To ensure no mistakes, Caz copied the spell phonetically, because he had the neatest handwriting. Ulina agreed to conduct them—she’d signal for each syllable and each breath. Kiela formed a circle around the table with the spell. On her left was Larran. Bryn was on her right. Eadie, Radane, and Ivor were squeezed on the other side of the table.
“The storm needs to hear us,” Radane said.
Bryn crossed to the window and door. “Ready?”
Meep and Caz sat on the corners of the spell to secure it. “Meep.”
She threw open the window and door, and the storm roared into the bakery. A bag of flour plummeted from a shelf and broke open on the floor, and the tabby cat yowled. Flour whipped in a cloud around him and then was carried out into the streets.
“It’s worse!” Larran shouted to be heard over the wild wind.
“There’s flooding in the streets!” Bryn called.
“Then let’s stop it now!” Kiela said. She joined hands with Bryn and Larran as they came back to the circle. “Ulina, lead us!”
Holding her neighbor’s hands with one pair, Ulina used her other pair of hands to conduct. She raised them up, took a breath . . . and they began.
Verisinasa tri biasa
Sey hiavor cry tricoma
Suna wyri suna wira . . .
Outside, the howl of the wind sounded like a child’s scream. The winged cat cowered behind the counter, shielding himself with his bright green feathers. She heard a crash—a tree falling? The dock breaking? A roof cracking open? Concentrating, Kiela pronounced each syllable as precisely as she could. Around her, the others did the same.
Virrinaya tri virona
Muria rysana verisinasa . . .
She felt Bryn’s hand tighten in hers as they heard the rush of water on the streets outside. As Larran had said, this storm was worse than the last—they should get to higher ground. But not until the spell was complete.
Sey govana
Suna wyra veri myana!
They reached the end, raised their faces, and looked at one another.
“Again,” Kiela said.
Verisinasa tri biasa . . .
Kiela felt wetness on her toes. She looked down to see seawater seeping into the bakery through the open door. The level of water in the street had risen to the top of the steps. The town was flooding. Soon it would be inside every house. And she didn’t know when it would end. Perhaps not until all of Caltrey was swept away.
She spoke the words louder.
Beside her, she heard Eadie’s voice hitch as she stumbled over a syllable. The winged cat darted toward her and curled around Eadie’s front hooves. Strengthened by the encouragement, Eadie continued, her voice clear and strong.
They kept going.
A third time.
And then: silence. The wind’s screams died to a whisper. The water on the floor of the bakery receded, and Kiela glanced to the door to see that the flooding was flowing out of the town like it was being pumped back into the sea.
“Did . . . did we do it?” Ulina asked. Her voice was rough. All of them had been shouting. Kiela hadn’t even realized she was too. She swallowed. Her throat felt raw.
Slowly, they released one another’s hands.
Eadie sat down hard on her hindquarters. “I faltered. I failed.”
Kiela shook her head. “I think it worked.” She didn’t hear the storm screaming anymore. The wind was dying, and the walls were no longer shaking as if the world wanted to tear them apart. At her feet, the tabby with green wings purred. Picking up the cat, Kiela cuddled him as she took a deep breath and then exhaled. The air tasted like the salty sea.
Bryn rushed to the door and peered outside. “The sky’s clearing! It’s . . . well, there’s no rain and thunder.” Her voice shook a little.
Raising her head, Eadie asked, “What is it?”
“Come see,” Bryn said, stepping outside.
Carrying the cat, Kiela followed her, with Larran. Caz and Meep scooted outside at her feet. They all emerged into sunshine. Everything was dripping wet—from the roofs, down the walls. The stones glistened with water. And flowers were falling from the sky.
Blossoms of white, pink, blue, purple, and yellow drifted down in lieu of the rain and lightning. It looked like a celebration. With a delighted rrr-eow, the tabby cat leaped out of her arms, spread his green wings, and flew into the petal-filled sky, catching blossoms in midair. Laughing, Kiela stretched out her arms and spun as the flowers danced all around them.
“Everyone will know it’s magic the second they see this,” Radane said quietly. She hadn’t left the bakery. She hovered by the doorway, just out of sight.
“They’ll know it’s magic the second they realize they didn’t die.” Kiela caught blossoms on her open hands. She lifted them to her face and inhaled the soft perfume. It smelled like the heart of summer. “Come and see this!”
Shaking her head, Radane retreated into the bakery.
With a worried glance toward the dock, Bryn followed her inside.
Out on the wet cobblestones, Larran caught Kiela’s hands and swung her in a circle. A half-dozen cats swooped and danced above them. Consequences might come soon, but for now . . . flowers were falling like the miracle they were, and Caltrey was safe.
Pulling on his hand, she tugged him toward the dock. All around, villagers were coming out of their houses and marveling at the blossoms. Even more winged cats had returned to their rooftop perches and were batting the flowers out of the air as they fell. Larran had them in his hair, and she knew she did too. It made Kiela think of festivals and of weddings. She felt her cheeks blush.
“Let’s see what we saved,” Larran said. Still holding her hand, he led her toward the dock. The flowers kept falling, but her heart sank as they drew closer.
Ships in the harbor had been tossed around. A few were beached. One had been smashed against the rocks. Blossoms floated on the lapping waves and on the damaged ships.
“We weren’t quick enough,” Kiela said.
“It’s not all the ships,” Larran said, “and they can be repaired. We saved the homes. And the people. Even them.” He pointed to beyond the harbor, where the warship with its white hull and red sails was listing to the side as it headed back toward Caltrey. “You were right. They hadn’t escaped the storm. If not for the spell—”
“They’re coming back,” Kiela said. A piece of her had hoped they’d accept the miracle for just that and continue on to their next destination.
“There’s time to hide you and Radane,” Larran said.
She shook her head. “Radane, yes. Me, they met. They know I’m here. Hiding would only look like guilt. Besides, you cast the spell too—and Ivor, Bryn, Eadie, Ulina, Caz, Meep. We’re all in this. If we all disappear . . . I’m not leaving all of you to face this.”
Larran looked worried. “Maybe we don’t need to make it easy for them, though?”
“Oh, yes, we should absolutely lie our faces off.”
Holding hands, they watched the imperial ship sail into the harbor. One of its masts had snapped, and a sail was torn. Clearly it hadn’t gone through the storm unscathed. Maybe it’s only here for repairs. Maybe they won’t ask questions.
And maybe the chicken will start talking.
Of course they’d ask questions.
Kiela was aware that others were scurrying over the dock. This time, though, the villagers weren’t gathering to greet the ship. Everyone was focused exclusively on cleaning up from the storm. People were working together to patch their boats, to pull them off the rocks, and to sweep up from the damage—and from the flowers.
Only Kiela and Larran were standing still, watching the wounded ship come in.
Kiela knew she should help too, but she felt rooted to the dock. Maybe I should hide us all. Maybe she should grow more plants and stuff everyone behind them. She didn’t think that would work this time. What they’d done was too large to ignore.
The ship limped into the harbor.
Halfway between the breakwater and the dock, it dropped anchor. Shortly after, a rowboat was lowered, and she saw the captain and several sailors rowing toward them.
When they reached the dock, Larran reached a hand down and helped them tie off to the piece of the dock that was still sturdy. The captain, Kiela noted, had flower blossoms in his hair, as did the rest of them.
“Everything okay with your ship?” Larran asked. “Need any help with repairs?”
Captain Varrik climbed out of the rowboat and ordered his sailors to remain by their oars. Kiela wondered if it was a good sign that he didn’t have them disembark and immediately begin an investigation. “My crew is already working on it,” he said. “We returned to ensure that your island survived.” Walking to the very end of the dock, he surveyed the harbor. “I see there’s been some damage.”
Larran shrugged. “We’ll manage. We always do.”
“You’ve had storms of this magnitude before?”
Joining him at the end of the dock, Larran said, “The storms have been worsening ever since the capital stopped sending its sorcerers around. The outer islands have suffered the most. We depend on the sorcerers maintaining a balance in the magic, to offset the miracles they make in the capital. I’d planned to visit Alyssium and appeal to the emperor, but given the mess in the capital . . .”
“I have reason to believe the situation will improve,” Captain Varrik said.
“Oh?” Kiela asked. “Will sorcerers be sent on circuit again?”
“I don’t believe that will be the solution.” He looked at her, and she wished she could read what he was thinking. It was the kind of look with unspoken words behind it. Her heart thumped faster and harder, and she hoped he couldn’t hear it. “The laws are changing, but unfortunately, they are changing slowly.”
She wanted to ask which laws precisely, but she wasn’t sure she dared. Asking could be tantamount to admitting that they’d broken several laws, and she wasn’t sure that was wise. It had to be a good sign that he hadn’t immediately arrested anyone.
Fortunately or unfortunately, she didn’t have to ask.
“So, did they repeal the law saying only approved sorcerers can perform spellwork yet? Specifics, please.” It was Caz. Kiela hadn’t seen him come down the dock, but here he was, his tendrils wrapped tight around his soil ball. It was remarkable he was here, willingly, with water sloshing underneath the boards, but as proud as she was that he’d overcome his fear, why hadn’t he stayed hidden? He knew he was difficult to explain. Granted, he had every right to be here, but convincing the captain of that, in the wake of the abrupt and flowery end to the magic storm, could be a challenging task. It would have been better if—
“Meep,” the cactus added, poking themself out from beneath Caz’s leaves.
Now it’s over.
Captain Varrik gaped at them.
Running down the dock, Tobin skidded to a stop in front of them. “Caz! You’re in town!” He boasted to the captain, “This is my friend, Caz. He’s a Chlorophytum comosum —see, I learned how to say it.”
Bryn called from the foot of the dock, “Tobin, come help with the nets!”
Tobin groaned and then trotted back. Over his shoulder, he said, “Caz, come to Aunt Bryn’s bakery sometime. I’ll sneak you pastries.”
All of them watched the boy scamper away down the dock to rejoin Bryn and the rest of the Pine Cone Coven. Side by side, her friends stood at the end of the dock, watching, waiting, ready—and Kiela realized they’d sent Tobin intentionally, to show Captain Varrik that she, Larran, and the plants weren’t alone. Or to remind me.
She had no idea what they intended to do if she needed to be rescued, but she wasn’t going to let it come to that. I won’t let Captain Varrik take any of them.
In the moments it had taken Tobin to cross the dock, Captain Varrik had composed himself again. She couldn’t read his face to gauge his reaction to the presence of a sentient plant who was clearly not native to Caltrey when Radane was supposedly the only recent arrival. He must know we lied, even if he doesn’t know about what or why. Now if she could just think of what to say to explain everything in a way that would make the imperials leave . . .
Before either Kiela or Captain Varrik could speak, Caz informed him, “I was created illegally by a librarian in the Great Library of Alyssium. I was granted citizenship, but she was arrested and executed.”
“Transformed into wood,” Kiela clarified.
“Executed,” Caz said firmly. “She couldn’t speak or move, and when the library burned, she couldn’t call for help or run to safety. If she hadn’t burned in the fire, she would have rotted where she was placed, as her body of lifeless wood decomposed—and through it all, she was aware of her fate, helpless and trapped and forgotten.”
Kiela stared at him. He never spoke about his creator. She’d never asked, not wanting to upset him with talk of what neither of them could change or fix. She hadn’t realized he’d understood her fate when the North Reading Room burned.
“Her name was Terlu Perna, and she was kind and soft and had a fuzzy voice. She wouldn’t squash bugs because she didn’t want their families to be sad and lonely. But she was tortured and killed for giving me life, and she told me before they took her that she didn’t regret what she’d done for a second. She regretted that she wasn’t sneakier about it, obviously, but she told me that I was the best thing she ever did, and that if the emperor and his sorcerers didn’t see that, they were small, selfish people who didn’t care about anyone but themselves.”
Kneeling next to Caz, Kiela said softly, “I didn’t know she made you on purpose.”
“She did,” Caz said. He wrapped a tendril around Meep, as if for comfort. Meep pressed closer to him. “She was lonely, and she wanted someone to love. She made me out of love, and the empire destroyed her for it.”
“I’m so sorry, Caz.”
“The law against unofficial sorcery doesn’t exist to help people,” Caz said to Varrik. “The revolutionaries were right—yes, I read their pamphlets, and I agree with them. The laws were created to consolidate power among the already powerful, and the people in charge didn’t care who else they hurt. They didn’t care about a lonely librarian who was doing no harm to anyone, just as they didn’t care about thousands of islanders left in the lurch, who are bombarded by storms that their misuse of magic caused.”
Captain Varrik said, “As of now, that law still stands. Please know that I didn’t write the laws, and I have no power to change them.”
Kiela looked from the spider plant to the captain and didn’t know what to say. This felt much bigger than a single spell to stop a storm, or even a bedroom full of illicit books.
Larran jumped in. “But you do have power to choose what you do next, whether to follow orders or your heart,” he said. “You could choose to sail away. You have no direct proof that any illegal spellcasting happened here.”
Standing up, she gawked at him for a moment. He was so nice to everyone that she hadn’t expected him to argue with an imperial captain, even on her behalf. The fact that he did heartened her. We can convince Captain Varrik to do the right thing, if we only can find the right words. As the fake poison berries proved, he wanted to do the right thing—that had to matter, didn’t it?
Mildly, apologetically, Captain Varrik said, “There are flowers in my hair and on my ship. It would require a complete lack of attention to not realize magic was at work, and there are no approved sorcerers on either my ship or on Caltrey.”
Caz pointed out, “You have no proof of who worked this magic.”
“We could, with an investigation,” Captain Varrik said.
“Is that part of your mandate?” Kiela asked. “Your mission is to find the emperor’s heir. Surely your superior officers would deem that more important and wouldn’t like that you delayed your mission to act as an imperial investigator on a minor island.”
“Such a spell could only have been conducted by someone with the knowledge of wind-speaking, which the heir possessed.” Again, he sounded apologetic. “One could argue that investigating this lead is directly related to my mission.”
“Or one could choose not to argue that,” Kiela pressed. “Yes, you have your mission, but it’s up to you how you fulfill it.” She pitched her voice even softer. “It’s your choice whether there are poison berries or not.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple—”
“Meep,” the cactus said.
Caz translated. “They say to tell you that one could argue that whoever cast this spell to disperse the storm could have let you and your crew drown. They chose not to, which would imply that it wasn’t cast by your target.”
“They said all that?” Captain Varrik asked.
“Meep.”
Caz translated again. “Yes.”
“Whoever cast this spell clearly cared more for what was right than what was the law,” Kiela said. She’d thought before that he seemed like a good person. She hoped with every bit of her heart that she’d been correct and hadn’t misjudged him. He had a choice here, whether he saw it or not. He could think for himself and decide what was right. “You can care too.”
Captain Varrik looked back at his ship. In a low voice that didn’t carry beyond them, he asked, “Tell me: Is she safe? Is this the life she wants?”
“It’s certainly better than the alternative you’re offering,” Caz said.
He nodded, looking unhappy. “But if it wasn’t . . . If I came offering the crown . . .”
“She doesn’t want it,” Kiela said.
“You’re certain. She won’t—”
“She neither wants to overthrow the government nor die from it,” Kiela said. “She told me she wants an ordinary life.” He could make the right choice. She knew he could. If he wanted to badly enough. “But you know her a lot better than I do. What do you think she wants?”
“She never wanted power,” Captain Varrik admitted. “Or anything that I could offer her.” He sighed heavily, and Kiela began to hope. She glanced at Caz, who was vibrating slightly with either worry or fear—she couldn’t tell which. Kiela held out her hand, and Caz reached up a tendril and took it. Larran took her other hand.
They waited, hand in hand and hand in leaf.
Raising his voice so that others on the dock could hear, Captain Varrik said, “I’ve received word that a traveling sorcerer was able to dispel this storm. We’re all quite grateful for that bit of luck. His timing was excellent.”
“It was excellent luck,” Kiela agreed loudly.
He strode back to the rowboat and began barking orders—two of them would row him back to the ship, while the rest would assist the fisherfolk. “I’ll send some of my crew to help with storm repairs, at least until we are ready to proceed on to the next island.”
As the sailors climbed out of their boat to assist, the Caltreyans on the dock cheered. Shortly, they were all working side by side. Once his men and women were all assigned to useful tasks, Captain Varrik climbed into the rowboat and returned to the ship, leaving Kiela, Larran, and the two sentient plants on the dock. He did not look back.
“Meep?” Meep asked.
“He chose kindness,” Kiela said. She wanted to sink into a puddle of relief. She smiled down at the spider plant. “Caz, you did it.”
“We did it,” he corrected.
“Meep,” the cactus agreed, as Larran wrapped his arm around Kiela’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. She hugged him back.
Kiela offered to Caz, “Want me to carry you back to solid land?”
“I’ve got this,” he said confidently.
As one of the fisherfolk hauled a boat closer, the water sloshed beneath them. Caz clung to the boards of the dock with his leaves. “If you don’t want—” she began.
“Yeah, just carry me.”
Bending down, she scooped up her friend, while Meep climbed up into the pocket of her still-wet skirt. Her arms full of leaves and Larran by her side, Kiela walked off the dock and through the flower-strewn town.