Chapter Thirty
Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved flowers. She spent her days waltzing through fields under the light of the sun. “You make the most beautiful bouquets,” said the butterflies. “Thank you for your generosity,” said the bees. “I want nothing else but this,” lied the girl.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who was cursed. She spent her days trapped in a cage, suffocated by the shadows. “No one trusts you,” said the darkness. “Tell us the truth,” said the captors. “It would be my pleasure,” lied the girl.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who was loved. In the coldest of nights, a constellation of hands reached forth. “Come,’’ they said. “We love you like the birds love the sky, like the rivers love the sea. We do not need the sum of you, we do not need your candor. We need only your honest smile.”
The girl stood and welcomed the voices that willed her toward freedom. She left her chains behind and followed the dawn.
Mum has always smelled of carnations. A lifetime ago, when we first found out I could only tell the truth, I remember tracing their crinkled pastel petals as she explained how they represent a mother’s love.
I remember her scrawled notes and musty yellowed textbooks filled with inked floral illustrations.
I remember how she’d tucked a dainty yellow cinquefoil behind my ear.
“And now the world knows you’re my beloved daughter,” she’d said. “Flowers are more than beauty, my dear. They are messages, stories, dreams, and memories. They can always provide people with hope, and one day, you’ll see just how much they can change lives.”
“Can they change mine?” I had asked.
Mum had smiled sadly, as she so often did.
“Maybe,” she had lied. “But I will still love you, cursed or not.”
Now as I fight unconsciousness in the safety of her carnation perfume, I wonder if perhaps she hadn’t been lying after all.
I can’t open my eyes. My body is drained of energy, and it’s a feeling I’m sadly all too familiar with.
When I was bleeding out, my muscles were a weak withered plant without sunlight or chance of survival.
But this is different. I’m exhausted, worn to the brink, but there’s no allure of death.
I’m the morning after a broken fever—sweat-dappled and short of breath.
I’m the first day of spring, when the buds break through the earth, optimistic that the weather will be warm enough to bloom, anticipating those light spring showers.
I’m alive and my mother’s arms are around me.
“Fliss, baby,” she says, her voice thick. “Can you hear me? Please, wake up. Please. Ruth, help me. Please.”
A light touch on my forehead revives me further, soothes like a soft bed in a safe cottage. “Give her time, Betty.”
The hand moves to my throat and magic dives under my skin. Ruth is silent. Mum gasps and starts to shake.
“R-Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes…It’s gone.”
Mum’s tears splatter on my shoulder as floating noises around us sharpen.
“Card, are you okay?”
“I’m good, babe. Help me up.”
“Borage, come here.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Take Morgana to the dungeons. I want the utmost security at all times. Inform me immediately when she regains consciousness.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain, send one of your guards for the physician. Tell him to bring something for my wife.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Will?” Bastion is panicked. “Will? Will. Hey. Wake up. Will. Will.”
I groan.
I twitch a hand.
“Fliss?” Mum pushes back my hair. “Come on, baby. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I squint open my eyes and find the world a blur, a wash of colors. Mum and Ruth lean over me with identical concern.
“Will? Ruth! He’s not waking up!” Bastion calls, and Ruth disappears from view.
Mum sits me up and wipes my cheeks. Her own are puffy and glistening with tears. There’s something off about her expression, something lacking. She wobbles a smile. Guilt. That’s what’s missing. Replaced by insurmountable relief.
It worked.
“Will!” Bastion continues shouting.
My mind feels slow, fuzzy, like it’s stuffed with cotton, a cloud stranded in the sky. I can’t move. I can’t open my mouth. I can’t speak. What do I even say? What can I say?
“Will! Stop being an idiot and wake up. I swear if you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you myself. Get up this instant!”
“Bastion, please. Give him some space.”
“Hey! Will!”
“Can you pipe down?” Will mumbles. “I’ve got a killer headache.”
He’s okay. He’s alive. He loves me.
I blink until I can see more clearly, still resting against my mother’s shoulder. Will is on his back in the center of the burnt circle, the runes now a charcoal black. Ruth barely has time to finish healing the wounds on his temple and forearm before Bastion scoops him into a hug.
“Uh…” Will wavers, resting back on his elbows. Bastion refuses to let go. “All right, all right. Get off me, you royal prick.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Bash repeats.
“One more time, please?”
Bash’s shoulders tense. He pulls away and glares at Will. “I’m sorry.”
“Ah, I think there are some people at the back there that didn’t hear….”
“Fine. I screwed up! Everyone can know it. I was an awful friend. I should have stuck up for you and I didn’t. Every time I saw you, I was reminded that I was at fault, so I lashed out and blamed you and shoved down the guilt and— Why are you smiling? Stop laughing.”
“I’ve waited a long time for you to grovel. Please keep going.”
The prince sighs and drops back on his heels.
“Are we really doing this now?” Bash asks.
“Do you have somewhere else to be? Or should I almost die another day?”
“Fine. Fine…I was jealous of you, Will. You had everything. A loving home, incredible magic, freedom to do what you wanted, and I had nothing compared to that. I had a bleak, lonely castle and increasing pressure to be the magic-wielding son my mother wanted. Before Card, you have no idea how isolating this place was—especially when Merit started going away to Dreah. Card lights up every room and keeps me sane and— Wait, no, I need to save all that for my vows. I just…I wanted to be like you, Will. I thought if the spell at the oak tree worked, I would be satisfied. When it failed, I was so ashamed, I couldn’t face it. I’m sorry.”
There’s a stunned silence.
“But!” Bastion scowls. “You have to admit you didn’t make it easy.
You’ve been a complete nightmare. Do you know how many broken windows we’ve had to fix over the years because of you?
” The prince sighs. “I suppose I’m partly to blame for that too.
I’m sorry I’ve put you through so much. I’m sorry for what I said about your dad.
I’m sorry I let the situation get so out of control.
You’re my brother, Will. You always have been. ”
“Oh.” Will’s voice is small. I know without being close that he needs time to process that, needs time before he shares his response. “Uh, while you’re at it, I think there’s someone else you need to apologize to.”
He pushes to his feet and Bastion steadies him. “Pigeon!” Will calls.
Pigeon lifts a fallen chair among the wedding guests helping put the room back to rights. “Hello?”
“You wanted an audience with the royals, right? Here’s your chance. It seems the prince is in a particularly sentimental mood.”
Pigeon places the chair down and, for the first time since I’ve known her, shows a flash of nerves.
“Right,” she says, then adjusts her belt of pouches and fiddles with the bow slung over her shoulder. “Yes. Um.”
Will pats Bastion’s shoulder. “I’ll let you two take it from here. I have a florist I’d much rather be with,” he says.
Seconds later, Will drops to his knees beside me, waves of hair over his forehead, now healed and clean of blood. His eyes twinkle like the glint of his earrings. “Hey, Princess. How are you doing?”
I hurl myself at him.
How dare you almost die? I pound a fist against his chest. How dare you almost leave me? And again. Don’t you ever scare me like that. Don’t you dare. Don’t you ever—
I punch and hit and cry until my croaks turn feeble and he draws me into his arms, wrapping me in a calming chamomile refuge.
“I’m sorry,” Will whispers into my hair. “I’m sorry, my love. I promise to never do that again. Unless you have any other curses that need breaking. Then I might have to.”
I clutch his jacket and butt my forehead against his collarbone. Shut up.
“Okay, okay. I promise,” he chuckles. “Come here.”
He ropes a hand in my hair and, with the other, rubs circles on my back. I fasten myself to him, anchor myself to the beat of his heart and the warmth of his touch. No more barriers or dungeons or magic separates us. I’m never letting him go. I’m never granting death a chance that close again.
Purposeful conversations sail on the sound of furniture being rearranged.
Pigeon’s determination as she solicits Bash.
Family. Food. Simon. King Garland’s serious tone.
Card chiming in with ideas. The Library.
Apologies far overdue and plans for the future.
It doesn’t mean a thing while I’m enveloped in Will.
Each minute that ticks by in his embrace was earned, deserved.
Each second is a new lease on life. A freedom everyone else has had that I’ve never experienced. The freedom to choose.
“Okay, anyone else?” Bastion announces, with a finality expected of a royal. “Anything else so important that this wedding needs to be further put on hold? Because if not, then I am marrying this man, gods help me.”
Will adjusts to brush my jawline. He gazes into my eyes and smiles. My smile. “Someone wants to talk to you, sweetheart,” he says.
Buttercups linger in the air, and Card crouches down, his white suit ruffled.
“Fliss,” Card says, and averts his eyes. “Um, I’d like you by my side…if you still want to be my maid of honor. If not, I understand. I get it. But, um…”
I grip the front of Will’s shirt. I don’t want to let him out of my sight.
“It’s your choice, love,” Will says.