Page 23 of Sanctuary and Spices

“Like this.” He guided my movements, his breath warm against my ear. “Feel how the root mass shifts? That tells you the plant’s health.”

The pottery felt warm beneath my palms. Something hummed through it—maybe the crystal resonance, maybe just my imagination.

“There’s more backup power.” His breath stirred my hair as he reached past me to check another plant. “But the garden’s systems are isolated for protection. We need to stabilize the most delicate specimens manually.”

“Tell me how to help.”

For the next several minutes, we worked in near-darkness. His hands guided mine to feel temperature variations, texture changes, subtle vibrations that indicated stress. The small space forced us close—his chest brushed my back as he demonstrated proper lifting technique, his arms bracketing mine as we repositioned sensitive specimens.

I tried to focus on the technical aspects—moisture levels, crystal resonance patterns, root stability. Not on how his markings pulsed in rhythm with our movements. Not on theherbal-earth scent of his skin. Not on how naturally we fell into sync, anticipating each other’s actions without words.

“This one’s showing signs of shock.” He placed my fingers against trembling leaves. “Feel that?”

I nodded, then realized he might not see the movement in the dark. “Yes. The edges are curling.”

“Good.” His approval sent warmth through me. “Now here...” His hands covered mine again, guiding them to the soil. “Press gently. The crystals embedded in the growing medium will respond to your touch.”

I did as instructed, amazed when tiny points of light bloomed beneath my fingers. The plant’s leaves uncurled slightly.

“They like you.” His voice held something softer now. His markings brightened. “I’ve never seen them react so strongly to someone else’s energy.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles, an absent, intimate motion. “The garden’s particular about who it trusts.”

I held my breath in the dark, hyper-aware of Ronhar’s presence beside me. The environmental controls hummed, a discordant rhythm without their usual crystal resonance.

“And what about its keeper?” The words left my lips before I could stop them.

His markings flared brighter, casting intricate shadows across my skin. In the darkness, I felt, rather than saw, him turn toward me.

“Even more particular,” he murmured.

The space between us seemed to shrink, charged with something neither of us had the words for.

The moment balanced, teetering between possibility and hesitation.

Should I lean even closer?

Like a chicken, I drew back.

“How long until backup power kicks in?” I whispered.

“Could be minutes. Could be hours.” His markings cast shifting patterns across the leaves. “These blackouts have been happening more frequently.”

We sat close together on the garden floor, backs against the wall. His arm brushed mine with each breath, sending sparks along my skin.

“Tell me about your home world,” I said, desperate for distraction from his proximity. “What made you leave?”

He was quiet so long I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then: “I was supposed to follow tradition. Stay on Sylnith, guard our sacred groves, keep our knowledge pure and untouched.” His markings dimmed. “But I saw us becoming stagnant. All that wisdom locked away while the galaxy changed around us.”

“So you left?”

“Not at first. I tried working within the system, suggesting controlled sharing of techniques.” A soft laugh. “The Council was... unreceptive.”

“Did you join Solace right after leaving Sylnith?” I asked, watching the way his markings shifted in the darkness.

“Not immediately.” His voice held a smile. “First I tried wandering on my own. Learned quickly that the galaxy’s a big place when you’re alone.”

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