Elowyn's Arc

Chapter 12 of 12

Elowyn and Tavian followed the root-marked path back toward the seam. The seed glowed in her cupped hand. Ahead, the ground split into two lights—warm sun on one side, cool moon on the other. A house of curling towers and giant flower shapes rose where they met. She had almost reached the crossing when a voice spoke behind her. "A seed," Tairo said. "The eaten one. I felt it wake the air two days ago." He leaned against a coral arch, his sash heavy with bells and charms. Tairo collected lost things, and he had taken from Elowyn before—her crescent charm, her shell necklace. Each time she walked away lighter. His crooked smile said this would cost her again. "I'm not trading the seed," Elowyn said. "It has to grow here. There's no other place." "I don't want the seed." Tairo tilted his head. "Seeds are dull. But the crossing is mine to open. Silphium walks through, or it doesn't." He held up one finger. "One charm from your bag. My choice." Tavian stepped close to her. "He's stalling for the best piece," he murmured. "Pick first. Don't let him." Elowyn opened her satchel. Her fingers found the small glass box near the bottom. Inside it sat the charm from her old stolen map page—the flower and the faded lines that had first pointed her toward Thessara. She had kept it through every trade. It meant the most. That was why he would want it. She lifted the box out. "This one," she said. "Before you ask." Tairo's smile faltered, just slightly. She had chosen the thing he was reaching for. He took the box and turned it in the moonlight. The flower inside caught the split light and glowed. "Well," he said. "You've done my choosing for me. Ridiculous. I liked it better when you resisted." He tucked the box into his sash, and the crossing between the lights fell open like a curtain drawn aside. Elowyn walked to the exact line where sun met moon. She knelt. The soil there was half-warm, half-cool. She pressed the seed into it with her thumb and covered it over. The glow sank beneath the dirt and stayed. "Now what?" Tavian asked. "Now it wakes, or it doesn't." Elowyn sat back on her heels. Her hand ached where the seed had rested. The last silphium was in the ground at last, planted in the only soil that might rouse it. Tairo was already gone. But as she watched, a thin pale shoot pushed up through the split soil—faster than any plant should grow. It leaned toward the moonlit side, then straightened. It was not a flower yet. It would need tending, and time, and something more she did not yet have. Elowyn opened her herbarium to the silphium page. The name was written. The space for the flower waited, still empty.