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WREN BROUGHT LEAH FOUR BOOKS from the library—two more of Valeska’s Adventures, and two about Ivy powers during pregnancy.
She set to work in the garden after skimming the sections on fertilizing abilities.
She ought not to have skimmed. The first plant grew limp and yellow. So, she returned to the cottage and thoroughly studied the texts.
Ivy powers were primarily chemical, mostly having to do with one’s train of thought. There was a good deal of meditation required to manage female Ivy powers well during pregnancy.
Between devouring more of Valeska’s Adventures over the next few days, and practicing meditation exercises, Leah was doing alright.
She finally gave it another go in the garden, extending vine tendrils from her wrists into the soil. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, envisioning Ivy energy mingling with her Ivy chemicals. She channeled them down from her mind, to her arm, to her vines. Slowly, making sure she wasn’t giving too much, she released the mixture into the soil through the small leaves lining her vines.
The change wasn’t immediate, but she sat back on the grass to watch. It wasn’t a grass yard, really, not in the way she was used to in the human world, in the US. It was a blend of grasses, clovers, and tiny wildflowers. It was cool to the touch, soft under her weight.
The excitement of watching a garden grow was akin to that of watching paint dry. But the sun was bright, the breeze light, the wild buzzing bees happy.
In the end, after a half hour, perhaps a full hour, she could’ve sworn the fertilizer was working, that the tomato plant she’d tried with looked greener, the vine slightly thicker.
She smiled, content. By the time dusk had come, she’d fertilized the whole garden. She couldn’t stay here forever, but the garden would be left after she figured out her life, as a thank you to Tobias and Camry.
***
After exchanging more books with Wren the next morning, Leah strolled into the garden, her stomach growling, her mouth watering at the prospect of a faster growing garden.
It wasn’t an exact science, and there wouldn’t be a massive change in the plant growth overnight, especially not with Leah’s limited experience.
But she smiled at the bright green garden that greeted her. Plucking a low-hanging plum from a tree, she admired her work. The spinach was broad and leafy, ready to harvest. All the other plants were looking healthy as well, though she’d hoped for more blossoms to peek out.
Reminding herself to be patient, she finished her plum. Raising her hands above her head, Leah shot out vines from her wrists, wrapping them around a sturdy branch. Flooding her arms, shoulders, and back with energy, she pulled herself up and perched on the branch, cautiously balancing herself against the trunk. With hands and vines, she harvested several plums, filling her pockets and easing some down to the ground. After getting back down, she harvested some spinach as well, and returned inside. Plums and spinach weren’t exactly a delectable breakfast, but they would do until the other produce came in.
Books and watching the garden consumed more of her days. The garden had transformed into a veritable forest of lush leaves and thick stems and vines.
But ... Leah grew worried. Healthy leaves were great for spinach and lettuce, not as good for squash and tomatoes. There were no buds.
Her heart sank as she recalled more from her studies about fertilizing. This was her fault. She’d thought initially that she had mastered this power, and maybe she had, and it was just the pregnancy causing the problem. But she’d forgotten to consider the differences between the various plants’ needs. Too much nitrogen in the mix, and you got all leaves, no fruit.
“Seriously?” she uttered, frowning. She tightened her ponytail, considering her options.
Leah hadn’t become a master gardener overnight, and hadn’t even used those skills a single time at the palace. She hadn’t needed to. Now, she could refertilize, adding more chemicals to try to balance it out, but she might screw up again and make things worse.
Her mouth watered at the fruits and vegetables she could start eating again if she could just get it right. And if she didn’t... Stepping forward, she rubbed a leaf of a tomato plant. There was nothing quite like the herbaceous aroma of tomato leaf. Ivies weren’t susceptible to many poisons. Eating leaves from the nightshade family wouldn’t harm Leah... She tore off a small leaf and tasted it.
Chewing it around in her mouth, she grimaced. It didn’t taste nearly as pleasant as it smelled, and the texture was less than appealing. Still, she forced herself to swallow it.
Sighing, Leah resolved to try to fix the chemicals. She only experimented on a fourth of the garden this time, aiming to not make the same mistake of ruining all the crops.
Shaking her head, she harvested more plums and spinach. At least she hadn’t tried fertilizing the trees or bushes.
Energy drained from the exertion of fertilizing, she went inside to eat and nap.
***
The garden was ... depressing. The correction Leah had given some of the crops seemed to be helping—they were now budding. So, she carefully applied her fertilizer to the rest of them, ensuring her concoction of Ivy energy and chemicals was well-balanced. But how long would it take for these to produce something she could actually eat?
The spinach had all been plucked, but she planted more. For now, she was scrounging what little fruit was still on the trees, and pimple berries from a bush, and picking through the limited dry storage left in the cottage.
She wasn’t consuming nearly enough calories, especially not for someone with child. But she’d be okay. She’d be fine. Leah was always fine.
***
Leah’s stomach complained early one morning. Low on energy, she rolled out of her little blanket on the sofa and ambled to the tiny kitchen.
Visions of rich banquets at the palace danced in her memories. She could almost even smell some of the exquisite food she’d become accustomed to.
Pulling herself back to her sad reality, Leah surveyed her meager spread. A healthy handful of buckwheat groats, a small container of coarse cornmeal, half a bottle of oil, seasonings, a precious bag of dried fruit.
She glanced through the kitchen window to the backyard. She’d be fine. This was the Green Lands. This realm was like a paradise. New berries matured each day, fresh sprouts emerged regularly, and things would work out.
Envisioning the worst, she pictured herself kneeling on the grass, harvesting clover—it was technically edible. That much she remembered from her courses.
Leah fought the truth tugging at her. She was doing this to herself. She was imprisoning and debasing and starving herself. No one was doing this to her.
She could trudge the mile to Rachel and Guillen’s home to grovel for their forgiveness, to ask for food, to ask Rachel to come back and use her powers to boost the plants’ growth.
She could take Wren up on his constant offer to leave the cottage and go to the market. Marcus had stormed out without taking the extra coins he’d brought.
She wouldn’t be doing any of those things. Leah was done asking for help. Done taking people’s charity and money and simply accepting that she had no other choice.
Everyone was probably aware of her status right now anyway. Perhaps that was part of the ‘family plan,’ to starve Leah out until she gave in to Catrina’s demands.
Leah guzzled extra water and counted out a scant handful of the dried fruit. She sat at the table, nibbling and sipping. Water was good for her anyway, especially since she was pregnant.
Soon enough, Wren’s signature knock sounded on the front door.
When she opened it, he gave her a half-smile, as well as the next Valeska book, and a letter from her mom.
“Thanks,” she said.
He wasn’t his usual self. Not bright or cheerful. He looked like he was prepared to deliver bad news.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked.
Wren bunched his eyebrows. “What do you say to us finally venturing away from here today? Checking out the library and market?”
She flipped the pages of the book in her hands. His trips to the library weren’t part of his job, but had been out of the kindness of his heart. The reminder made her feel more guilty.
“I ... can just reread the books I have here,” she said.
“And the market?”
That water wouldn’t keep her full for long. Somehow, kneeling on all fours and eating clover from the dirt like a cow seemed less intimidating than being in public right now.
“I’m fine.”
Standing tall, Wren crossed his arms. “The cold storage in a place like this can’t be all that large. I’d imagine the pantry’s not all that expansive, either.”
She swallowed. “They’re surprisingly large for a cottage this size.” That was a complete lie.
He nodded, eyeing her. “And you know we patrol the entire property regularly, right? That includes the backyard?”
Her anxiety doubled. Please don’t. Just let it go. “I know.”
“I couldn’t help but notice the garden’s perhaps not meeting demand,” he said.
“It’s doing better, thanks to the books you borrowed for me.” She turned to head inside.
Resting a hand on the doorframe, Wren stopped her. “We should get you food until the garden produces more.”
“No.” She stood there, unwilling to budge on the topic. You’ve always been a burden, a mistake.
“If you don’t have proper food, I will have to inform Her Majesty.” His tone was matter-of-fact.
She spun on him, her heart aching at the betrayal. “Don’t you dare. I don’t want help. I don’t need help. I’ll be fine.”
“My assignment is to keep you safe,” he said, sparing a quick glance at her stomach. “To keep you both safe. And if you’re not getting enough to—”
“I’m fine!” she snapped, her eyes burning. “I can take care of myself. I can take care of myself and my child, and it’s none of your concern. And Catrina can keep her nose out of my business.”
He loosed a soft sigh. “She cares about you.”
“No. She doesn’t. She cares about appearances. I’m sure she’s happy to be rid of me. Everyone is.” Marcus, his parents, her ‘friends’ at the academy. “Queen Catrina doesn’t care about me.” Her voice shook as tears pricked at her eyes. “Nobody does.”
“Miss Eleana—” he started with gentle chastisement.
Leah shoved the book he’d just given her back into his hand, pushing past him, and slammed the door closed, locking it tight.
She lay back down on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position, slowly breaking into a fit of tears. And her mind fixated on that hidden passport.
What game was she playing? Marcus hadn’t so much as sent a single letter after leaving.
She yearned to give that passport a maiden voyage to the human world. To escape this all. Marcus may never come back to her.
But a sinking anxiety stopped her from considering it too seriously. Catrina had probably reinstated the order that Leah was prohibited from leaving the realm, like she’d been for ages after her attempt on Kaylah’s life.
Plus, going to the human world likely meant permanently cutting ties with this realm. Right now, she didn’t have a lot to lose in that move. Except for contact with her mom as she rotted away in prison all alone.
Leah unfolded the new letter from her mom, soaking it up, cherishing each word. There wasn’t anything particularly exciting about it.
As with the last letter, Leah kept reading those two words at the end. Love always.
Always? Really? Some things in life worked that way. Gravity always worked. The sun always rose in the morning. And Leah always ... found a way to screw things up.
But love and relationships? There was no always with them. People left—by choice, consequence, or death. People lied. Her mother certainly had.
About so many things. More than anyone else in the realm even knew. But Leah now knew.
The next morning, Leah stepped out the back door, praying every branch, stem, and vine in the garden had miraculously become laden with fruit overnight.
She didn’t make it far. Right outside the door sat a giant basket brimming with fresh produce and dried grains. Resting on the top, dead center, was the book Leah had shoved into Wren’s hands the day before.
Frowning, she picked it up. A small letter stuck out the top. She unfolded it, her hurt forming a puddle in her chest as she read it. Two words: I care.
Numb, trying to sort through her emotions, she summoned Ivy energy to give her enough strength to pick up the giant basket and bring it inside.
After taking her time to munch on some strawberries and mull things over, she gathered her courage and opened the front door.
Wren didn’t react, sitting and reading a book.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t look up.
It was uncomfortable. He had to think she was throwing a tantrum like a child, that she was unstable like her father had been.
“And I’m sorry,” she added.
He looked at her, closing the book in his lap. “No apologies necessary.”
“How much did it cost?” She could pay with the money Marcus had left behind.
“It was a gift. Consider it a present for you and your little one.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She fidgeted with her hands. It was time to swallow her pride. Or at least a small portion of it. Time to force herself out of her cocoon of safety. “How about we...” It pained her to utter the promise. “We can go to the market on Sunday, if the garden isn’t producing enough by then.” It wouldn’t, not that quickly. But his gift was more than enough to last until then.
He smiled. “I’ll be ready.”
“And thanks again for the book.” It was number eight of nine in the series.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll warn you that it’s a slower pace than some of the others, but vital. Stick with it, and it’ll make sense.”
She returned his smile, more at ease over book talk. “Sounds good.”