I rubbed the leaves with my thumb. “What is it?” I whispered at them. They didn’t say anything, but they held onto my fingers with an intensity that kept me still. I glanced at the king, who also stood perfectly still with his jaw agape.
I hummed my favorite growing song at the little sprout—the song I used to sing to my lemon trees. It was instinctual, a melody that came from my soul for the little plant. When I reached the chorus, I sang the words in a hushed voice.
Find the strength you need to grow,
Find a gift I offer true—
Strength and health and happiness—
Find the power inside you.
When I finished the words, the leaves released my fingers, settled into a more natural rose bush shape, and then erupted in a burst of fae magic that was even brighter than the big rose tree.
But was it reallybrighter?
As my eyes adjusted to the bright colors, I realized that the difference in the two pinks was not one of brightness, but one of dilution. The pinks that emanated from the rose bush tree were not only pink.
I turned to the king. “Aedan—” I started, but he ignored me and knelt in front of the new rose sprout.
He looked up at me. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
He caressed one of the new little leaves with more gentleness than I’d thought he was capable of. “You madea perfectly healthy sprout. The roots from the rose tree cover all of Hemlit, but they are especially strong in Sirun—the capital here. They often sprout new little rose bushes, but for the last thirteen years, every sprout has been sick or scraggly.”
He touched the little plant again. “This one is strong and beautiful.” Awe filled his voice. “Did you use magic on it?”
“I…” Could I have used magic on it without knowing? I hadn’t seen any, but that didn’t mean much. My sight was a fickle thing, especially if I wasn’t focused. “I don’t know. I do know that after I finished the song, it released a burst of pink magic more than twice as bright as the mother plant.”
I knelt down next to him and grabbed his arm, too excited about what I’d realized to keep a more proper distance. “But Aedan. There’s more. I didn’t notice it at first because everything in here was so bright compared to the dark corridors, but it’s obvious now. The pink that is coming from the mother plant is not a pure pink. There are dark violet wisps of magic inside it. They look sinister and cruel and feel like poison. There aren’t any in this little plant. That explains why it looks healthy to you…”
I pursed my brows together. “Though it does not explain why this plant doesn’t have any if the mother plant does.”
He placed a hand over the one I’d rested on his forearm. “Your song.” His voice caught, and he turned away from me. After a moment, he turned back. “You sang strength and health to it. You purged it of a poison.”
His warm hand over mine caught my breath. He wasn’t acting at all like a king tonight, and it made him terrifyingly attractive.
I suddenly realized I was holding his very powerful arm, and… he was holding my hand. Leather and cedar scents filled my head, and the heat that had first caught my breath now spread across my arms, making it hard to focus. “What kind of poison?”
His green eyes held mine. They were filled with so much hope and approval that it made my head swim. Did he not hate fae now? Or was it just me?
“Magic poison,” he whispered. “My aunt believes the unhealthy sprouts are the work of fae who killed my parents—that it’s tied to Radira and you. But she also believes you are evil… and I know she is wrong about that.” The air between us charged with his simple declaration. HeknewI was not evil?
My eyes burned as I refused to let the tears fall. A powerful king telling me I was not evil should not make me cry. My voice fell to mirror his volume. “How do you know that?”
He gave my hand a soft squeeze. “It is obvious to anyone willing to ask it honestly. I am sorry I refused to look before. I…”
He blinked and drew a shaky breath. “I confess I am not accustomed to apologizing or asking for things.”
I smiled. How many people had actually heard this king apologize? “Do not let that stop you. You are doing it wonderfully.”
A grin spread across his face—a strange cross between something hesitant and something feral, like it hadn’t been allowed on his cheeks before, but it wanted to run fierce and free. “Am I?”
I nodded, unsure if he was responding to me or asking something more.
He swallowed, and that feral smile turned more anxious. “Callista, would you please sing to my rose tree?”
Sing to his rose tree? Would it help? Could I purge it of whateverdark magic was swirling through its roots?
