With the heist looming on the horizon, Amira’s heart began thumping in time with her ticking wristwatch. If they managed to breach the palace walls and steal the seed compendium, Amira’s share of the spoils would be enough to change everything, to finally give her village the life it deserved. They could grow plants at last. They could rise from the ashes of their once-great civilisation and start anew, with fresh green leaves adorning their achievements every step of the way. But it would never be a simple path forward.
“We brought too many thornless roses,” Ro said. She’d spilled the contents of her backpack onto the grass and was bitterly picking through the supplies. “They’re absolutely useless.”
“A well-crafted rose is never useless.”
“Against fifty palace guards all brandishing thorns? Don’t be daft.”
Amira raised her brows. “I’m surprised you don’t remember the stories from our childhood. Roses can heal and transform, just as much as they can destroy.”
Ro laughed, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s nothing but a wishful fairytale and you know it,” she said.
Amira wasn’t so sure. She sighed and crouched down to touch one of the miniature dwarf roses, twirling its stem between her fingers. Like most roses of that size, it was silken soft, so delicate that it seemed like a gentle breeze could ruffle its petals beyond repair. And yet, these same roses hung on the castle in droves — flanking every window, rising out of every turret. It was perplexing. Xylia had shown them the maps of the palace defences before they left, her mouth tight with worry and the telltale glimmer of a guilty secret in her eyes. Amira hadn’t pressed Xylia for answers at the time, but now she couldn’t help but wonder what the woman was keeping from them. Was their mission doomed to fail?
Amira’s chiming wristwatch startled her out of her spiral. She glanced over at Ro, whose pale fists were clenched into little balls. Amira nodded once. It was time.