languages, including the First Language of spellwork. Joining him, she immersed herself in research until Kiela felt confident that they had the solution. Reasonably confident, at least.
“How do we test it?” Caz asked.
She only knew of one waterless spring so far, and she really didn’t want to be experimenting in front of Halio when she was going to claim it was an old family remedy. If it failed, that would be hard to explain.Wait, I do know a second one.“The fountain in town. It’s dry too. If I pick a time when everyone is out at sea . . .”
“Like right now?” He waved his leaves at the window. “It’s a beautiful afternoon.”
She jumped to her feet. “Like right now. Can you and the cactus—”
“Go,” he said. “By the time you’re done, it’ll be dinnertime. You can just happen to be passing by Larran’s house. Perhaps he’ll invite you to share a romantic meal.”
Kiela blushed. “I’m not looking for a romantic meal.”
“I have read that sharing meals can be very bonding,” Caz said. “The act of nourishing one another creates a tie. Like when I share my soil ball . . .” He trailed off.
