Epilogue
Eight Months After the Wedding
The young witch leaned against the rowan tree at the edge of the cemetery.
A sprinkling of snowflakes swirled in the crisp wind and settled against a ground that had already seen a few snows in the past couple of months.
A layer of sparkling white covered the chapel and headstones like frosting on a wedding cake and brightened an otherwise overcast day.
The witch held out a gloved hand to catch a flake and watched it melt against the fur-lined leather.
These were small ones, but their size was deceiving.
Together, they would be formidable. By nightfall, the roads that had been cleared after the last storm would be covered again, and by morning, the path through her woods would be impassable and the trees dazzling in their winter glory.
“Will you make something with the snow again?” Adaline asked next to her. She rubbed the cloak Miria had made from the first snowfall between her fingers. It glittered a blinding white to Miria’s eyes, and Adaline’s as well, but it rendered her mostly invisible to others.
Miria wore one, too. Though cool to the touch, for the wearer, the cloaks were warmer than any fur coats and as soft as the finest leather.
“What will you make me if I do?” she asked.
Adaline pretended to think. “Very happy?” She laughed as Miria lightly poked her shoulder. “Another butter pie? With the caramel and the nuts and raisins?”
“I’ll think about it,” Miria said, although she could already taste the buttery crust and warm sugar.
The chapel door opened, and the hushed air suddenly filled with cheering as the bride and groom were ushered outside amid a swell of well-wishers.
Hans looked happy, and his bride—the oldest daughter of a moderately successful shipwright—was radiant in a crown of tiny roses that bloomed in shades from the most luscious magenta to the palest shell pink.
No one had seen flowers quite like them before, and certainly not roses so far out of season, which was the point.
They’d come from Miria’s garden. Earlier in the day, Miria had left the headpiece as one of her wedding gifts, and everyone said that was a good omen.
After Hans’s last disastrous wedding, this time he had the witch’s blessing.
The witch did small things like that every now and then—brought food to a family who was struggling, showed up with cures for illnesses without anyone asking, left surprises outside the doors of people who had shown some courageous act of kindness.
Miria did not wish to meddle in the lives of those around her, but she could no longer accept inaction.
She would not let another Rosmilda and Garulf rise to power, and though she could not stop the stories people told or the reasons why they told them, she was doing her best to push the direction the verses about her took.
In this case, no one knew why the witch had favored the marriage, but they all agreed it was a fortuitous sign.
Truthfully, the witch was just glad Adaline was not the bride, although she did hope the marriage would make everyone happy, including her sisters.
Winda and Katline had been living with Hans these last several months, and they’d appeared to have made a full recovery from the effects of Rosmilda’s magic.
It had taken nearly a moon cycle, but Hans had eventually brought the girls to the woods several times, as well, and Miria and Adaline had visited them several times in return.
Although winter made it harder to travel, the girls were no longer afraid of their strange sister.
As for Adaline, Winda seemed to find her far odder than she did Miria, but Katline loved her sword lessons.
As if sensing Miria and Adaline’s presence, the two girls turned their heads toward the rowan tree and smiled. Adaline waved, and Winda and Katline skipped on with the procession back into town.
“Could they see us?” Adaline asked.
“Possibly.” With the magic in their blood, Miria couldn’t rule it out.
When she’d told Hans of their gift, he’d made her promise that she would not raise either of them to be a witch, a promise Miria had no intention of breaking.
Without Rosmilda’s magic to hurt them, the girls lived happy lives and had a future full of possibilities.
A witch rose to her power through bruises and blood and betrayal, not in the comfort of a soft bed each night and the arms of a loving family.
While Miria was grateful for the family she’d been welcomed into and the legacy she’d been entrusted with, she was glad fate had offered her sisters another path.
“Are you sure you don’t want to attend the reception?” Adaline asked.
Miria grabbed Adaline’s hand, returning from her thoughts.
“It’s best if we don’t. If we’re seen as ourselves, it will distract from the celebration, and if I disguise us, people will want to know who the strangers in attendance are—also a distraction.
Unless you’re truly in need of eating my brother’s food and dancing? ”
There was also the possibility that Garulf might attend, but Miria did not speak of him since that day in the chapel, and Adaline had quietly picked up on this and never asked of him again.
Adaline pulled her closer, and they followed the revelers into town, keeping their distance. “How many times do I have to tell you? As long as I have you, I have all that I need.”
“I don’t know.” Miria smiled “But I’m sure a few more times never hurt.”
“Well, you did save me twice—three times? I’ve lost count, so I guess I can say it a few more.”
“And how many times, and in how many ways, have you saved me? I think we’re even, or at least we should stop counting.”
“Not counting is fine with me. I’ve never liked numbers.” Adaline swung their arms and turned her face into the snow. “From now on, we will simply continue to save each other, because that’s what we do.”
Snowflakes landed on Adaline’s pink cheeks, making her skin glow, and Miria’s heart beat with happiness.
Despite the weather, she’d never been warmer, and despite it being the dead months, she’d never felt more alive.
Adaline was right—that was what they did.
Girls and women, witches and ladies. They built one small dam in the river at a time until they pushed the course of history in a better direction.
Now that she knew what they could accomplish together, Miria’s story was just getting started.