Page 4 of Whisker me Away
Freya's head snapped up. "A curse? But who would?—"
"Someone who knows your family's history intimately," Kieran cut her off. "Someone who understands exactly how your magic works and wanted to cripple it at the source. Right before harvest season, when your power should be at its peak."
"That's impossible. Nobody has that kind of detailed knowledge about our family except..." She trailed off, her face going pale.
"Except family," Kieran finished grimly. "Or someone with access to your grandmother's private records."
The implications hung heavy in the garden air, mixing with the scent of dying roses and autumn's chill. If someone close to Freya had betrayed her family's secrets, then this was about more than just killing plants. This was personal, targeted, and probably just the beginning.
"We need to figure out who's behind this," Kieran said, his protective instincts flaring as he watched Freya struggle with the betrayal. "Before they escalate beyond the gardens. The council will need to hear about this."
3
FREYA
The Council Glade had always made Freya feel small, but today the ancient grove practically hummed with disapproval. Massive oaks formed a natural amphitheater around a circle of standing stones, their branches so thick they blocked most of the afternoon sun. What little light filtered through felt cold and judgmental, much like the five pairs of eyes currently focused on her. Even the autumn air seemed heavier here, weighted with the kind of ancient magic that made her skin prickle with awareness.
Elder Varric Thornwell sat centered in the council, his long silver braids draped over his shoulders like cords of moonlight. His eyes, the color of storm clouds before lightning struck, seemed to peer straight into her soul. To his right, Elder Bram adjusted his dark robes with the kind of precision that made Freya think of every conservative politician she'd ever seen, if conservative politicians came with supernatural abilities and attitudes carved from granite. His gray beard was perfectly trimmed, his dark robes immaculate, and his pale eyes held cold judgment that made her want to shrink into herself.
"Miss Bloom." Elder Varric's voice carried the weight of centuries. "We understand the corruption began with your family's heritage roses."
It wasn't a question, but Freya nodded anyway. "Yes, sir. This morning around dawn, according to Edgar Tansley."
"And you noticed nothing unusual yesterday evening when you tended them?"
"Nothing." She clasped her hands behind her back to hide their trembling. "They were healthy and blooming beautifully, showing perfect autumn color. I checked them right before bed, like I always do."
Elder Bram leaned forward, his pale eyes cold enough to freeze water. "How convenient that you remember so clearly. Almost as if you were establishing an alibi."
"I'm not lying." The words came out sharper than she intended, and she immediately regretted the defensive tone. "Those roses have been in my family longer than Hollow Oak has existed. Why would I want to destroy them, especially right before harvest season when they're most important?"
"Perhaps you didn't," said Miriam Caldwell from her seat at the council's left. The elderly innkeeper's silver hair caught the filtered light as she adjusted her half-moon spectacles. "But magical inheritance can be unpredictable. Sometimes power manifests in ways we don't expect, particularly during times of stress."
Freya's stomach dropped. They thought she'd done this accidentally. That her magic had somehow corrupted the very plants she'd been raised to protect.
"With respect, Mrs. Caldwell, I've been working with botanical magic since I was seven years old. My grandmother trained me personally. I would never..."
"Your grandmother is dead," Elder Bram interrupted coldly. "And you've been practicing without proper supervision forthree years. How do we know you haven't been experimenting with magic beyond your understanding?"
The accusation hit like a slap. Freya's magic flared in response to her anger, and several wildflowers near her feet suddenly bloomed out of season, their bright colors stark against the autumn browns and golds. The council members exchanged meaningful looks that made her cheeks burn with shame.
"Interesting." Elder Varric remained calm, but his storm-gray eyes missed nothing. "Your magic responds strongly to emotional stress. That could explain the corruption if you've been under unusual pressure lately."
"I opened my apothecary yesterday," Freya said through gritted teeth. "Of course I've been stressed. But I didn't curse my own garden."
"Nevertheless," Miriam said gently, "we need to investigate the magical signature of this corruption. To rule out any connection to your family's power, if nothing else."
"And how exactly do you propose to do that?" Freya asked. "The corruption resists magical analysis. I already tried."
Elder Varric smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Fortunately, we have access to someone with specialized experience in botanical investigations. Someone who can approach this objectively."
Freya's heart sank as understanding dawned. "You want me to work with someone."
"Our botanical consultant," Miriam confirmed. "He's handled similar situations before, and his knowledge of plant magic is quite extensive."
"Who?" Though Freya already suspected she knew the answer, and it made her stomach twist with dread.
"Kieran Holt," Elder Bram said with obvious satisfaction. "I'm sure you know him."
