A Better Garden
From the moment Jerome caught up to her on the road to Shadowfade Castle, Violet had felt a confusing mixture of warmth and confusion.
“Just stall ’im,” Jerome had insisted. “Keep ’im talking long enough for us to get a few things together. And know we’re right behind you.”
So she’d expected her friends—but the rock goblins? A dragon?
And now they were trapped.
The dragon roared again, and though she could hear no trace of Sedgwick amidst that mountain of angry stone, she winced to know he was at its core. The dragon’s wings brushed the walls, shattering what was left of the windows, and the castle shook again. It was coming down all around them.
“How do we get out?” Pru wailed, her violin clutched to her chest. Quinn and her bees, gathered in a swarm that crawled on her arms and torso like armor, weren’t far behind.
Violet looked for the others and found Fallon on the other side of some fallen debris, crawling toward them, and Jerome at their side, digging through the plaster and stone trying to make a path, Bartleby at his back flinging rubble out of their way.
“We’re going to die,” said Quinn, and there was agony in her eyes for all that her voice sounded serene. “But we’ve done good for our home, and the people of Dragon’s Rest will be safe because of us.”
Nathaniel pulled Violet toward him. “I’m so sorry,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “I wanted to make it up to you.”
“Hush,” she told him, her mind ricocheting between options. “It’s going to be alright.”
“I never got to tell you.” His eyes were wild and his breathing erratic. “I—”
Violet put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “After.”
“But—”
Three moons, this man!
She said firmly, “Nathaniel Marsh, you tell me after. Now do as I say and hush. I’m busy saving all of our lives.”
He frowned, and she went about ignoring him entirely, focusing on Fallon and Jerome.
Her eyes began to glow as she used her vines to help destroy the debris in their way.
This destructive urge she felt to crush and throttle was the Thornwitch’s influence, years of habit rising to the surface, but for the first time since Silbourne, Violet leaned into it without guilt.
The Thornwitch was part of her, and so was her magic.
It was neither good nor evil, only a tool in her hands.
And Violet was determined—choosing—to use it for good.
When the path was clear, her friends rushed to her side.
“That was a handy trick,” said Jerome, and for once he sounded impressed.
“Wait until you see this one,” she said with a tight smile as her eyes darted around what was left of the Great Hall. “Stick close to me!”
She led them toward the western wall, where she pressed a secret panel. The door opened haltingly, and though the corridor behind it was already collapsed, the doorway itself stood strong. Violet gathered her friends to her as the dragon reared its head and took a chunk out of the ceiling.
“Get close!” she cried, and they huddled around her as she drew plants over them like a blanket, building a wall of thorns that grew ever thicker, smashing through walls and forcing its way through cracks in the stone.
Destroy, destroy it all, she urged her plants, gripping tightly to Nathaniel’s hand like a lifeline keeping her tethered to herself.
Bring this terrible place to the ground, only protect me and mine.
Magic rushed through her veins, pushing from her body and eagerly overtaking the castle with vines that gripped and tore.
As she channeled more and more power from the well of magic inside her—the one that was well and truly hers—Violet could feel the thorns tearing through her skin as the Thornwitch truly unleashed her might.
Faintly she heard Nathaniel cry out, but though she tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let go of her hand.
Violet focused on her spell, weaving thorny hedges dozens of feet thick as the ground shook and heavy weight pressed into their bubble of safety.
Ever more, that horrible loud roaring of the dragon tore into their ears.
It went on for minutes or hours, she couldn’t be sure, but when it stopped, she was stiff and sore and disoriented.
Her vision swam at the edges, and she let her eyes drift closed as she was guided slowly to the floor.
“Violet,” came a voice. “Violet, it’s over.”
She was faintly aware of Pru standing over her, hands on her face. Violet jerked away, and Pru hissed as one of her thorns scratched her.
“I’m sorry,” Violet mumbled. She tried to retract the Thornwitch, but it hurt to even think about magic after all of that. She groaned.
“Think she finally gave herself magic burn?” Jerome asked with a chuckle.
“Not sure anyone took that wager,” mused Pru.
“Jerome did,” confirmed Fallon.
Quinn chuckled. “I can’t decide if I’d be more impressed or flabbergasted if she didn’t have magic burn.”
Then she heard Nathaniel’s voice, became aware of her hand still in his as he squeezed it. “Don’t try to get up. Rest a bit.”
When she came to again, there was a painful throbbing between her temples, but her thorns had receded.
Her head was in Nathaniel’s lap, and he stroked her hair absently.
One of Bartleby’s vines coiled loosely up her arm, for once not squeezing like a boa constrictor.
The others sat in a loose circle around her, close within the small space, Quinn’s bees buzzing with a comforting rhythm.
“Awake?” Nathaniel smiled down at her. “Feel any better?”
She shook her head. “I feel like someone just dropped a castle on me.”
“I’ll make you a tincture for magic burn when we get home,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. His hand was bandaged with what looked like a strip of Pru’s skirt, and she felt a twinge of guilt that swirled confusingly with warmth when she remembered how he’d refused to let go.
“Eh! She did get magic burn!” Jerome cheered. “Fallon owes me a beer!”
“I’ll buy everyone a round if Violet can get us out of here,” said Fallon, laughing.
“True,” added Pru. “Beer’s a bit hard to find in this, er, cave of thorns?”
Violet sat up, reaching behind her to squeeze Nathaniel’s knee. “Give me just a second.”
“Take all the time you need,” said Quinn with a smile.
“Did we do it? We stopped Sedgwick?”
“We did.” Quinn’s smile grew.
“And Peri? The rock goblins?”
Pru shook her head. “No idea.”
“What happened there anyway?” Violet asked. “How did you know they’d become a dragon?”
“Well, that part was a surprise,” admitted Pru.
“But remember the book I found in the castle library? I learned all about them—as much as anyone really knows anyway. They’re formed when beings of immense magical power are turned to stone, and all that magical energy needs to go somewhere so it kind of animates itself.
When a slide gets together, it can re-form into whatever creature it once was.
There were so many of them, we knew it would be big. We just didn’t know it would be…that.”
Nathaniel scoffed. “Do you think they knew they were trapping us in here?”
“No idea.” Pru shrugged and threw him a look. “Haven’t gotten to that chapter of the book yet. Plus, Violet kept us safe. That was downright heroic.”
Through the weariness in her bones, Violet’s body heated in a head-to-toe blush.
“But can you get us out of here?” Jerome asked gruffly. “Reckon I’d take some more heroics if it means we don’t die like this.”
She looked at the wall of bramble around them, various bits of stone wall or wooden door frame wound tightly in its grasp. She stood on wobbly legs and closed her eyes, pressing a hand to the thorns.
Thank you, she thought to them, and instead of letting the magic that created them dissipate, Violet drew it back into her body like a great inhalation.
Almost instantly, her headache disappeared, and though nothing else seemed to change, she knew it was working.
The magic filled her, pouring back into her vast reserves until even that well felt close to overflowing.
Eyes still closed, Violet began to imagine a garden.
She pictured her greenhouse and all the flowers in her shop.
Daisies for Daisy and bee balm for Quinn.
Hypoallergenic hydrangeas for Jerome, fiery red camellias for Fallon, and fragrant, edible herbs and spices for Guy.
Vining plants for Bartleby. She added yellow tulips for the sunshine in Pru’s smile and marsh roses for the twins and the home they’d given her. Snapdragons for Dragon’s Rest.
For Nathaniel, she thought of the clematis that had knocked over his potion the night she’d met him and the mugwort she’d grown for him in a misguided attempt to help.
Cherry blossoms for the tree that had nearly crushed them the night they first kissed, and dahlias and freesias and all the flowers of the riotous jungle that had grown from her worktable the night they’d made love for the first time.
The garden of her life grew and blossomed in her mind, full of color and life, but there was one person she was forgetting.
So for herself she added blankets of violets, purple as the cloak she hated and the sails of the ship she hoped she’d be brave enough to look for someday.
For the Thornwitch—and for Guy, both of whom would always be part of her—she added a few rosebushes, beautiful and fragrant and, of course, thorny.
Violet took the magic gathered inside her and poured it into that image like a vast waterfall of power.
There was no stinging or pain or even thorns beneath her skin.
This felt good, yes, but even more, it felt right.
The bramble beneath her hands melted away, and when she heard the harsh intake of breath from her companions, she knew she was done.
Violet opened her eyes and saw what she had created.