Thorn's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

By dawn the stolen blossoms had begun to fade. Thorn crouched in an alley behind the academy wall and studied the petals. Yesterday they glowed when he touched them. Now the gold veins looked dull, and one flower drooped on its stem. He pressed a finger to a vein and pushed his magic through. The petal flickered, then dimmed. His chest tightened again, the old pain crawling back. If the blossoms died, so did the only calm he had ever known. He needed water and someone who understood living things. He had neither. His hatchling nudged a puddle by the wall, but the water there was gray with soot. Thorn dipped the stems anyway. Nothing changed. The drooping flower shed a petal onto the stones. He had days, maybe less. A shadow fell across the alley. A girl stepped in, and the dim space brightened. Her hair hung down her back and shone like poured sunlight, so bright Thorn shielded his eyes. Armor plated her shoulders in white and gold. She looked at the blossoms in his hands, not at him. "Those are dying," she said. "You cut them wrong. The stems are crushed." Thorn pulled the flowers to his chest. "They're mine." "They're stolen." She said it flat, no anger. "I'm Solara. I came for something taken from my people. I know the look of a thief guarding his prize." She crouched to his level. "But I also know those flowers. Crushed stems can't drink. They'll rot from the bottom." His stomach dropped. "Can you fix them?" "Not fix. Save one, maybe." She drew a small knife. "Trim the stem clean, sink it in clear water, keep it cold. That's all. But you have to choose which to save. The rest are gone." Thorn looked at the bundle. Five blossoms. He had run through the streets clutching all of them, thinking he owned a treasure. Now his treasure was rotting in his fists. He spread the flowers on his coat. Four sagged, brown creeping up their stems. One stood straight, its veins still faintly bright. He cut the good one free and handed the rest to Solara. She set them aside without a word. Then she showed him the clean angle of the cut and where to hold the blade. His hands shook. Hers were steady. He sank the single stem into her waterskin, and the vein brightened a shade. "One flower," Thorn said. "How long will one last?" "Weeks, if you tend it. Not forever." She stood. "Nothing channels magic forever. You'll need to grow more, or find the tree they came from." Thorn stared at the lone blossom in the water. He had traded a whole bundle for a single bloom and a warning. The pain in his chest eased as the vein glowed. But now the clock was clear. One flower stood between him and losing his magic again.