Chapter Twenty-One
I kneel on the path to the cottage coaxing out the daffodils that sleep there.
Ruth had told me over our breakfast together that they hadn’t bloomed well at the start of spring, and with the season almost over, it would be a shame to see their potential wasted.
I brush my fingertips up the wilting petals and delve around their connection to the earth.
Hmm, it feels like the colder winter left the bulbs a little starved.
An easy fix for me. I send my magic down the stems and it’s not long before the yellow petals are open and proud.
Just as a delivery of daffodils represents new beginnings, so do these flowers begin life anew.
A hasty crunch of footsteps from the forest calls to my attention, and my mother breaks the tree line, her black hair dancing behind a large travel sack and the puffy pink cheeks of someone in a hurry.
“Fliss!” she gasps. Her bag hits the ground, and she breaks into a sprint, arms wide open.
“Mum!” I fly down the path and she hugs me tight, her carnation perfume easing both my mind and body. She’s here. I grip her like the slightest breeze will sweep her from me.
“Oh, my baby. Are you okay?” she asks, and takes my face between her palms.
“I’m okay. I’m all right. Ruth healed me wonderfully.”
Her dark eyes glisten in the corners. “My darling. I was so worried. When I heard—and then when Ruth sent me— Well, thank the gods you’re okay. I’m here now.”
“Lilibeth, is that you?” Ruth calls from the cottage door.
Mum seems to wobble slightly.
“Let me get your bag,” I say, peeling myself out of my mother’s arms. “Go ahead.”
She takes a second, as if mentally preparing herself, then stretches her smile. I know that smile. It’s the one she uses to fake resilience. The one she uses to tell the lies that I can’t. With a purposefully straight back, she heads down the path.
At the front door, Ruth holds out her hands and Mum doesn’t hesitate to take them.
“My old friend,” Mum says. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for my Fliss. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. I’m sorry it’s taken this to bring me to your door again.”
Ruth’s foggy eyes close with a smile. “There’s nothing to forgive, Betty. You’re more than welcome.”
Mum’s lip trembles, and I glance between the pair with uncertainty. What does she mean? What did my mum do? Mum tugs Ruth into a hug and squeezes her like a lost child being returned home.
“Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over,” she says into Ruth’s shoulder.
“Still using the same perfume, huh? You haven’t changed,” Ruth says. The two women let go and Ruth pats Mum’s cheek familiarly. “Come on in.”
While a pot of fragrant tea leaves waits to be brewed, Mum goes into her bag and brings out an incredibly suspicious bouquet.
Periwinkles, to represent childhood memories, sweet peas to thank a host for hospitality…
and hyacinths. To ask for forgiveness. She seems determined to ignore my questioning frown, so I go over to Ruth’s workshop shelves to find a suitable vase instead.
The vials of herbs are back in their usual organized state after Will and I tidied up last night (it took longer than it should have for, uh, reasons), and out of the corner of my eye, my mother takes in every inch of the cottage like it’s a miracle.
Why? It tickles my thoughts like a stray strand of cat hair.
“Mum,” I say, harsh and final. I slam my chosen vase onto the dining table a little harder than I should.
“Yes, dear?”
“How are you here?”
She blinks at me. “What do you mean?”
“How did you get through the wards by yourself?”
“Oh.”
Mum and Ruth exchange a glance.
“You’ve been here before,” I say, and because I can say it, I don’t need it confirmed. It’s the truth.
Mum dallies, giving me one of her small laughs that usually come before I get brushed off for being “silly.” Luckily for her, Will appears at the top of the stairs and halts like he knows he’s come at a bad time.
Even so, our eyes meet and it tosses my insides like a wave at sea.
Is it me, or has he put more effort into his appearance today?
I could swear that his hair looks perfectly tousled. Interesting.
“Morning, Will. Could you take Lilibeth’s bag into the other spare room? She’ll be staying awhile,” Ruth says, getting out some teacups.
“Uhh…” He surveys the room and comes to the decision it’s best to do as he’s told. “Okay.”
“Mum, how many times have you been here? When?” I ask. She’s so intent on watching Will duck out of sight, a glossy sheen over her eyes, that I doubt she hears me.
“Ruth…he’s all grown up…” she breathes, a hand on her heart. She probably hasn’t seen Will this close up since before the transition he told me about yesterday.
The boiling kettle bubbles as my unanswered accusation hangs in the air.
“Hello? Answers please.”
Steam shoots out of the kettle’s spout. Ruth gently guides Mum to the dining table, and says, “Let’s sit and talk, shall we?”
I glare at the fresh bouquet with folded arms. You know, the one of hyacinths. Seeking forgiveness. For what exactly? Will returns and takes a seat to my left as Mum looks at Ruth with rosy shame.
“I should have come after Marc passed away,” Mum says. “I should have sent a letter, flowers, something…I should have been there for you, after all you did for me….”
Ruth places her teacup down seriously, and says, “I do not regret trying to heal her, Betty.”
I sit up straighter, a hook in my throat.
“Heal who?” I ask. “When? What happened?”
“Well, I suppose…” Mum says, and wipes under her eyes with a single shaky finger.
She takes a deep breath. “I was always a little jealous of my friends. Ruth and Morgana had incredible magical talent, and Fern was destined to be with King Garland. When Ruth and Fern got married and both had kids on the way, my envy got the better of me.”
My heart leaps to my ears. Is she finally going to tell me?
After all these years? Her guilt, her secrets, her sadness?
I’ve never known anything besides Don’t talk about Morgana.
All you need to know is she cursed you, and no, I won’t answer more of your questions.
I freeze in my chair like there are restraints around my wrists.
“One night,” Mum continues, “after I vented to Morgana about how I felt, she saw an opportunity to try something no sorcerer had ever succeeded at before. She told me she was working on a spell to make someone fall in love. If all went well, she would be hailed as the greatest sorcerer to ever live, and I would have the family I craved. Needless to say, we rushed into it without thinking. I pointed out the first man I found attractive and within the week, she’d cast her spell.
It was…well, it was a whirlwind. I could hardly believe it had worked, despite Morgana’s ego being unbearable.
Yet…After a few weeks passed, I started to wonder if I’d made the right decision.
I’d tricked this man into my life without a second thought to his own—what did he want before Morgana cast her spell?
Did he have his own aspirations? Would he have chosen me without magic?
Then, Fliss, my baby, my darling, then I found out I was having you. ”
A tear splashes down her pale cheek. Her history washes me to shore like a hollowed-out shell. Jealousy and magic. Lies. That’s what made me.
“The spell on your father soured the instant I told him I was pregnant. The news was too big for the spell to maintain its hold. He became disgusted with me, with us, and left the citadel without a word. I never heard from him again. Right after, I ran to Morgana, who said it must have been my fault the spell didn’t work correctly.
I begged her to help me, to find him again, to fix it, but all she said was that with a baby on the way, at least I’d have one person who might love me.
Fern took Morgana’s side. She shut me out. ”
Mum smiles at me, both pained and proud.
“I didn’t care once you were born. You were everything to me—and more.
Years later, when you started talking, I realized that part of the spell must have passed down to you.
Magic as strong as that always has a price.
A child born of magical deceit, cursed only to tell the truth.
It restored the balance after we so arrogantly tried to manipulate the rules of magic in our favor.
I’m so sorry, baby. It’s all my fault. I should have been the one punished, not you.
I tried so hard to remove your curse. I tried everything.
I even asked Ruth—and it took her sight and—” She glances at Ruth ashamed, and words fail her. She can’t go on.
I look between the two women, a trickle of ice in my veins.
Surely she can’t mean…? Ruth’s eyes. She had been blinded because Mum asked her to try to heal me.
I recall that day I collected the Odyssa when Will brushed my throat and jolted away.
That’s what a mere second of contact with my curse did.
Gods…how much pain did Ruth tolerate before giving up?
And Mum has carried the guilt of it since.
Of what her request did to Ruth, of how her lies ruined a man’s life, of how her choices bestowed on me an unyielding curse.
So much hurt ricocheted and hit all those people because my mum wanted what so many want: to love and be loved in return.
I don’t know how to feel, like there’s an orchestra of emotions trapped within my ribs.
Each cresting wave is another truth I have to carry. Each crescendo a heavier burden.