Chapter 1
Enid, Two Years Later
I stalked through the streets of Fairwitch Isle, Vine slithering by my side.
Townspeople jumped out of the way as I walked toward the bright white castle that sat in the middle of the town.
A blight on my bog ever since it arrived.
Ever since this entire town arrived. I almost wished I’d died two years ago, that I hadn’t survived and suddenly been forced to be part of this stupid community.
Not that I was part of it.
“Hey!” the butcher yelled as Vine snatched a chicken foot from a table where the butcher was chopping bones and meat with his cleaver. Vine threw the clawed foot up in the air, its mouth opening big as it swallowed it whole.
“You feed those feet to the pigs anyway,” I said. “Why can’t Vine have it?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Because my pigs aren’t an abomination!”
And there it was. The reason everyone hated me. The reason everyone had always hated me. I hissed at the man, and he shrank back.
I continued on my way, chin raised.
“Enid.” Ceri appeared by my side, her curly blond hair brushing her shoulders, bouncing with vibrance.
She set her bright green eyes on me. “Could you maybe ask your bog to stop splashing on my dresses?” She gestured to her bright yellow dress that molded to her wide hips and large bust. White buttons went up the middle.
It reminded me of sunshine. I hated sunshine.
Green splotches covered the bottom of the skirt.
“I can’t control the water,” I said, gesturing behind her dress shop to the green channel that snaked past it.
“No,” she said, “but you can control the lily pads, right? They keep splashing me when I walk by. Actually, they splash everyone, and then the gunk gets on our clothes, and it takes so long to wash out . . . and as the town dressmaker, I’d just really love if it would stop ruining all my fabric.”
I stopped abruptly. “Have you tried asking them to stop?”
Her eyes widened. It was almost comical how large and doe-like they were. “You mean talk to the lily pads?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, talk to them.” Instead of treating them like an enemy. My lily pads were actually very playful, and they were likely just trying to get Ceri’s attention.
But of course everyone assumed they were up to something nefarious. It annoyed me to no end how this town thought the worst of my creations.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Ceri tapped her chin. “Um, thank you, Enid.” She turned and walked back toward her dress shop while I continued toward the castle, where I’d been summoned this morning.
A summons. As if they controlled me. As if I was one of their citizens who had to answer to them.
It wasn’t my fault my cottage was now shoved between the blacksmith and the cobbler.
I looked back at my little home in the distance, covered in black flowers and vines.
It had once been so beautiful, surrounded by green water and nature. Now it was tainted by this stupid town.
Vine poked me in the back. “I’m going, I’m going. Since when do you care if we’re late? Goody two-shoes,” I mumbled, and Vine flicked my arm in response.
I marched up the wide stone steps that led to the castle landing and stopped at the sight of the stone gargoyles, one on either side of the front doors.
Vine slithered up to the handle and pulled, but the gargoyle on the left—Barty, I believed—reached its hand out and slammed the door shut.
“How many times do we have to tell you that this is our job?” Barty’s stone wings spread out behind him, and Vine shrank back.
“Then do it,” I gritted out, “and my vine wouldn’t have to.”
“You didn’t even give us a chance!” Tal’s shoulders bunched up to his ears. “We have a process, you know.”
I crossed my arms. “You have to create an entire process to open doors? No wonder you’re not very good at your job.”
Barty jabbed a finger at me, his long stone nails sharp enough to slice me open. “You take that back.”
“No.” I didn’t even want to be here this morning. I wanted to be out in my bog, pretending like none of this existed.
The spiral horns on Tal’s head gleamed under the sunlight. “This is why no one likes you.”
“Oh no.” I feigned sadness, putting my hand to my heart. “I don’t have the approval of your entire town of dimwits. I’m devastated.”
Vine poked me again, and I knew it was trying to tell me to be nice.
Ever since this unfortunate city had fallen on the Cragh, Vine had been different.
Less monster and more cuddly teddy bear.
It loved interacting with the townspeople, even if they didn’t love it back.
It only infuriated me more. They didn’t deserve Vine’s love, didn’t understand how special and wonderful Vine was.
“I am being nice,” I whispered over my shoulder. “This is me being nice.” I turned my attention back to the gargoyles. “Now let me into the damn castle.”
Barty’s stone wings lifted and fell as he shrugged. “I don’t feel like it. How about you, Tal?”
Tal was pointedly staring at his long talons. “Nope.”
“That’s too bad, considering I was summoned by your high prince. I don’t imagine you want to disappoint him, do you now?”
Tal bared his pointy teeth. “She’s right.” He reached over and opened the door, and I glided through, Vine following.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I yelled over my shoulder as the doors slammed shut.
“On guard!” A suit of armor marched out in front of me, pointing its shiny silver sword right at my neck.
I’d learned there was no person underneath the suit of armor. It was just a bunch of metal, brought to life by the castle.
This sentient castle and all its sentient objects were really starting to grate on my nerves.
Vine coiled around my shoulders as I faced Sir Arthur. “On guard against what, exactly?”
Sir Arthur kept his sword pressed to my neck. “What’s the password?”
“I don’t know, Arthur.” I planted my hands on my hips. “No one has ever shared it with me, which I’ve told you many times now.”
“Then I can’t let you through.”
“Fine by me.” I’d just tell Prince Cillian the truth: this hunk of metal wouldn’t let me in. I couldn’t very well be blamed for that.
A voice in my mind whispered that was a lie as I remembered the ominous words on the note the prince had sent this morning.
You are hereby summoned to face the High Prince of Fairwitch Isle.
I’d been tempted to crumple the parchment and throw it into the bog, but Vine wouldn’t let me.
It had sounded serious. I assumed I’d broken one of their laws—I wouldn’t know because I’d never bothered to read the bylaws that were dropped off at my door a week after their city had crashed into my bog.
I turned to leave, Sir Arthur still pointing a sword at me as the ground began to shift underneath my feet.
“No, no, no,” I said. “Don’t you do this! Don’t you dare do this—”
But it was too late. The castle was already moving, the walls dropping from around me, the ceiling falling away as wind pushed me forward and up the stairs that were magically forming.
“Stop it,” I snapped at the castle, but much like my bog, it had a mind of its own and apparently wanted to send me somewhere I didn’t want to go.
The stairs continued to build, one after another, nothing around me but darkness.
I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to resist or jump, and I had no interest in finding out.
When the castle first arrived, I’d been warned it had a mind of its own, that people had died within its walls, getting lost or taken by a random room, stepping through a door, only to never be seen again.
Just another reason why I kept my distance as much as possible.
The wind pushed me again, and I lurched forward and onto my knees, pain shooting through them as I squeezed my eyes shut.
Once the pain subsided, I grunted and slowly pushed myself to my feet, realizing I was now standing in the throne room, facing Prince Cillian.
The marble floor gleamed underneath my black boots, pristine and sparkling.
A dais led to Cillian’s white throne. He sprawled lazily over it, his dark waves falling over his perfectly symmetrical face, his skin a creamy pale that was unmarred by any blemishes.
The Fair Folk were gorgeous, which made sense, given they were creations of the leader of the godwitches, the Fairwitch.
While Cillian was mortal, his beauty rivaled even theirs.
If I’d seen him out and about, I might have mistaken him as one of the Fair Folk.
He straightened in his seat. “Well, well, well, it’s the wicked witch of the bog.”
“You think that’s an insult, but I actually rather like the nickname.”
Witch. A derogatory term for someone who twisted the godwitches’ magic into something dark and dangerous. I’d happily be a wicked witch if it meant scaring all these people away.
“And that’s exactly why you’re here,” the high prince said.
“Because you like using this sentient bog for ill purposes.” He tsked.
“I don’t think the godwitches would appreciate how you’re using their magic.
They left us a precious gift before departing from this world, and you’re manipulating and misusing that gift. ”
I snorted. He had no idea just how ironic that statement was.
I glared at him. He might’ve been pretty, but he was also insufferable. I stomped forward, and his guard, Harriet, moved her hand to the hilt of her sword.
As if I would actually attack the prince. “If I was going to hurt your precious prince, I’d have done so two years ago when you first arrived.”
Harriet glowered, and Cillian waved his hand. “It’s all right, Harriet.”
The guard’s hand dropped from the hilt, but her gaze kept flicking to Vine, who slithered by my side.
The sun shone on her tawny skin, so dewy and beautiful, so different from my own green skin. I doubted anyone had ever thought of me as beautiful. Not like Harriet with the tight black curls that haloed her head, her high cheekbones, and full pink lips.
“Why didn’t you ever kill me, just out of curiosity?” Prince Cillian asked.
My attention strayed from the prince’s guard back to him.
Oh, I’d thought about it. Right after the city dropped from the sky, I’d considered using my magic to sink Fairwitch to the bottom of the Cragh.
But what would that have done? It would have destroyed so much of my home, and if there were survivors, that display of magic would reveal my identity, something I’d managed to keep a secret for thousands of years.
I shrugged casually. “I enjoy torturing you all far too much to get rid of you now. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” I shot him what I hoped was a feral smile, and he shot me a lazy one in response.
“Mmm, that’s why you’re here, actually.” Prince Cillian sat up and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his perfectly pressed black trousers.
I stiffened at his words. What did that mean?
Harriet’s hazel eyes widened and bounced between me and her prince. So she didn’t know either.
“Enid, the thing is . . . how do I put this nicely?” He tapped his clean-shaven jaw. “You’re a menace. Since we arrived in this bog, you’ve done nothing but terrorize my people.”
I wanted to argue that I’d done nothing wrong. I’d simply been existing and living my life when they invaded my home. They were the ones terrorizing me, and I was simply defending myself. But arguing would be pointless with these people.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave,” Prince Cillian said, his words yanking me back into this conversation.
Vine hissed and reared back, and Harriet’s hand once again went to her sword. I held up my hand, and Vine slunk backward. The last thing I needed was my python vine attacking right now.
“Leave?” I echoed. “You can’t kick me out of my home.”
Icy dread filled me at the thought of it.
Cillian held out his hand. “Harriet.”
Harriet reached for a thick book that lay on a pedestal next to her. She handed it to the high prince, who opened it and flipped through the pages until he came to the one he wanted. “Uh, let’s see. Law of 199945, blah, blah, blah, ruler has the power to blah, blah, blah . . .”
I tapped my foot, wondering where he was going with this.
“Aha. Here it is! The ruler of Fairwitch Isle has the power to remove any citizen who poses a danger or threat to other citizens.” He glanced up at me. “Sound familiar?”
I yanked up the skirt of my dress to reveal a golden key tattooed on my thigh. “You can’t kick me out. I’ve got the key.”
The hideous thing had appeared on my thigh one day, which was when I’d learned that everyone who lived here had one.
That it meant the castle approved of me and would let me stay.
Apparently there were people the castle hadn’t approved of in the past, and it had kicked them out of the city, kept them from reentering. But this key meant I was safe here.
Prince Cillian grimaced. “Yes, I’m aware you have the key.
Unfortunately, this is an executive decision.
You’re a danger to our people. You won’t work with us, you won’t help us to understand this bog and its magic, which you clearly have some kind of command over.
You won’t tell us anything about yourself. You won’t even smile at anyone.”
“That’s a reason to exile someone? Because they don’t smile?”
Prince Cillian raised one of his thick dark brows. “Did you hear anything else I said?”
I huffed. “I’ll behave, okay? You can’t kick me out of my bog.”
The truth was, if I had to leave this place, I had nowhere to go. My heart pounded wildly, the same way it had that morning I’d woken up and discovered all the godwitches and demi-godwitches were gone. That they’d left me.
Vine curled around my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just give me a chance. Your castle gave me this key for a reason, so it must want me here. You don’t want to upset your little castle, do you?”
I was scrambling now, scrambling for anything that would stop the high prince from exiling me. Cillian tapped his chin, and Harriet widened her eyes at him, trying to convey some message I couldn’t understand.
I lunged forward and grabbed the book off his lap.
“Hey!” he yelled.
My gaze frantically darted over the page, looking for anything that could save me. Any exception to the law—and . . . I gasped and pointed.
“There. Right there. It says the only way to exile someone approved by the castle is through a vote. A town vote.”
“Oh.” The high prince shrugged, completely unconcerned. “Okay, we’ll hold a vote.” He leaned toward Harriet, whispering out the side of his mouth, “Though I have a pretty good feeling which way it’s going to go.”
Shite. What had I been thinking? That wasn’t any better. Nobody liked me, and I hadn’t exactly tried to make friends in the last two years.
“Eight weeks,” I said, not even knowing why I picked that number. Just that I had. My heart was pounding so hard my chest ached. “Eight weeks before the vote. Give me a chance to turn things around.”
Prince Cillian rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He stood. “Are we done now?”
Eight weeks to completely change my reputation in this city. Godwitches help me. I was doomed.