I rise before dawn, unable to sleep after yesterday's disclosures. The western garden awaits my attention—the portion showing the most blatant evidence of sabotage. If Lady Revira is actually behind the magical drain hurting the king and realm, I need proof before confronting Thorne again.
The pre-dawn air has a tang of winter frost unexpected for early September. I wrap my shawl tighter, rushing along routes still veiled in darkness. The western garden feels different from the others—resistant to my touch, skeptical of my intentions.
"I'm here to help," I murmur to the unwilling soil, crouching amid a bed of wilted golden sunburst lilies that should be fueling the western wards.
Unlike the other garden parts where plants are simply drained of enchantment, these lilies recoil from my touch. Their residual magic feels contaminated, poisoned by something strange. I dig my fingers into the soil, closing my eyes to better sense what the earth is trying to tell me.
A searing, bitter sensation surges up my arms, making me gasp. I yank my hands free, peering at earth that appears normal yet holds a magical poison that makes my fingers tingle unpleasantly.
"Shadowblight," comes a rough voice behind me.
I swivel around to find Elm, the chief gardener, his wrinkled visage grim in the gathering dawn light.
"I've suspected it for weeks but couldn't prove it," he adds, squatting beside me with creaking knees. "Only those with earth magic can detect it. The previous gardeners never noted it—perhaps they couldn't detect it at all."
"What exactly is Shadowblight?" I inquire, wiping my hands on my apron.
"A magical poison made from shadow essence. It corrupts plant magic, turning it sour." Elm glances around uneasily. "Only someone with access to forbidden knowledge would know how to create it."
"Or someone with access to shadow creatures," I mumble, remembering the Shadowmeres testing our defenses.
Elm's eyes expand. "Be careful who you share such thoughts with," he urges. "The palace has ears everywhere. Lady Revira has many faithful maids."
I resolutely continue scrutinizing the flowers, this time cautious not to touch the soil directly. Using a trowel, I turn over the earth, revealing tiny obsidian crystals intermingled into the soil—almost invisible against the dark earth.
"Evidence," I gasp, carefully retrieving one with a handkerchief. "Someone deliberately sabotaged these beds."
"The prince must be told," Elm says.
"I'll speak to him myself," I say, covering the gem securely. "But first, I need to contain this corruption before it spreads."
For the next hour, I labor systematically, removing contaminated soil and refilling it with clean earth from my own supply brought from the royal greenhouse. The healthy lilies I'd been raising there are transplanted into the cleansed beds. The poisoned plants I confine in a different area for further investigation.
As morning light fully illuminates the gardens, I sense someone observing. Looking up, I spy Prince Thorne on a balcony overlooking the western half, his glittering eyes monitoring my movements. When our gazes make contact, he doesn't look away. Instead, he gestures for me to join him.
My heart quickens as I make my way through the castle corridors. Not from dread this time, but from something more complex—anticipation, perhaps. In just one week, the frigid prince has become less of an enigma, albeit no less dangerous.
I discover him in a small study close to the balcony, maps of the kingdom spread on a huge table. Magical signs depict the failing wards in red—the western area glowing most fiercely.
"You've been busy this morning," he replies without prelude.
I place the cloth-wrapped jewel on the table. "Someone is actively damaging the gardens. This was mixed into the soil around the western lilies."
Thorne unwraps it carefully, his gaze lowering when he sees the obsidian shard. "Shadowblight. I suspected as much."
"You knew?" I can't keep the accusation from my voice.
"I assumed," he corrects, "but couldn't prove it. None of the prior gardeners found anything strange in the soil."
"Because they didn't have earth magic," I add, remembering Elm's comments. "They couldn't hear the plants' distress."
Thorne's stare sharpens. "You hear them?"
I hesitate; old habits of disguising my ability are tough to unlearn. "The plants... they communicate in their way. The lilies were in pain."
A flicker of something—respect, perhaps—crosses his face. He turns back to the maps. "The western wards shield us from the Shadow Mountains. If they fail entirely..."
"Shadowmeres will have direct access to the kingdom," I finish. "Who would benefit from that?"
Thorne's jaw tightens. "My cousin, Lady Revira. She believes she should govern. She's been working against me from the start."
"Why? What does she gain from weakening Thornwall?"
"Power." Thorne sweeps a hand through his dark hair, a rare sign of impatience bursting through his controlled exterior. "Revira believes she can control the shadow forces. She's been studying forbidden magic since we were children."
"That's treasonous," I remark, startled by the boldness of her betrayal.
"It's worse than treason. It's delusional." Thorne's voice shows real worry. "No one controls the shadows. They absorb everything, including those who think they're allies."
I step closer to the map, inspecting the western border. "If we focus on strengthening this section, we might—"
"We can't appear to know about the sabotage," Thorne interrupts. "If Revira realizes we've discovered her methods, she'll find new ways to undermine us—ways we might not detect until too late."
"So we do nothing?" I ask, shocked.
"We do everything," he corrects, his gaze striking mine with unexpected intensity. "But secretly. Continue working on all garden sections, but prioritize developing new western plants that resist corruption. I'll assign guards loyal to me to watch the gardens at night."
"And Lady Revira?"
"Leave her to me. For now, she feels you're simply another failed gardener. Let her continue thinking that."
I bristle at this. "I'm not failing."
A flicker of a smile brushes his lips. "No, you're not. Which is precisely why she'll finally turn her attention to you directly." His expression turns serious again. "Be careful. Trust no one at court save me, Elm, and Balthren."
The warning in his voice makes me tremble. "I've never played these kinds of games."
"This isn't a game," he replies softly. "It's survival. Thornwall stands on the edge of a blade, and you and I may be the only ones who can keep it from falling."
The duty weighs heavy on my shoulders. I'm no longer just a village gardener with remarkable talents—I'm suddenly pivotal to a power battle that threatens the entire kingdom.
As if sensing my thoughts, Thorne does something unexpected. He stretches out, his chilly fingers gently touching my hand. "You're not alone in this."
The touch sends a jolt through me—partially from the chill of his skin, partly from something else entirely. Where our skin touches, little frost patterns form, yet they don't hurt. Instead, they glitter with a unique radiance.
He pulls back swiftly, glancing at his hand with a scowl. "That's... never happened before."
Before I can react, a knock at the door interrupts us. Thorne's veneer of cool indifference returns swiftly as a courier comes with news of council business requiring his attention.
"Continue your work," he says to me, formal again. "Report any changes directly to me."
As I leave the prince's study, my hand still tingles where he touched it. Whatever fleeting connection occurred between us has left a mark—invisible perhaps, but forceful.
I return to the gardens with new purpose and rising questions. If Lady Revira is behind the sabotage, how far will she go to capture power? And what precisely happened when Thorne touched me?
The answers, I suppose, lie somewhere in the core of these ancient gardens—in the balance between winter and spring, destruction and creation, prince and gardener.