Page 44 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
“And if he lets Dragon’s Rest fall to panic and is then the one to produce that reversal…?”
“He would be considered a savior.”
“Sedgwick could do anything he wanted in this town.” Horror filled Violet’s expression. “He could routinely allow the blight to continue cropping up, just to remind everyone that if his goodwill was lost, he could let Dragon’s Rest fall to rot and ruin.”
Nathaniel was quick to believe the bleak picture she painted. His experiences with Sedgwick had shown a man who fit quite cleanly into the role of a villain, but Nathaniel knew his view was biased. Still, the theory merited further study. He was a scientist, was he not?
“I’ll have to run some tests,” he said. “If I approach my experiments from the hypothesis that the rot is alchemical in origin, I might be able to find out how he’s doing it. And I want to know more about Sedgwick. Where he came from. Who he is. What brought him here.”
Suddenly, a sharp crack filled the air, seeming to come from everywhere all at once. Violet finally looked at him, though her eyes were filled with, of all things, horror. In a flash, she threw herself at him, knocking them both to the ground. His head knocked painfully against the wet cobblestones, and he was dimly aware of movement, a heavy whoosh and a shuddering crash that shook the air around him. His arms flew around Violet’s waist, clutching her to him and rolling them both to the side as something big and heavy snatched at his sleeves.
Dust enveloped them in a cloud, and Nathaniel clenched his eyes shut, raising a hand to cradle Violet’s head to his shoulder as they trembled. The air grew eerily still and, his heart thudding in his chest, he cracked open an eyelid.
A cherry tree had fallen, landing exactly where he and Violet had been standing. Blossoms rained down around them like snow, blanketing their bodies in pink-and-white petals as they lay, shocked, in the filth of the empty road. Wet branches tangled with their legs and clung to Violet’s hair, and a wall of thorny bramble had appeared from nowhere, holding back a heavier branch that should have crushed them. Violet’s doing, Nathaniel surmised. She was panting, her eyes wide and glowing eerily green just as they had that first night in the greenhouse and again today when he found her. Her arm was flung wide from summoning the bramble, her scar stretched tight over a tense mouth. Something vibrated against his chest, and he realized she was shaking.
Nathaniel recognized it with the distant sort of awareness he sometimes got when he spotted one of his own expressions on his twin’s face—Violet was experiencing the same sort of attack that sometimes stole his breath and drove his heart to fighting the bars of his ribs for escape.
He pushed himself to a sitting position that left her in his lap. “Breathe,” he instructed, ducking his head to catch her eye. Her teeth chattered and her body shuddered, and it was as easy as blinking to pull her into his arms. He stroked her hair, pulling twigs and petals from her curls and inhaling the scent of petrichor and fresh-turned earth that clung to her skin like perfume. “Deep breaths. Look at me, sweetheart. Focus on my face. The sound of my voice.”
She dragged her attention from the tree that had nearly crushed them and scanned his features with those wide, darting eyes, which slowly faded back to their usual color.
“We’re alright,” he murmured, holding her tightly. “Violet, we’re alright.”
And then she flung her arms around his neck and burst into tears.
Nathaniel froze like a statue, his brain catching up to his body all at once with the reminder that while he was somewhat experienced in managing anxiety (however poorly), he was not very good at offering physical comfort. He felt entirely certain that there was a protocol here, that there were Certain Things One Should Do to comfort a crying woman in one’s arms, but for the life of him, he could not remember what they were, if he’d ever learned them at all. (Pru would, he surmised, roll her eyes at him.)
What he did know, however, was that they’d just narrowly escaped death or serious injury, and that he was incredibly relieved to know Violet was safe. Slowly, intentionally, Nathaniel relaxed his body and allowed himself to hold her as she cried great, heaving sobs into his shoulder. He was peculiarly aware, in that moment, of her humanity, full and robust and a three-dimensional thing. The woman in his arms was not just the wild force of reckless optimism she’d come to represent to him but a person with fears and fragile pieces, just like the ones that rattled painfully within the cage of his own soul. He stroked her back, his other hand tangling in her hair, and thought to himself how curious that the knowledge made him want her even more.
“I don’t want to go,” she said wetly at one point, her tears soaking his shirt. “I want to stay.”
“Then stay,” he said into her hair. He was not entirely sure what she was talking about, but he knew he didn’t want her to be anywhere else, to seek comfort from anyone but him. “Stay here with me.”
He could sense the exact moment she collected herself and realized where she was, what she was doing. He anticipated missing her moments before she pulled away. The scent of her hair—blackberry and almond, like her magic—clung to his nostrils, and he found himself back in that dream.I wantyou, Violet.Nathaniel had pulled his desire from the flame so it would not boil over; now with proximity, he found it burned him anyway, but oh, how he craved the heat. The flustered way she made him feel was unacceptable. Wasn’t it?
“Look at me,” she scoffed, avoiding his eye. “Crying like some damsel.”
“Violet.” He caught his thumb softly, so softly against her chin to get her to look at him. “You are the least damsel-like creature I have ever met.”
She hiccupped, and he managed to find it adorable. “You’ve quite literally just found me overcome with panic and then saved me from certain death, after which I burst into uncontrollable tears.”
“Technically, you saved me,” mused Nathaniel, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“All of it just days after curing me of distressing nightmares—which you could hear through the wall.”
“Ah, that.” He paused, taking in her mortification. “The elixir works well, then?”
Her laugh was flat. “Like a charm. You’re a genius.” He pulled her against him again. It was instinctive, this need to be close to her, and when she relaxed, something within him did as well.
To herself more than to him, Violet muttered, “How did I ever think I could do this?”
He squinted at her, her hair wild where it had tangled in the branches and his fingers, her eyes glistening and red rimmed, an adorable speck of mud on her cheek that he tenderly wiped away. “You can do this because you are incredible.”
She froze, their eyes locked on each other.
Nathaniel finally gave in to his impulse and brushed her hair away from her damp skin, allowing himself to trace her cheekbone with the edge of his thumb. “You moved to a new place,started over, and built a business that is already thriving. All despite, well,naysayers.”
“Naysayers,” she teased, tears still gleaming in her eyes. “Who could you mean?”
