Lumina Opalknight's Arc

Chapter 2 of 11

The six seedlings lived. Lumina had dug them up at dawn and replanted them in dew-soil, just as Atticus ordered. Now, three nights later, they stood green and firm under the willow. Not one bloom yet, only leaves. She knelt in the moss and watched them, counting the hours until they might flower. Kofer dozed against her knee. "They're not ready," Atticus said. He sat on his stone in the gray morning light, bottle in hand. The stubble on his jaw looked whiter today. "Give them a month. Maybe two. You force them, you lose them." "A month," Lumina repeated. Her wings drooped. She thought of the town below, of the coughing she heard on the wind. A branch snapped. A small fairy stumbled into the glade, breathing hard. Her ruby dress was stained with mud at the hem. Brown hair stuck to her wet cheeks. She was a child, no older than ten, and she ran straight to Lumina and grabbed her sleeve. "You grow the healing flowers," the girl said. "Please. My mother can't get up anymore. The fever won't break." She pulled a coin from her pocket, one small coin, and pushed it into Lumina's hand. "I'll pay. I run her shop now. I'll pay whatever it costs." Lumina's throat closed. "What's your name?" "Roslin. Roslin Emberwing." The child's voice cracked. "They said you had blossoms. Just one. I only need one." Lumina looked at the seedlings. Green leaves. No petals. She looked at Roslin's face, at the coin in her own hand. She could lie. She could say wait. But the child had run all this way on hope. "Roslin," she said gently. "They haven't bloomed. There's nothing here to give you yet. I'm sorry." Roslin's face broke. She did not scream. She just stood there, shaking, the mud drying on her dress. "Then she'll die," the girl whispered. "Before your flowers grow, she'll die." Atticus set his bottle down hard. He pushed to his feet and crossed the moss. He crouched in front of the child, his huge frame folding low. "Listen to me," he said. His voice was rough but slow. "Fevers like your mother's. I've seen them break. There's a bitter root that buys time. A week, maybe two." He glanced at Lumina. "Not a cure. But time." Roslin gripped his sleeve now. "Where?" "I'll walk you. Show your mother the dose." He stood, swaying only a little, and looked back at Lumina. "You hear that, fairy? Your flowers aren't fast enough. Not for her. Not for the others coughing down there." Lumina closed her fist around the child's coin. She watched the troll lead Roslin down the slope. The seedlings sat behind her, months from blooming. She could not wait months. The town could not. She pressed her palm to the dew-soil. There had to be a way to make them bloom faster.