Homegrown Magic

Chapter 20 Margot

20

Margot

Well before ten the next morning, Margot strolls along an elegant, tree-lined boulevard just a few streets south of the Golden Court. She’s heading for Rastanaya’s shop but also anxious to delay her arrival. Her nerves tingle with each step, and she takes a long steadying breath as she passes under the cool shade of a maple tree. Birds chirp overhead and several pixies—city-dwelling creatures Margot remembers from her childhood, though she’s not thought of them in years—sit on the edge of a nest built into a streetlamp. Above the city, the early-summer sky is blue, cloudless, and calm.

It’s not a big deal. Just dress shopping.

With Yael’s mother.

Your worst enemy, one of two at least, and the woman who holds the fate of Bloomfield in her hands.

Clutching her small purse—which, like her purple day dress, looks entirely too plain compared with the outfits of the other early-morning shoppers strolling the boulevard—Margot keeps walking, searching the street for the gold-and-white-striped awning Yael told her marked Rastanaya’s shop. There it is, jutting out from the front of a building at the end of the block like the prow of a queens’ barge. Two enormous golden urns, both taller than Margot, stand on either side of an amethyst door, and even from here, Margot can feel a forbidding aura of sophistication and elegance wafting off the place. Well, Yael did tell her the door was carved with runes for the protection of the shop’s expensive wares; perhaps that’s what she’s picking up.

Not for the first time that morning, cold dread steals over Margot. What is she doing here? Why is she doing this?

She’s here because she has to be. Because one does not ignore a summons from a Clauneck, especially when they hold the deeds to everything that matters. And because she must convince Yael’s mother that she’s close to creating the Natural Caster Potion, which she’ll surely agree is worth waiting for. Yes, of course. She knows this.

If only she didn’t have to lie to Menorath Clauneck.

“My mother’s a beast,” Yael had said that morning as Margot kissed them goodbye over breakfast. She had told them about dress shopping but kept the rest of her worries from them. “But a subtle one. She won’t cast dark magics on you in the middle of the shopping district. Really, she’s no worse than strawberry weevils or grumpy cats. You can handle her, Daisy. Trust me.”

Margot is trying so hard to believe it. She wants it to be true.

It’s just…

“It’s just dress shopping,” she whispers bracingly under her breath. “You’ve lived on your own for years. You can survive dress shopping. ” Steeling her resolve, she approaches the shop.

A lovely, lilting ballad fills the air as Margot draws nearer to Rastanaya’s doorway—some busker close by, she supposes, but there’s no hired band to be seen, nor a singer with hands outstretched for coins in exchange for a tune. The song is unlike anything Margot’s heard, aching with sadness and bursting with hope at once. It reminds her of being young, standing in the tower of Greenwillow Manor and looking out across the fields, longing for an adventure and believing she would find it in the world someday.

Perhaps there’s still a bit of adventure to be found here in Ashaway, after all.

The song stops abruptly as a dark-haired young woman pops out from behind one of the urns. Margot lets out a small squeak as Araphi stands in front of the amethyst door.

“Margot! I’m so glad to see you again!” Araphi exclaims. She wears a confection of purple and black lace, with a tiny top hat resting on her pinned-up hair, and she’s draped in ropes of pearls.

“Were you hiding back there?” Margot points toward the narrow, shadowy nook behind the urn.

Araphi brushes a dried leaf from her skirts with a shrug. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure how early you’d be, but I wanted to catch you before you went inside. Though I had hoped that Yael might walk you to the shop, at least.” Araphi winks. “My dashing cousin is quite fond of you, Margot. And I thought I might wait for you because—as much as I know you’re a formidable woman—I didn’t want you to face the dragon alone. I mean my aunt, of course.”

The dragon? Facing a dragon is very different from facing a strawberry weevil or house cat, as Yael would have had Margot believe. Margot’s heart starts to race again. Still, even through that panic, some small part of her is immensely grateful to see Yael’s cousin. In the shifting landscape of Ashaway’s high society, she is the perfect person to accompany her. If only Yael were here too.

Yael had volunteered to come, but Margot had insisted they stay back at the inn. Menorath’s note made it very clear that Margot was to come alone; a separate appointment would be made for their heir. Besides, she couldn’t lie to Menorath about the Natural Caster Potion if Yael was standing right there. They’d want to know what the potion was and why their family was interested in it, and why Margot felt so compelled to create it, which would lead them to the threat of eviction hanging over Margot and the town that Yael was now a part of; the last secret Margot has to her name—

“So, what exactly is going on between you and Yael?” Araphi asks as she rests a hand on Margot’s arm. She leans in conspiratorially.

“Oh…well…” Margot trails off. “We’re…”

She’s not sure how to answer, or how much to tell Araphi, who might report back to Yael’s family. Margot and Yael are together for now, but they haven’t really dug into what it all means exactly.

“Yael never mentioned that you sang,” Margot says instead, desperate to change the subject.

Araphi holds a finger to her lips as if she’s shushing a child and looks around. There’s a group of well-dressed people farther down the block, but no one near enough to hear Margot. “The acoustics are great right behind the urns, as I discovered long ago when I’d accompany my mother and aunt to this shop. They’d be in there for hours, and I’d sneak outside to keep myself busy. Though of course a Clauneck scion like myself should never engage in such low activities as singing outdoors—or, really, singing at all, except as a party trick to impress guests or customers. But I’ve been moonlighting as a tavern singer, you know.” Araphi winks. “Nobody else does, not even Yael.”

Even through her surprise at the thought of sophisticated Araphi drinking in a tavern, much less singing in one, Margot manages to say sincerely, “That sounds delightful—and you have a magical voice.”

“It is, and I know,” Araphi says simply, confident enough to take the compliment. “I’ve loved music my entire life.”

“Would you ever pursue it after school?”

Araphi shakes her head and gives a small, bitter laugh. “Oh, that would never happen. Us Claunecks must all end up in the same place, eventually. And I’ll be…stepping away from school this fall, to attend the many dreadful engagement parties my family has planned. I’ll marry Denby next spring, and then…” Araphi trails off before adding, “Like my mother used to say. ‘I am what I am now, and that is all.’?”

Unsure what to say to this, Margot offers the first thing that pops into her mind, “You know, Sage, my best friend—do you remember her from Rastanaya’s show?—she asked about you.”

At the mention of Sage, the full force of Araphi’s attention lands on Margot. Her dark eyes light up. “She did? How is she? Of course I remember her, and I’ve been wondering about how her adventure is going. Not that it’s my business if she’s been eaten or stabbed, or anything.”

Now it’s Margot’s turn to smile. Sage’s not-so-subtle questioning about Araphi had sounded almost exactly like this when she and Margot had communicated via their compacts the night before.

“She’s alive and on her way to the shoreline. I think she’ll be back sometime in late summer.”

“Well, that’s good,” Araphi murmurs, a blush pinking her cheeks. “Perhaps we can all get together when she returns. Though of course by then I’ll be quite busy. So many engagement parties planned to accommodate my family’s many interests, and wedding dresses to buy, and…Well, I’m afraid my time won’t belong to myself for much longer.” She shakes her head as if brushing away a bad dream, and flips a curl over her shoulder. “Never mind all that. The time will take care of itself. Let’s get started before my aunt arrives. I’ll show you all the dresses she’ll hate and Yael will love.”

She offers her arm, and Margot links her own through it as they push open the shop’s door.

By the time the clocks strike ten, Margot is standing on a platform in front of a full-length mirror, admiring the way a low-cut forest-green silk gown hugs her every curve. Araphi had insisted this was the dress Margot needed for the ball, and she was right. It’s spectacular. There are feathers arranged into a collar at Margot’s neck, and the gems and beads woven into the fabric of the gown glitter under the shop’s chandeliers. Sheer silk sleeves—woven from “the most exquisite enchanted spider silk” according to Rastanaya’s top assistant, a severe-looking woman named Nora—cover Margot’s arms, veiling her tattoos.

Rastanaya is out of the shop at the moment, but a pack of attendants flitter around Margot like hummingbirds. One of them holds a clipboard and takes notes on the dress’s fit; another places a tray of champagne flutes on a table and readies things for the arrival of Menorath; and a third and fourth stand near a silk chaise, holding other gowns for Margot to try on. Araphi sits on a floating couch near the platform, holding a champagne flute and watching the proceedings. When she meets Margot’s eye, she winks.

“Can we just choose this one?” Margot asks. “Do we have to look at any others?”

Araphi starts to say something, but Nora jumps in.

“Lady Clauneck has very specific tastes,” Nora says as she walks around Margot, assessing every stitch. Her heels click over the star shapes inlaid in the parquet of the dressing room floor, and her eyes narrow as they meet Margot’s in the mirror. “She likes dresses dark in color and elegant but not too risqué—something that makes an impression but isn’t overly flashy. I’m just not sure this one will do…”

“Lady Clauneck isn’t wearing it,” Margot mutters, making Araphi giggle.

“What’s that?” Nora glares at her.

“I said, ‘It’s lovely.’?” Margot offers Nora a smile as a peace offering.

In fact, it’s the most exquisite thing she’s ever worn, besides the dress Rastanaya gifted her for the fashion show. It almost—almost—makes her feel like she belongs here. Margot had heard her mother talk about Rastanaya’s shop, but she’d never had reason or inclination to visit it when they lived in Ashaway. Even having seen Rastanaya’s extravagant garden fashion show had not prepared Margot for the store itself.

Beyond the amethyst doors is a vestibule lined with amber panels, accented with gold leaf and mirrors. Margot had tried not to gape as she and Araphi passed through the entryway into a showroom full of Rastanaya’s creations that felt more like a museum—or a greenhouse full of exotic plants—than a shop. Several private dressing rooms, all of them larger than Margot’s cottage, are set off the showroom, each of them decorated in the same decadent amber-and-gold motif as the hallway.

“She looks wonderful,” Araphi says, her voice full of the assurance and command of a seasoned shopper. “Can you find her a mask to go with that gown?”

An attendant is dispatched to a storeroom, and Margot turns back to the mirror. Her hair is pinned into a hasty updo—a quick mimicry of the hairstyle she might wear to the ball. Eyes on her reflection, Margot runs her hands lightly over the dress. She looks like a proper Greenwillow now. An acclaimed plant witch. Someone worthy of the praise Yael has been heaping on her since they arrived in Ashaway to anyone who would listen.

Or you look like a corpse flower about to bloom.

Gods, she wishes Yael weren’t singing her greatness quite so much. Yes, she needs to convince Menorath and the Claunecks that she’s fully capable of creating the Natural Caster Potion, given enough time, but why does it make her feel awful whenever Yael introduces her to the very same people she remembers from her parents’ dinners so long ago?

“Don’t overthink it, darling,” Araphi says, standing and offering Margot a flute of champagne. “You’re a vision, and Yael won’t know what do with themself when they see you in that dress. Or”—she grins wickedly—“perhaps they’ll know exactly what to do.”

Margot laughs even as heat warms her cheeks. Some of the tension in her uncoils. Yes, Yael would like this dress very much.

Certainly, they would enjoy helping her out of it.

She takes a long sip of the champagne. It’s far earlier in the day than she usually drinks, but this is the capital, city of decadence and extravagance. Besides, she needs courage to lie to Menorath. She takes another sip, and the bubbles rush to her head.

It’s not ordinary champagne. The assistant confessed it’s been spelled to make the drinker feel lovely, dreamy, reckless—all emotions that encourage patrons to find a dress they adore and help them get over paying Rastanaya’s extravagant (but apparently well-deserved) prices.

Margot drinks it gratefully. A heady cocktail of guilt, fear, and worry has been swirling through her bloodstream since they arrived in Ashaway—really since the Clauneck summons. But when she’s around Yael, it abates just a bit. If only they were here now…

Right as Margot thinks it, the door to the dressing room flies open. She turns as Menorath Clauneck strides into the room.

Yael’s mother is a tiny woman—slim, narrow-faced, yet beautiful—but her presence fills the room like a cloud blotting out the sun. In one quick movement, her eyes move over each of the attendants and then land on Araphi, who raises a champagne glass in her direction. Menorath’s eyebrows fly up in what looks like surprise for a moment, but she quickly recovers her composure. She nods coolly at Araphi; then her gaze finds Margot.

Margot forces herself to stand still under the assessing aubergine eyes of Menorath Clauneck.

You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.

She pushes her shoulders back and meets Menorath’s eye.

“Ms. Greenwillow. You’ve grown into quite a lovely woman since we last met.”

“I believe I was twelve the last time we met,” Margot manages. Hastily, she takes another sip of champagne. She’s waited so long to face the Claunecks, but in none of her imagined scenarios was she half-dressed and holding a champagne flute.

“Just so. Leave us.” Menorath waves a hand at all the attendants. “You too, Araphi.”

“But, Aunt Menorath,” Araphi protests, “we’re waiting on a mask to go with the dress. Don’t you think this gown will be perfect for your ball?”

“It’s fine,” Menorath says, her voice leaving no room for argument. “For now, I need to speak to Margot. Alone.”

Araphi shoots Margot a sympathetic look and mouths, “Good luck,” as she and the attendants leave the room.

Menorath settles on the floating sofa and gestures to Margot. “Come here, please. Let me see you.”

Feeling like a child who’s been summoned, Margot steps down from the platform. She totters for a moment in her heels but then steadies herself.

You’re amazing, Daisy, whispers Yael’s voice in her head. Your parents will be so proud of you when they wake up.

“I received your notes,” Margot begins, crossing her arms, “and—”

“We’ll speak on those soon enough.” Menorath glances toward the door, checking to make sure the room is truly empty of all but the two of them. She leans forward, clasping her thin hands together. “First, I must know: Have you completed the potion? Can you make those without magic of their own into natural casters?” There’s an edge to her voice. Something brittle, hopeful, desperate. Something dangerous.

Everything in Margot yearns to flee or to wilt, but instead, she stands straighter, lengthening her spine. And then she lies with a smile on her lips. “I’ve had quite a breakthrough recently, and I’m very close to finishing the potion.”

Menorath lets out a huge breath, slumping in her seat. “Is that true? How fabulous.”

Again, that delicate hope in her voice makes Margot brave. And just curious enough to ask: “What would you do if you were a natural caster?”

“What wouldn’t I do?” Menorath declares, rising from the sofa. She starts to pace, her tiny frame more commanding than a general’s at the war table. “My husband is simply eager to turn a profit, and this would be a profitable venture indeed. As for myself…Do you know what it’s like having to ask your in-law for all your power?”

She shudders, and Margot nearly feels a sliver of sympathy.

Menorath continues. “With this potion, well…” Here, she stops pacing, standing directly in front of Margot, looking up at her with a glint in her eyes. “Let’s just say my world would be very different.”

Margot swallows. “And Yael’s world too, I’d imagine.”

Menorath waves a hand and resumes pacing. “Yes, of course. Will you make your deadline? Summer will pass before you know it.”

“I hope to have it finished by then…but more time will allow me additional tests to ensure that the effects are permanent and the potion is completely safe,” Margot says, putting as much confidence into the words as she can muster. “Especially if it’s for…personal consumption.”

“Well, that really depends upon you, Margot.” Menorath’s shrewd gaze finds Margot’s again. “Which brings us to the next piece of business: Yael seems to adore you.”

Here, Margot swallows hard.

“Or at least that’s what my spies in the city report,” Menorath continues. “And I— we —need Yael here in Ashaway, not running around the countryside playing at being a farmer.”

“A gardener. They’ve been working in my greenhouses.”

Menorath’s lip curls ever so slightly. “Yes, of course. But whatever it is, it must stop. The family needs their heir, and for that, I need you. If you can convince Yael to stay in Ashaway, then I will give you as much time as you need to perfect the potion. Because it must be perfect.”

“And what if they don’t want to stay?” A vision of Yael standing up to Menorath flickers in Margot’s mind, but quickly disappears as Menorath scoffs.

“Don’t want to stay here? What a ridiculous thought. I’ve known my child far longer than you have, my dear. They are a creature of parties and whims, of comfort and excess. Even if they claim to be done with Ashaway, they never will be.”

“If you’re so sure, why don’t you tell them so?”

Menorath laughs. “Because I’m not sleeping with them.”

Margot flinches, speechless.

“Oh, don’t look so alarmed. Yael has always been susceptible to suggestion, especially when trying to please their amorous partners. You have more influence than you think—at least, as long as your dalliance lasts.”

Margot wants to be brave enough to tell Menorath that this is more than a dalliance—that she and Yael could make a life together—but she’s not even sure that’s true.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Convince Yael to reconcile with their father and me. They must be ready to play their part in the Clauneck empire. We cannot afford to have people speak of this family as though it can’t control its own scions.”

“What happens if I can’t do it?”

“Then the Claunecks will finish what we started—potion or no potion.”

Menorath walks out the door without a look back, leaving Margot standing in front of the mirror, desperately holding back tears.

Menorath is as monstrous as Yael and Araphi had said, but even with the awfulness of this bargain, Margot feels horribly torn.

She exhales slowly, trying to work her way through her snarled thoughts. Yes, Menorath is offering Margot her only chance to save her parents and their legacy, as well as the community that saved her, which she loves. And would she and Yael really have a future in Bloomfield? Maybe Menorath is right, and Yael would inevitably have left her to come back to Ashaway, deciding that Margot simply wasn’t enough to hold their interest. Maybe this way, if she takes Menorath’s offer, Margot’s just helping them both become the people they were always supposed to be.

But if that’s the case, why does it feel so treacherous?

Margot swipes at her eyes as Araphi and the dress shop attendants come back into the room, ready to help Margot out of her costume for the ball and back into her normal clothes, which no longer feel like they fit her at all.