Nepenthia Thornweave's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Nepenthia knelt in the half-built greenhouse and pressed soil around a new specimen. Thirty-seven plants logged, and still the Mirebell waited in its bog. She breathed out slow. She counted names under her breath. The garden was the point. The garden had always been the point. Then a knock came at the outer door — steady, patient, the kind that knew she was home. She wiped her hands and opened the door. A hooded figure stood there in a long dark robe, a beaked mask catching the light. Gloved hands cradled two glowing jars. Between them rested a living cutting — a pale blue flower on a segmented stem, petals lit from within. Nepenthia knew that flower. She had planted its mother years ago and never gone back. "I brought you a piece of it," the visitor said. They lifted a small glass vial of glowing soil. "And this. From the bed you dug yourself. I know who built that garden. I know the name you used before this one." Nepenthia's hand tightened on the doorframe. The scar on her cheek pulled. She could have shut the door. Instead she stepped aside. "Come in," Thornweave said, quiet, not queen at all. The cutting passed into her hands, warm and breathing. The Mirebell could wait one more day. Someone had finally arrived holding proof that the woman before the trowel had not been erased.