The witch tossed her head back and laughed. “It’s monkshood. Incredibly toxic.”
Karina snatched her hand back.
“All of this is poison.” The witch gestured at her garden. Bitterness stained her words. “Nightshade. Foxglove. Oleander. Even the ivy—it might look pretty but all it does is destroy.”
“But what else could you do?” A thought bloomed in Karina’s mind, tickling her with the gentle press of a hunch. “With Shadowfade gone, you could create something good.”
“Goodis not in the Thornwitch’s nature.” The witch’s words were scornful, but there was curiosity in her brown eyes.
“And the woman behind the Thornwitch?”
She jerked back as though Karina had drawn her sword, her jaw tight. The hero studied the villain whose name was spoken at a whisper throughout the countryside. There was something in her expression, behind that angry, suspicious mask, that looked a lot like wistfulness. Uncertainty.Hope. Karina thought back to the castle, to Shadowfade’s final moments. The words on his lips with his final breaths.
Truth and lies, she thought.Both stand before me, but which is which?
Karina decided. “The Thornwitch dies here today. But you—whoever you are without her—don’t have to. You could do so much better. You could be good.”
The Thornwitch looked confused as Karina sheathed her weapon. The ivy on the bench detached itself to curl gently around the witch’s ankle in what looked like a gesture of comfort.
“Just be good,” Karina told her. “And don’t make me regret this.”
Welcome to Dragon’s Rest
Grimy puddles filled the missing cobblestones in the streets of Dragon’s Rest, pockmarks of muck that spoke louder than words of what had become of the town. In the decades since Shadowfade had built his fortress on the craggy peak that towered over the edge of its borders, Dragon’s Rest had gone from a prosperous community to a mountainside ghost town full of closed shutters and chipped paint.
The letter Violet had retrieved from the post office said she could meet her new landlord at Wingspan Green, and the postmaster said she’d know the town’s largest park when she saw it, but despite the directions she’d scrawled on the back of the parchment, Violet was hopelessly lost.
“How does anyone navigate this place?” she wondered aloud, looking up at the darkening sky. Rava and Evry, two of the three moons, had already come to life for the evening, illuminating the hand-painted street signs on the corner. Evry was nearly full, and Violet was glad—she could use some of the goddess’s bold nature now. Dragon’s Rest wasn’t a large town, but its winding, slopingstreets curved and twisted like an errant vine creeping up a stone wall, looking for purchase.
“Are you lost, dear?” A tall elf woman with pale skin and a saffron-colored hair wrap approached Violet, her smile kind.
Violet ducked her head behind the potted plant in her arms. There was no reason for anyone in Dragon’s Rest to recognize her, not unless she lost control of her magic, but still, she felt a spike of concern at having to interact with strangers.
No one will recognize you, she convinced herself. Still, Bartleby the pothos, with his broad, heart-shaped leaves, was a good disguise. Sensing her hesitation, the potted plant patted her on the shoulder, his flat leaves either smoothing the wrinkles in her cloak or trying to strangle her. It was often hard to tell with Bartleby. “I’m looking for Wingspan Green?”
The woman pointed back in the direction Violet had just come from. “You just missed the turnoff. Head that way and take a left at the first corner, then keep going straight. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” said Violet, peeking out from behind Bartleby to offer the woman a smile she hoped didn’t look threatening. She was leaving that life behind. She was going to be good now, like Karina the Tempest had told her to.
Sure enough, now that she was headed in the right direction, Wingspan Green was easy to spot from several blocks away. The large, circular park was surrounded by battered storefronts with faded awnings. It was carpeted with green grass and lined with trees, which were just beginning to bud in defiance of these last stubborn days of winter, and the very presence of the greenery made Violet breathe a little easier. Paths meandered through the space, dotted with benches and a few small tables as well as what seemed to be a platform near the center, though it was blocked by a huge rock formation that looked as though it had tumbleddown from the mountains sometime in the last thousand years and had since been tucked into bed beneath a blanket of moss.
Bartleby shuddered.
“Oh, shush you,” Violet scolded him.
Before he had been turned into a plant, Bartleby wouldn’t have just argued with her, he’d have towered over her and threatened bodily injury for shushing him like a child. He still managed to find ways to menace Violet on a near-daily basis, but she’d been careful to remove all sharp implements from within reach of his vines before they set off for Dragon’s Rest.
“I think it’s lovely,” she said now, both to herself and to him. “The place has loads of potential.” She stepped onto the grass, wishing she were barefoot so she could feel the soil beneath her toes. No flowers anywhere, but then, without magic like hers, it was too early in the season yet. Cesenne, the goddess of the third moon, whose phases heralded the changing of the seasons, would soon wax anew as spring began, and Violet suspected the park would liven up then. Perhaps once she’d settled and opened her shop, she could add a few flower beds to give it some splashes of color. A pang of longing for her gardens struck her, quickly suppressed by complicated relief for her own freedom.
She would plant a new garden here in Dragon’s Rest and open a shop where she could sell her flowers. Just the thought of surrounding herself with blooms all day made her feel lighter. No one would have to know who she once was or how she’d once used her magic. She bent to stroke the grass and couldn’t resist releasing just a bit of power from the well deep in her core. As easy as exhaling, especially under the moons, her magic spilled into the grass, making it grow tall enough to tickle Violet’s wrist and wrap lovingly around her fingers in the one embrace she’d cherished her whole life. It was hard sometimes, when she didlittle things like this, to remember that her plant magic was evil at heart, but she’d done enough terrible things as the Thornwitch that she couldn’t deny it.
Your own mother knew the truth about you, whispered a voice in her head nearly as recognizable as her own.She saw the darkness in your magic and she abandoned you for it. You are so lucky I found you, petal. You will always have a home with me.
But now Shadowfade was dead and that home was gone.
If she could keep that dark part of herself locked away, perhaps Violet could call this place home. Yes, it was dingy and a little weather-beaten, but then, so was she. Here, she could finally start over. Maybe she would learn who she could be without Guy Shadowfade. Without the Thornwitch.
The Violet who opened a flower shop in Dragon’s Rest would have no idea what it was like to watch the life leave someone’s eyes. She’d never have heard the wails of an entire village as she sank their homes into a bog that hadn’t existed before she swept into town. Bartleby was simply a fondly named houseplant, not one of her former adversaries who’d spent the last half decade transformed into a potted pothos.
