Page 37 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
There was no way she could allow them to get to know her any better.Violet imagined being honest at a gathering like that:
“Violet, tell us about where you grew up.”
“Oh, me? I was raised by the evil sorcerer who cut out Guy’s—good Guy, not bad Guy’s—tongue. I did terrible things under his orders, and it’s still a daily struggle not to return to my evil ways. Pass the charcuterie, would you, please?”
Quinn and the Dragon’s Rest gossip circuit would have enough fodder for weeks of talk.
“I’m afraid I’m busy that evening,” Violet demurred. “I have a lot of orders to prepare for the next day. But I’m grateful to you for thinking of me.”
“Of course.” Quinn winked at her, and one of her bees flew ina little loop-de-loop over her head. “One of these days we’ll make it happen.”
“One of these days.” Violet felt a little ill about the lie but worse about the truth behind it: The people of Dragon’s Rest would never be able to know her, not really, and suddenly that no longer felt freeing—it felt like just another prison. Another collar chafing at her throat.
There was no way to strip this particular rose of its thorns, not really. Violet would have to live by the lie she’d created for herself for the rest of her life, and not a single slipup would ever be tolerated. No one would accept the Thornwitch into their community; they’d run her right out of town if she told them who she really was. She pictured Jerome the Gnome with a pitchfork in his hands, and sweet Quinn sending her bees after Violet in a swarm of fury. Pru and Nathaniel would— Well. It was best not to think of things that would never happen. Violet could lock down her story and invent a past for herself that was boring and believable enough that no one would ask questions. The Thornwitch didn’t exist anymore, and it would be best for everyone if Violet could manage to pretend she never had. Now if only her nightmares would agree.
“Will you be at the market tomorrow?” Quinn was asking Pru. “I’ll have the beeswax Nathaniel was asking after for making his salves, but I can drop it by the apothecary if I don’t see you.”
“I haven’t decided.” Pru threw a look at Peri, who croaked at her. “The slide is protecting that spot of blight we discovered the other night, and I don’t want them to leave their post if they hear me playing.”
Quinn chuckled. “I wonder if we’ll ever know what they love so much about you.”
“Obviously they have excellent taste in music, that’s what.”
Violet made small talk with the two women until anothercustomer came in seeking a bouquet. Pru and Quinn left the shop with a friendly wave, and Violet pasted back on her sunny smile. Violet Thistlewaite, florist, was not plagued by unpleasant thoughts. Violet Thistlewaite, florist, had no problems deeper than helping the man standing before her design a bouquet for his mother’s birthday.
When she bid him goodbye at last, Peri croaked at Violet with concern, cocking his lopsided head and sagging against her legs like he knew her thoughts.
“I’ll be fine,” she murmured to him, watching the door close behind her customer, leaving her shop empty. “I’m not that person anymore. The Thornwitch is behind me, and so it should be no problem to erase her from my past.”
She pulled a broom from the corner behind the counter, and as she began to tidy up her shop, she almost believed it would be true.
Moonlight
Hours later, Violet awoke in her bed with a shout, thorns prickling beneath her skin like seeds about to sprout from soil.Violet?Guy’s voice was still in her ear, his shock evident as he struggled for breath.Be good, Karina the Tempest had said. The memory of that day mixed with others.Go to Silbourne. Take care of the problem.A ship with purple sails and a woman at the helm whose face she couldn’t see. Violet’s surprise at the amount of blood from his wound as Guy’s eyes found hers.Run, petal.
There was something in her hand, and she knew without looking what it would be—a long, thick thorn, sharp and deadly like a dagger, an instinctive defense against her ghosts. She crushed her fingers around it, allowing her magic to dissolve the weapon into dust.
Violet took a ragged breath and threw off her quilt, startling Peri, who croaked. Guy was a monster. He’d lied to her, treated her abominably. How was it possible that she still missed him anyway?
It was too hot in her room; she was sweating so much she looked like she’d just had a bath in her nightclothes. Shestaggered to the window and threw it open, letting cool air rush into her bedroom like a balm. Moonlight from all three of the sisters, Rava, Evry, and Cesenne, beamed down over the dark rooftops of Dragon’s Rest, bathing the town in their protection. Two of the moons were almost full, though Evry was but a sliver, and Violet could feel her magic respond to them like a child begging to be let outside to play. But this particular child would only cause trouble. Violet closed her eyes and drew a breath into her lungs, then held it there before releasing it. Slowly, her heart rate started to fall. As the sweat on her skin cooled, the urge to use her magic settled into the same dull longing she’d come to expect would always lie just beneath the surface now that she was no longer giving in to her villainous instincts. Violet took another breath, feeling the breeze on her flushed cheeks, and—
“Are you alright?”
She shrieked, panic flooding her all over again. She clutched a hand to her chest and looked around, finding Nathaniel Marsh leaning out of the window next to hers, his face bathed in moonlight.
He clutched his own window frame. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice was hoarse with sleep, lower and raspier than it was by day, and he was—oh, three moons, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She’d thought knowing he had niceforearmswas bad enough, but even as Violet squeaked and averted her eyes, she knew that the sight of his firm chest was far worse. She’d never be able to get any work done ever again with him in the greenhouse. She snuck another peek, regretting it immediately. Had his shoulders always been so broad? The man needed a better tailor with the number of secrets he was keeping beneath his clothes. Or perhaps that would be even worse for her concentration.
Before her traitorous thoughts could tempt her with wonderingjust what else he—herlandlord!—was hiding beneath his apparel, Nathaniel spoke again. “My bedroom shares a wall with yours…and I heard you cry out.”
The roil of Violet’s emotions turned all at once to embarrassment, settling heavy in the pit of her stomach. She flushed bright pink and had to physically fight the urge to crawl back into her room and hide under the bed. She knew she did more than cry out—sometimes she spoke in her sleep. What if she said something about Guy? What if she revealed herself as the Thornwitch? What if the image that had suddenly taken up residence in her mind—of him in bed at night, shirtless with thatchestand those moons-cursedforearms, only mere inches of wall separating them—refused to vacate?
Gratifyingly, Nathaniel looked mortified as well. His gaze was fixed firmly somewhere just to the right of her as he waited as patiently for her answer as a naturally impatient man unexpectedly awoken from sleep was capable of being.
“I’ll try not to disturb you in the future,” Violet said, her mind already aflame with plans to switch her tiny parlor with her bedroom so she’d be farther from the offending shared wall.
“It’s no trouble,” replied Nathaniel, his eyes on hers. “I only wanted to make sure you were well.”
This stopped her.
