First Sale #2
Then came the sack of Silbourne and the collapse of everything Violet had thought she knew. And now Guy Shadowfade was gone. All his talk of immortality, his quests for greatness, his experiments with alchemy and his endless hunt for the Eye of the Serpent—gone.
Violet could feel her dark magic calling to her as always, seductive as a ripe berry on the vine, singing sweet sounds of despair and the euphoria that would come from letting loose a volley of the power she knew lived within her.
She wanted to be good, like the Tempest had told her to be.
To try for something more. To create happiness rather than misery and to grow roots rather than rot, and if this new magic hurt her instead of other people, then she would accept that.
She didn’t want to be the Thornwitch anymore, and so she wouldn’t be. Maybe it was as simple as that.
Maybe Violet Thistlewaite could simply live out her days here. At peace.
A crash from outside the shop broke her from her thoughts.
For a moment, her body tensed, the broom falling at her feet as she freed her hands, her mind halfway to conjuring thorns beneath her skin or calling the roots of the trees in the Green to lift from the ground and crush the life from her attackers.
No.
No one here is trying to kill you, she reminded herself, forcing a breath into her lungs and some pliability back into her stiff limbs.
No one knows who you are. The broom had sprouted thorns again, which she quickly banished as she turned her gaze to the front window and drew the curtain.
She was surprised to find stalls and carts had appeared as if by magic, dotting Wingspan Green in orderly rows.
“A market!” she marveled aloud, eyes darting to the woman in front of her shop whose overturned cart had been the source of the noise.
She had a large, twisted bun of snowy white hair, dark brown skin, and wide eyes beneath pinched, concerned brows.
Her mouth was as overturned as her cart, though her frown shifted to an “Oh!” of surprise when she noticed Violet through the window.
Someone who was good would go out to help, so Violet opened the door.
“Are you alright?” she asked, crouching down to help the woman retrieve the ceramic jars that were rolling around the cobblestones.
“Quite alright,” confirmed the woman, gesturing to the broken wheel. “Just frustrated. Not exactly sure how I’ll manage this one.”
“Let me help.”
She and the woman righted the cart, and Violet placed her hand on the wheel. She closed her eyes and urged the dead wood back to life, to grow and mend until the broken pieces were whole once more.
The woman was staring at her, mouth hanging open, and Violet blushed under her scrutiny.
“Sorry about the leaves,” said Violet, swatting one of the twigs that had grown out the side of the wheel. “I’ll fetch some shears so you can trim them off.”
“Well now.” The woman blinked at her thoughtfully a few more times, like she was trying to puzzle out whether what she’d seen was real.
Violet’s cheeks heated even more. “It’s nothing.”
“No, I’d say that was something. Thank you.” The woman’s gaze turned studious in a way that began to make Violet uncomfortable, and she repeated to herself once more, like a mantra, that no one here could recognize her without her face full of thorns and that vile purple cloak.
“Oh, you’ve a—” Violet gestured to the honeybee that buzzed near the woman’s head, but then noticed several more. “Bees.”
“Almost thirty years together and my wife still claims she’s not used to them, but it comes with the territory.”
Violet’s eyes dropped to the jars that had fallen. One of them had shattered, and a sticky, golden substance was oozing into the cracks between the stones. Honey.
“You’re a beekeeper!”
“Yes!” Whatever spell the woman had been under seemed to break. She beamed at Violet. “I’m Quinn, of Quinn Bee Honeybees. You’re new here.” Her eyes were friendly, but Violet immediately felt defensive.
“Yes, I’m—I’m Violet. I’m opening a flower shop.” Her hands were suddenly clammy. Quinn’s eyes followed Violet’s to the storefront behind them.
“Ah, so you’re the Marsh twins’ new tenant,” she exclaimed. “I’d heard they’d fixed up the place enough to let. And a flower shop! What will it be called?”
Oh, right. A name. “I…”
“No matter! It will come to you when you’re ready.
But you simply must let me talk pollinators with you sometime.
Will you import flowers or grow them in your back garden?
If you’re interested in a hive, I can get you set up.
They’re great for flowers, which of course you must know already, being a florist.”
As Quinn chattered on, Violet felt a thrill at being called a florist by anyone besides herself.
“Oh, but is this one of yours?” Quinn rushed to the big oriel window and marveled at the bouquet Violet had placed there, evidence of her hard-earned practice. She inspected one of the spiky, colorful flowers that nestled among the lilies with awe. “But these—what are these?”
“It’s called a protea,” Violet explained. “They grow in the Shards.”
Quinn marveled at the yellow-and-orange blooms. “Gorgeous! I’ve never seen their like. And you imported them?”
“Not exactly.” Violet wiggled her fingers like she was performing a spell.
“Of course!” Quinn let out a laugh. “Oh, this is wonderful. You’re going to do so well here. No one will have seen anything like it! I can’t wait to tell everyone. How much for this? I’ll draw more customers at market if they have something to look at besides jars of honey.”
Violet’s eyes flitted to the simple arrangement. “I don’t have prices for them yet.”
“Two silver stelle,” said Quinn, her eyes flashing. “And I’ll tell any of my customers who ask where to find you.”
Excitement, tinged with more than a little panic, crawled its way up Violet’s spine. “I—yes, okay.”
Her first sale.
Violet was a florist. She was really creating her own life, and on her terms, not Guy’s.
She fetched the bouquet from inside, smiling at the flowers as she relinquished them to a real customer from her new home.
This felt different. This felt good. Dragon’s Rest would be a place to start over, to build something of her own, away from the taint of her past.
“It’s early for flowers,” said Quinn, her nose buried in the blooms, “and I just know my bees are going to love having you around. They usually have to fly all the way to Shadowfade Castle for nectar this early in the season. The Thornwitch was a lot of things, but she kept flowers growing year-round, she did.”
“What?” Violet nearly jumped out of her skin at the mention of her past life. She felt like she’d just finished one of Guy’s training “games,” which generally involved running for her life after he set something unpleasant and deadly loose in her bedroom after she fell asleep.
Best to be prepared for anything, petal, he’d always said.
Violet did not feel prepared for this.
“The Thornwitch,” Quinn continued, peering at her.
“Oh, but don’t tell me you’ve never heard of her.
One of the Dark Lord’s most trusted servants.
Devastated crops, trapped entire armies in fields of poisonous thorns.
Once used her vines to pull a man’s entire estate into the sea because he owed Shadowfade money. ”
That last one was a lie, Violet was tempted to tell her. An earthquake had taken down the entire cliffside before she’d even arrived; she just hadn’t denied the rumors. We are thieves, petal, Guy had told her. And if our reputations are in part stolen, well, they still line our pockets.
Quinn was still talking. “No one’s seen hide nor hair of her since he was defeated. Most likely she’s gone just like the rest of them. But I’ve heard her gardens were beautiful.”
Violet looked at the crates of honey on Quinn’s cart, and another wash of homesickness overtook even the shame of hearing Quinn recount her past deeds, real and exaggerated. A little piece of her gardens, here in a jar. All she had left of it.
Build a new one, she repeated to herself. Build a better one.
“I’d love to talk about installing a hive once I’ve got everything set up,” Violet said with a smile. “And I’d love your thoughts on what I can do to plant flowers the bees will love best.”
“Anything’s better than nothing at all,” said Quinn cheerfully.
“But we’ll talk. I’ll find you!” She managed to make it sound vaguely ominous.
But in a good way? Violet thought. She got the sense that Quinn was a walking, talking information machine.
Violet would be more concerned if she wasn’t already being careful of her words around everyone she met.
Quinn continued. “I should get going. I need to claim my spot by the trees before Fallon and their ceramic bowls take it again. Corrin—that’s the glazier, you’ll love her—says they bet her three stelle they could usurp my place!
But here.” Quinn shoved a jar of honey into her hands. “As a thank-you.”
“Oh, I—” Violet held the jar awkwardly. No one had given her a gift in years; even Guy’s “presents” were thinly veiled rewards and bribes to keep her in line.
“Come visit my stall once I’m set up,” said Quinn, oblivious to the tangled weeds of Violet’s thoughts. “I’ll introduce you to some of the others.”
Violet dragged a shaky smile to her lips. “That would be lovely.”
“We watch out for our own here.”
She tried not to hear the words as a threat.