Thornwyn Brightpetal's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

For twelve years, Thornwyn Brightpetal had planted the Spring Garden alone. She was Queen of the Gnome Realm, crowned by the land in gold and flowers, and she wanted one thing her crown could not give her: a kingdom so warm that folks came from far away to see it. Today she tried again. She called her court to the garden soil and asked them to plant beside her. They argued within minutes. Half wanted the welcome gate built by the flowered castle walls. Half wanted it near the lake. Voices rose. Trowels dropped. One by one they walked off, the way they always did. Thornwyn stood with cold hands and a full seed basket, just like the first time, at nine. "You split them yourself, cousin." The voice came from a flower near her ear. Luminara Dewsparkle hovered there, no bigger than Thornwyn's thumb, wings catching the light. Her cousin. Her rival since they were small. "You gave the court one patch of soil and asked them to agree on all of it. Spread first, then weave later, and the knot ties itself. That is how I pass through thorns at night, you know, finding the ones that bend." Thornwyn frowned. She hated that Luminara was often right. "They won't stay." "They won't stay for one task. Give them many." A heavy shape moved at the garden's edge. A minotaur, brown-furred, horns catching the sun. He had wandered from the forest, lost, searching for a grove that had vanished. Asterion Tauros. He stood by a large mossy stone shaped like a hand, ladybugs crawling its fingers. "The gnomes fight over dirt," he said. "Waste." Thornwyn looked at the stone hand. Then at the scattered court, still grumbling in clusters. An idea pressed up through her like a seedling. She called them back. This time she did not ask them to share one job. She split the welcome into pieces. One group would plant the path to the lake. One would hang flowers along the castle balconies. One would clear a hedge into a maze for guests to wander. Each group got its own soil, its own task, its own corner. "And you," she told Asterion, "the stone hand is heavy. Carry it to the gate. Mark where the maze begins." He lifted it without a word. The arguing stopped. With nothing to fight over, the court worked. By dusk the path reached the lake's edge. Flowers spilled from every balcony. The hedge maze stood trimmed and turning. Luminara darted between the groups, carrying thread and word. Thornwyn knelt at the last patch and planted the final seed herself, out of habit. Then a court gnome knelt beside her and planted the next one. Then another. For the first time in twelve years, she was not alone in the soil. But as the court cheered, Asterion spoke low. "Visitors will come now. From far." He looked toward the dark forest. "Not all of them are kind."