Page 85 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
The dragon roared again, and though she could hear no trace of Sedgwick amidst that mountain of angry stone, she winced to know he was at its core. The dragon’s wings brushed the walls, shattering what was left of the windows, and the castle shook again. It was coming down all around them.
“How do we get out?” Pru wailed, her violin clutched to her chest. Quinn and her bees, gathered in a swarm that crawled on her arms and torso like armor, weren’t far behind. Violet looked for the others and found Fallon on the other side of some fallen debris, crawling toward them, and Jerome at their side, diggingthrough the plaster and stone trying to make a path, Bartleby at his back flinging rubble out of their way.
“We’re going to die,” said Quinn, and there was agony in her eyes for all that her voice sounded serene. “But we’ve done good for our home, and the people of Dragon’s Rest will be safe because of us.”
Nathaniel pulled Violet toward him. “I’m so sorry,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “I wanted to make it up to you.”
“Hush,” she told him, her mind ricocheting between options. “It’s going to be alright.”
“I never got to tell you.” His eyes were wild and his breathing erratic. “I—”
Violet put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “After.”
“But—”
Three moons, this man!
She said firmly, “Nathaniel Marsh, you tell me after. Now do as I say andhush. I’m busy saving all of our lives.”
He frowned, and she went about ignoring him entirely, focusing on Fallon and Jerome. Her eyes began to glow as she used her vines to help destroy the debris in their way. This destructive urge she felt to crush and throttle was the Thornwitch’s influence, years of habit rising to the surface, but for the first time since Silbourne, Violet leaned into it without guilt. The Thornwitch was part of her, and so was her magic. It was neither good nor evil, only a tool in her hands. And Violet was determined—choosing—to use it for good.
When the path was clear, her friends rushed to her side.
“That was a handy trick,” said Jerome, and for once he sounded impressed.
“Wait until you see this one,” she said with a tight smile as her eyes darted around what was left of the Great Hall. “Stick close to me!”
She led them toward the western wall, where she pressed a secret panel. The door opened haltingly, and though the corridor behind it was already collapsed, the doorway itself stood strong. Violet gathered her friends to her as the dragon reared its head and took a chunk out of the ceiling.
“Get close!” she cried, and they huddled around her as she drew plants over them like a blanket, building a wall of thorns that grew ever thicker, smashing through walls and forcing its way through cracks in the stone.Destroy, destroy it all, she urged her plants, gripping tightly to Nathaniel’s hand like a lifeline keeping her tethered to herself.Bring this terrible place to the ground, only protect me and mine.Magic rushed through her veins, pushing from her body and eagerly overtaking the castle with vines that gripped and tore. As she channeled more and more power from the well of magic inside her—the one that was well and truly hers—Violet could feel the thorns tearing through her skin as the Thornwitch truly unleashed her might. Faintly she heard Nathaniel cry out, but though she tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let go of her hand.
Violet focused on her spell, weaving thorny hedges dozens of feet thick as the ground shook and heavy weight pressed into their bubble of safety. Ever more, that horrible loud roaring of the dragon tore into their ears. It went on for minutes or hours, she couldn’t be sure, but when it stopped, she was stiff and sore and disoriented. Her vision swam at the edges, and she let her eyes drift closed as she was guided slowly to the floor.
“Violet,” came a voice. “Violet, it’s over.”
She was faintly aware of Pru standing over her, hands on her face. Violet jerked away, and Pru hissed as one of her thorns scratched her.
“I’m sorry,” Violet mumbled. She tried to retract theThornwitch, but it hurt to even think about magic after all of that. She groaned.
“Think she finally gave herself magic burn?” Jerome asked with a chuckle.
“Not sure anyone took that wager,” mused Pru.
“Jerome did,” confirmed Fallon.
Quinn chuckled. “I can’t decide if I’d be more impressed or flabbergasted if shedidn’thave magic burn.”
Then she heard Nathaniel’s voice, became aware of her hand still in his as he squeezed it. “Don’t try to get up. Rest a bit.”
When she came to again, there was a painful throbbing between her temples, but her thorns had receded. Her head was in Nathaniel’s lap, and he stroked her hair absently. One of Bartleby’s vines coiled loosely up her arm, for once not squeezing like a boa constrictor. The others sat in a loose circle around her, close within the small space, Quinn’s bees buzzing with a comforting rhythm.
“Awake?” Nathaniel smiled down at her. “Feel any better?”
She shook her head. “I feel like someone just dropped a castle on me.”
“I’ll make you a tincture for magic burn when we get home,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. His hand was bandaged with what looked like a strip of Pru’s skirt, and she felt a twinge of guilt that swirled confusingly with warmth when she remembered how he’d refused to let go.
“Eh! Shedidget magic burn!” Jerome cheered. “Fallon owes me a beer!”
