It’s #BookQW and Cor puts trees first in ‘order’ every time.
Excerpt from Chapter 1:
With Cor wiping the weapon, they left the conservatory and approached a door just inside the main house. Master Harold put a hand to it, letting his magic flow unlock it.
The old gas lamp flared as they entered, a combination of a motion detector and magic. Stirring the rich, moist scent, Master Harold waded among dropped tools, gloves and plants on every surface. Some he’d forgotten he was carrying when he returned to his office. Other pots on the broad stone windowsills he was nursing along. Harold plucked an envelope from the fronds of a fern and handed it to him.
Cor glanced at him before tucking Leafbringer under one arm. He broke the seal and lifted the flap. The cream card matched, and above the printing was—
He stuffed it back and shoved the lot at his boss. “No, thanks.” Cor strode from the office before he could snatch back the envelope, because an invitation to the Windborne Arboriculture Conference meant everything. Listening to the latest research, meeting the forest wizards and finding one who needed a worker to do anything that would get him someplace green where he could stay for a year or two. He pushed the conservatory door, before remembering the sword and backtracking down the hall.
Footsteps sounded behind him. “You didn’t even read it.”
“Can’t take a handout.” His aunt would be furious. She’d certainly tell his dad. His parents’ rules were he and his sister had to earn stuff, not be handed it because of who they were.
“It’s a job, as a volunteer gofer for the conference. You’ll be running your legs off, which certainly isn’t a handout.”
Cor stopped. A…job? “Not as an attendee?”
Master Harold barked a laugh. “That would take more pull than I’ve got. One of the coordinators asked if I had any academy students who could fill tomorrow’s last-minute vacancy. I recommended you.”
Cor turned. “Me?” The question spilled out before he had a chance to think of how bloody desperate he sounded. “I’m not in academy, and likely can’t swing it next year.”
“You. The chap who won’t study for the entrance exams because he’d rather visit the ailing elms across town and ward them against infection. Who steals my catalogs and orders exotic bare root stock with his own pocket money and hides the saplings in the optimal beds. Who will have those bonsai planted before my first cup of coffee is even made.”
So the old man had noticed.
Master Harold held out the envelope.
He shouldn’t but…a job Aunt Syl would agree to. He took it and pulled out the card, lighting his own fingers this time. He scanned where and when to report, attire to wear and duties. “Field trips?”
“Likely you’ll just have to fill in for what the sick gal was supposed to cover.” His boss shrugged.
Cor pretended to read it over again, but his mind rolled with the possibilities. He’d already researched the speakers, their home enclave tree species, their pet research projects. He’d have to prioritize who he’d most like to ask about internships. If only I don’t blow it.
“I might not get to those bonsai.”
~~~
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