The knock at my cottage door comes shortly after dawn. I haven't slept, spending the night recovering what I could from the debris and trying to recreate my notes from memory. When I open the door, Court Mage Balthren is there, concern etching his ancient features.
"May I come in? I believe we have urgent topics to discuss."
I move back, immediately conscious of my untidy appearance and the mess of my wrecked home. Scrolls and pressed plants lie sprawled across the floor, my few personal belongings tossed haphazardly about. The only area I've managed to restore to order is my modest worktable, where I've been hurriedly documenting my findings before they fade from memory.
"Lady Revira's work?" Balthren asks, examining the damage with a scowl.
"I can't prove it," I reply, offering him the only unbroken chair. "But my gardening journal is missing—the one containing all my observations about the magical patterns in the gardens."
Balthren nods sadly, declining the seat. Instead, he moves to my worktable, scrutinizing the rough diagrams I've redrawn. His fingertips trace the pattern of magical energy flow I've drawn throughout the royal grounds.
"You've noticed it, then," he adds softly. "The imbalance."
My heart quickens. "You know what's happening to the gardens?"
"I have a theory. One I've been unwilling to discuss with Prince Thorne until I got further evidence." Balthren glances to me, his eyes bright with knowledge. "But after what happened yesterday during the dance, and now this break-in... time grows short."
The recollection of Thorne's hand on mine during our brief dance runs through my mind—that momentary surge of warmth in his generally frigid demeanor, and how the crystal chandeliers overhead temporarily shimmered with unique light.
"What theory?" I ask, throwing my arms about me.
Balthren dips under his robes and withdraws a little, antique book bound in faded green leather. "This text dates back to Thornwall's inception. Few people living can read the old language, but I've studied it thoroughly."
He opens the book carefully, showing pages covered in weird, whirling lettering alongside drawings of plants I recognize from the royal gardens—but represented in full, bright health.
"Thornwall was founded on a principle of magical balance," Balthren continues, turning pages respectfully. "The royal family formerly possessed two mystical affinities—winter and spring. Destruction and creation. Dormancy and growth."
I lean closer, attracted by an artwork displaying two monarchs—one surrounded by frost, the other by flowering flowers. "But Prince Thorne only has winter magic."
"And therein lies our problem." Balthren shuts the book gently. "For generations, the royal line has produced only winter magic wielders. The spring magic bloodline was considered lost centuries ago during the Shadow Wars."
My mind races. "So without spring magic to balance it..."
"The winter magic grows too dominant," Balthren agrees. "It's not that Prince Thorne's magic is defective, as Lady Revira argues. It's incomplete. Without its balancing, the protecting magic of Thornwall slowly turns destructive."
"But what does this have to do with me?" I ask, though a strange confidence begins developing in my chest.
Balthren stares me with a deep gaze. "Your earth magic responded to the gardens in ways no other gardeners could. And when you and Prince Thorne touched yesterday..."
"The surge of energy," I whisper.
"Precisely." Balthren nods. "Your earth magic and Thorne's winter magic are complementary—perhaps even similar to the original spring and winter magics that formed this realm. Together, you establish the balance the land demands."
My head whirls with ramifications. "That's why the plants behave differently to me. Not because I'm a great gardener, but because..."
"You carry the magic that's been missing from Thornwall for centuries." Balthren sets the ancient book on my table. "The question now becomes: where did this magic come from? Spring magic was thought wiped from the lineages. Yet here you are."
A memory surfaces—my grandma telling me stories on cold nights, tales of relatives who could "speak to growing things." Stories I'd always accepted as simple rural legend.
"My family," I mumble. "Could we be descendants of..."
"It's possible," Balthren says calmly. "Many noble families with spring magic escaped during the purges, hiding among plain folk. Some bloodlines might have survived, diluted but intact."
"Does Prince Thorne know this theory?"
Balthren's expression darkens. "I've tried to explain, but he resists the idea. The prince believes he alone must shoulder the burden of saving Thornwall. And..." he hesitates, "there are political consequences to consider."
"Lady Revira," I say with instant understanding.
"Indeed. If word spreads that the prince's magic is 'incomplete' without yours, Lady Revira could use it to promote her claim that he's unsuitable to govern." Balthren walks approaching the entrance. "But with what occurred at the ball, and now this break-in, we can no longer afford prudence. I'm going to speak with Prince Thorne directly. I advise you come with me."
I glance down at my dirt-stained clothes and matted hair. "Now? Like this?"
"Now," Balthren confirms sadly. "The winter solstice approaches—when magical barriers are weakest. And I worry Lady Revira understands exactly what she's doing by putting a gap between you and the prince."
As we speed through the early morning gardens, frost glistens on every surface. The cold has grown harsher in recent days, as if the land itself hunkers down against some imminent peril. Gardeners and slaves hurry about with concerned looks, their breath clouding in the strangely chilly air.
We locate Prince Thorne in the North Garden, studying the thornwall roses I've partially rebuilt. Even from a distance, I can sense the tightness in his shoulders, the tiredness in his stance. He hasn't slept either.
He turns at our approach, his countenance quickly darkening at the sight of Balthren and me together. Since our dance and the surge of magic between us, he's been deliberately avoiding me.
"Your Highness," Balthren bows slightly. "We must speak with you on a matter of grave importance."
"This isn't the time, Balthren," Thorne says dismissively, his glittering eyes barely catching mine before sliding away. "I'm expecting reports from the border guards about another breach."
"It is precisely the time," the mage insists. "The breaches will continue—and worsen—until you understand what causes them."
Something about Balthren's tone makes Thorne hesitate. After a minute of tense stillness, he motions curtly toward a neighboring glass pavilion used for nurturing fragile magical species.
Inside, somewhat warmed by charmed braziers, Thorne rounds on us. "Speak rapidly. What's so urgent it couldn't wait for proper channels?"
Balthren places the ancient book on a workbench. "The magical imbalance harming our kingdom isn't new, Your Highness. It's been developing for years, ever since the spring magic vanished from the royal bloodline."
I study Thorne's face closely while Balthren presents his notion regarding complementing magics. The prince's countenance stays emotionless, but I watch his hands—always steady—begin to shake slightly.
"This is preposterous," he finally interrupts. "You suggest the solution to our kingdom's crisis is..." he motions toward me without meeting my eyes, "some magical connection between a village gardener and myself?"
"Not just any gardener," Balthren states forcefully. "One whose magic complements yours perfectly—as evidenced by what happened when you touched during the dance."
Color rises in Thorne's pallid cheeks. "A momentary anomaly."
"Then explain why the gardens respond to her as they do," Balthren demands. "Why plants that wilted under five previous skilled gardeners flourish under her care. Why frost-bitten portions recover while she works beside you."
"Coincidence," Thorne maintains, but skepticism flickers in his eyes.
I can remain silent no longer. "Is it so terrible to consider we might work better together than apart?" I inquire, stepping forward. "Your winter magic and my earth magic—if they truly balance each other, isn't that worth exploring?"
Thorne's gaze finally meets me, heated and conflicted. "You don't understand the implications."
"I understand Lady Revira would use this against you," I counter. "I understand you've shouldered this load alone for so long you can't envision sharing it. But the gardens don't lie, Your Highness. When we work together, they heal."
For a moment, something fragile crosses Thorne's face—hope, perhaps, quickly crushed by years of royal discipline.
"Even if Balthren's theory holds merit," he replies stiffly, "we cannot base kingdom security on... on whatever this is." He gestures vaguely between us. "I need solutions based on proven magical principles, not ancient legends and coincidences."
"Then let us prove it," I demand, frustration bursting through my normal politeness. "Work with me directly in the gardens. Let our magics interact consciously rather than by accident. If nothing happens, you lose nothing but a few hours. If something happens..."
"The entire court will see my magic as deficient," Thorne finishes bitterly.
"They will see a prince wise enough to recognize that strength sometimes comes from cooperation, not isolation," Balthren corrects.
A deep hush settles. Outside the glass walls, I notice snowflakes beginning to fall—unusual for this early in winter, another proof of the kingdom's magical disruption.
Finally, Thorne speaks, his voice low. "One test. In the East Garden, hidden from prying eyes. Tomorrow at daybreak." He fixes me with a deep glare. "But understand this—if Balthren's theory proves false, we return to conventional methods. And you will cease disputing my tactics to rescuing this kingdom."
Without waiting for an answer, he marches out the pavilion, frost following in his wake.
Balthren breathes heavily beside me. "That went about as well as expected."
"He agreed to the test," I point out.
"Yes," the mage answers, watching Thorne's receding figure through the glass. "But the prince has spent years erecting walls—not just around the realm, but around himself. Breaking beyond such defenses may prove your greatest struggle yet."