Nicholas Fairhaven's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

By morning the cutting had curled at the tips, and Nicholas moved it from the windowsill to a shallow brass dish on his desk. He propped it upright with a ring of damp cloth and studied the leaves under the cold light. The green was draining faster than three days. Without living proof the soil was Grenfeld's, no scribe would witness the terms, and no other house would believe the deal was real. He sent a runner to the kitchens for a gardener and another to the stables for a fast horse. The gardener came first, an old man with dirt under his nails, and he pressed a leaf between his fingers and shook his head. The cutting was dying because the soil in the dish was wrong. Nicholas asked if anything could hold it. The old man said only matching earth, and only if fetched before sundown. The eastern roads were a day's ride at best. Nicholas had hours. He chose the other path. He carried the brass dish down to the great hall and called in two scribes and the steward as witnesses. He drafted the terms while the leaves were still green enough to name. He sealed the document, pressed a single serrated leaf into the wax, and sent a copy riding east before the cutting could finish wilting. The proof would not last. The record would. By dusk the plant was brown, and Nicholas had a signed claim — and a fractured house that now had to answer for it.