Chapter 32
By the time the sun hung high overhead, Marigold had planned the whole of the Goldenmoon Festival. The activities, space for
vendors, beer and cider garden, location for the minstrels, and the dancing—it was all organized. She stepped back to admire
her handiwork.
Not only had she mapped out the logistics, but she also drew broadsides.
She had no talent for drawing, it was true. But her penmanship was excellent, and these broadsides clearly listed the date, time, location and entertainments on offer. Some might wonder why a few sported
inky paw prints, but there was little time to redo them.
The cottage door swung open, and Bram entered. “You left again without waking me,” she greeted him.
“You seemed peaceful.” He hung his cloak on the peg.
“You know I prefer you wake me before you go. I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”
At least he had the decency to look apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ll reform.” He kissed the back of her neck, causing her to shiver.
“What’s all this, then?” He leaned over her shoulder to peer at her work.
“Broadsides for the festival.” She patted his cheek, then stepped away from his embrace to dish out their midday meal. “Wash
up, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
She withdrew a flatbread topped with melted cheese and finely diced vegetables from the oven, then plated their portions. He sat farther down the table from his usual place, which was currently occupied by two dozen broadsides.
“Thank you,” he said. “What was it you wanted to discuss over the breakfast I so rudely skipped out on?”
She tangled her fingers together. “One itty-bitty thing I keep forgetting to tell you about. I, uh . . . It seems I have a
new magic.”
Bram set down his fork. “What is it?”
She understood his hesitancy. Magic had caused more harm in his life than good. Bram had only warmed to minimancy because
she used it to help with chores around Grimroot Farm. For a moment, she’d been tempted to keep this new magic a secret.
But hadn’t she been grumpy with him for keeping secrets?
Best to show the way by example.
“I’m not certain what it does. At first, I thought they were just benign lights.” She showed him her empty palms. “When the
Leshy attacked me, in my fright these orange orbs popped off my hands. The same thing when Bastien surprised me while I was
foraging, but unlike the Leshy, the boy appeared different—there was a ghost of a crown on his head. So then I thought it
was a future-telling magic and tried it on myself, but I appeared the same.”
Bram caught her palm and kissed it. “I doubt it’s nothing. Want to try it on me?”
Not the reaction she expected. “You’d be willing to serve as an experiment?”
“I trust you,” he said. “You tried it on yourself, you said, and again with the Leshy and the boy with no ill effect.”
“If you’re sure.” She flipped her palms toward him, flicking her fingers like she’d flung soap suds at him when they’d done their first batch of laundry together. The orbs flattened and popped against him.
As with Bastien, Bram shimmered.
And underneath the shimmer, retook his human form.
Mostly.
Marigold rucked up her eyebrows.
“What?” Bram asked.
“You’re . . .”
Bram once again possessed his enviable blond curls, blue eyes, strong jaw, and skin the color of a newborn fawn. The vertical
dent between his confused eyebrows was new, though. Then the orc face shimmered on top of the human. The same confused wrinkle
slashed from his forehead to the bridge of his nose, but this was the emerald face she’d come to love.
She stepped closer and laid her palms on his face, turning him slightly to inspect him. “You’re both Jask and Bram. How . . .
What is this magic?”
He stared at his hands, turning them this way and that. Under the shimmer, they were both Bram’s and Jask’s, peach and green,
large and huge. He scrambled up the stairs to the loft to find her looking glass. By the time he located it, only the orc
looked back.
He whirled, desperation naked on his face. “Do it again.”
“Bram—”
“Please,” he begged.
Like Narcissus, this couldn’t be good for his heart or mind, but she was powerless to deny his request. With a deep breath,
she held her hands aloft. The orange fizzed and sparked in her palms, then bloomed into orbs. With a gentle motion, she flicked
it toward him.
As before, they popped on his skin, then shimmered as the magic spread over him. Once again, his form danced between human and orc, sliding back and forth. He lifted the looking glass and the tendons stood out on his neck.
He dropped the glass. “What is this?”
“I don’t know its name.” Marigold took his hands. “But it may reveal a person’s truest self? And raises questions about Bastien.”
The color left his face, like a candle being snuffed.
“So I’m both a knight of the realm and a farmer orc? How can a person have two true identities?” He set the mirror on the
mantel, directly under his sword. “Saints, I don’t know who or what I am anymore.”
“You are Bram.” She caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. “And I love him.”
He tugged her close. After his chest expanded in a sigh, it rumbled with his words. “Brief as it lasts, there’s a gift in
this magic. We don’t need to bother with the sprite or the curse. If you want to see the real me instead of the monster, you
can hit me with the orbs.”
The real him? She stepped back. “Bram, look at me.”
His eyes were feverish in the firelight.
Her insides hollowed. “I’ll tell you this a thousand times until you believe it. I love you. What you look like has no bearing on my affections.”
A sad smile twisted his lips. “I don’t believe that, Marigold.”
Another step back, as though a wall were pushing up between them.
“I’m not lying to you,” she said.
He palmed his neck. “But you’re lying to yourself.”
“That’s . . . I can’t . . .” She spluttered. “Bram Duncan, that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. Do you think me
shallow?”
“Mercy, Marigold. No. I think me monstrous.”
“You are not a monster.” She tunneled her hand into the hair at her temples and tugged in frustration. “Is it so wild to imagine that
your heart, mind, and soul is who you are, and the rest is decoration? My body will change, too, you know. It already has.
The person you knew five years ago is not the person I am today. Life changed me. Do you love me less for those changes?”
“Mare,” he said. “Let’s not deceive ourselves. This is different.”
He gestured to his body. His delightful mountain of a body.
She crossed her arms. “I don’t see it that way.”
“You’re being naive.”
Heat rushed from her belly to her cheeks. The nerve.
“That’s the second time in five minutes you’ve claimed to know my mind better than I, you clay-brained ninny. Do it again
at your own peril.”
He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I overstepped. But the offer stands. Whenever you get are weary of this form, you’re welcome
to change it.”
In that moment she resolved never to use this ability, whatever it was, on Bram again. She would, however, do everything in
her power to give him the opportunity to be restored to his original form, if that was indeed what he wanted.
Which meant she’d pay the autumn sprite another visit.