Page 69 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
Violet felt uncomfortable in an entirely new way now, one that made her feel warm and cold and light and heavy all at once. It wasn’t as if Nathaniel had changed, exactly—he was still grumpy and meticulous—but once the sunlight of that focus became trained on her, she found she could bloom. She rather enjoyed knowing that beneath the buttoned-up alchemist was someone playful who made her work for a smile and challenged her to understand herself and her magic on a different level. He made her feel like she truly could be better, but more than that—he made her feel like she wasalreadyso much better than she saw herself, like she could borrow his belief in her until she believed it too. She hoped that he felt the same, but she’d never been as good atpeopleas she was at plants.
“I don’t know if I can take responsibility for someone else’s happiness,” she said finally.
“Perhaps not, but you’re a big part of it. And it’s good, really good, to see my brother happy again”—she pulled a face—“evenif I never, ever,everwant you to explain the reason behind your redesigned worktable.”
“Oh, moons…” Violet muttered again. She’d cut the majority of the flowers from her accidental garden for bouquets—and Nathaniel, adorably, had insisted on keeping a few for himself—but it was hard to hide the way the table itself had sprouted a few leafy branches, which rained blossoms down on her work area, as well as two extra legs, which admittedly made it much sturdier even if her face went pink as a peony every time she looked at it.
“That’s all I’ll say about it, I promise,” Pru said, and her eyes glittered mischievously. “For now at least. Just know that the next time you two step foot in the inn, you’re going to be the center of attention in a way that will turn you both as red as one of these raspberry pastries, so either leave Nathaniel at home or let me know you’re going so I can be there to see his face. Now come on, I’ve always wanted to see what Shadowfade Castle looks like on the inside.”
So that was how Violet ended up on the steep mountain road with Pru at her side, a trail of flaky pastry crumbs falling behind them like they were marking the way back home.
Was the castle smaller or had Violet only built it bigger in her memories, she wondered as they drew nearer. Shadowfade Castle looked as dark and imposing as ever, its black stone ramparts shining like onyx in the aftermath of the day’s rain, mist rising from the mountain to cloak it as though its towers pierced the clouds themselves. She’d lived most of her life behind these walls, and for a long time she thought they would be all she’d ever know.
“So how do we get in?” Pru asked, munching on a pastry, crumbs fluttering to her bodice like autumn leaves on a forest floor.
“The gates are open,” said Violet quietly, gesturing to the sinister entrance, all black wrought iron bent at sharp, jagged angles. Thegates barely hung from their hinges after the Tempest and her crew of heroes had destroyed them, and as she and Pru passed beneath the gaping arch of the wall, Violet shivered, suddenly paranoid that those doors would trap her here once more.
“Oh, wow,” said Pru, and Violet followed her gaze to the southeast gardens, where Violet’s hedge maze, overgrown with two months of neglect, was as vibrant and colorful as ever against the drab darkness of the castle itself. “I don’t think I expected the grounds to be so…gorgeous.”
Violet swallowed around a sudden knot in her throat, feeling strangely touched as well as extremely, unbearably exposed. “Yeah, well, the Thornwitch must have needed something to keep her busy,” she said, her voice strangled.
“The Thornwitch,” said Pru softly, eyes firmly on the greenery, “had a spectacular talent for landscape design.”
Those gardens were once the center of Violet’s life. And they were huge and gorgeous and grandiose, it was true—but all they made her feel now was sad for the woman she’d been, who had little else to live for. Violet was struck by the sudden realization that she’d lived more in the past few months in Dragon’s Rest than she had in over twenty years at Shadowfade Castle.
The feeling deepened as they opened the huge oak doors to the castle. It was musty inside, the air stale with disuse, though there was a cold draft coming from somewhere that swirled around them and made Violet tug her hands back into the sleeves of Nathaniel’s shirt like a turtle retreating into its shell.
“This place is massive,” said Pru in a hushed voice. “I can’t get over the fact that peoplelivedhere. It’s too big for me—though I bet the acoustics are gorgeous in some of these rooms.”
“Let’s hold off on testing those acoustics in case we’re not alone.”
As Violet’s eyes feasted on the banisters she’d slid down as achild and the ugly tapestry she’d once tried to set fire to as a moody teenager, Pru opened the door that led to the Great Hall, where Guy had celebrated campaigns and received guests.
“Violet, look at this.” Pru’s voice was grim. “Someone’s been here.”
Violet darted to the door and looked inside. Sure enough, the big space had clearly been in use. Tables had been shoved to the edges of the room, and the platform at the other end where a dais led to Guy’s seat was now set up with a workstation that looked decidedly alchemical in nature.
“Sedgwick,” said Violet. “It has to be.”
“Do you think this is where he designed whatever toxin is causing the blight?” Pru asked as the two of them crept forward.
Or whatever is inhibiting my magic, Violet thought. “It has to be.”
There was no sign of anyone else in the castle, but Violet still looked around nervously, checking the floor ahead of her feet. “Be careful where you step,” she warned Pru. “He seems the type to set traps.” Sheknewhe was the type, she wanted to say, but she also knew she couldn’t explain how.
The workstation at the head of the room consisted of several large cauldrons, one of which was actively bubbling with something orange with an overpoweringly bittersweet scent. There were a few stoppered vials on a rack, each glowing vaguely green. Violet pocketed one. “For Nathaniel,” she explained. “Maybe he can make sense of it.”
Violet so desperately wanted to believe Nathaniel’s theory, that using good magic shouldn’t hurt her at all, that the pain in her hands was Sedgwick trying to stop her and not her own natural resistance to being good. And though Nathaniel couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of why, it did make sense that her former nemesis would target her like this. If Nathaniel couldfix it, then maybe Violetcouldstop the blight. Maybe then she could tell him the truth about herself, and he’d be so overjoyed at their success that he wouldn’t be upset with her.
She found an empty vial and carefully spooned a bit of the orange concoction into it, sighing wistfully as she slipped it into her pocket too. Hope, Violet was discovering, was as dangerous a poison as any, for it had spread through her veins quickly and ruthlessly, and it made her dread finding an antidote.
Meanwhile, Pru searched the table for clues about what Sedgwick was doing.
“ ‘Rate of decomposition,’ ” she read from a scribbled piece of scrap paper. “ ‘Time of revival.’ Is he talking about the blight, do you think?”
“He must be,” said Violet, looking for any notes or books that might tell them more, but there was nothing there. A large metal box, longer than Violet was tall, rested on one of the tables against the wall. Looking at it nearly bowled her over with a wave of unease.
“And what’s this symbol, do you think?” Violet’s gaze rose from the box and looked to where Pru pointed to the margins. Sedgwick had drawn a curling spiral slashed through with some kind of rune.
