Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 27 of 59

By dusk Delia had grown three new beds of herb behind the flower-draped house. She meant to fill the empty forty beds with cures no market could sell her. But she stood at the porch rail now and saw the problem plain. The land was too green. Yesterday the ground was bare. Today it burst with rare plants that took years to grow. Anyone who walked here would ask how. One wrong answer would send nobles hunting the willow and her secret. She had power without a cover for it. Nick came up the path in his dark uniform. He walked straight to the pale willow near the door and stopped. Its white leaves swayed with no wind. He touched one branch, then looked at the ground where the new herbs spread thick. "This tree wasn't here two days ago," he said. He did not soften it. "And these plants grew overnight. Tell me what happened." Delia had told him she would keep the secret from everyone but him. Now she kept her word. She knelt and pressed her palm to the bare dirt at the porch edge. Green broke through. Stems rose and spread into a patch of drying root, the same root that had cured his brother. She pulled her hand back. Nick knelt beside her. He touched the new leaves as if to prove them real. "You can grow anything," he said. It was not a question. "The fruit gave it to me," Delia said. "Any plant, any cure, from bare ground. No trade with Bram. No empty market. No one turned away." She looked at the willow. "But look at the field. There's no story for it. The king comes tomorrow. The nobles will see rare plants where weeds grew. They'll ask how. If one word slips, they'll take me apart to learn it." Nick stood and studied the green fields for a long moment. "Then we give them a story before they ask," he said. "You've grown plants here for months. You bought seed. You traded with Bram. The court already knows that. We say the field finally came in strong after a good season. Rich soil. Nothing more." "They'll count the beds," Delia said. "They'll see too much." "Then grow slow when they watch," Nick said. "Grow fast when they don't. Never touch the ground with anyone near. The willow stays hidden behind the house. If they never see the source, there's nothing to chase." Delia looked from him to the swaying tree. A cover story built on the truth they already believed. She could hide the miracle inside the ordinary. "A good season," she repeated. "That, I can sell." They worked past dark. Delia thinned the newest beds by hand so the field looked earned, not conjured. Nick shifted plants to spread the growth even. By moonrise the ground looked like patient labor, not magic. As Delia looked at the willow she noticed no new fruit appeared on it. And she wondered why it had appeared and only grown one fruit. The secret held. But Delia knew the willow still stood behind her house, and a tree that wasn't there yesterday could not stay hidden forever.