Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

The stones of the courtyard were slick under my feet with the melting frost. Rambler roses, which might lose their blooms in the cold but none of their vivacious climbing tenacity, clawed out of the seams between the flagstones and the wall, clinging like ivy. Their many branches were heavily barbed with tiny red thorns that seized hold of everything , including their fellow roses. A wall of tangled greenery rose to the sky on all four sides.

The sight of the sky unmarred by window glass and the fresh air lifted a weight I hadn't known had settled on my heart. I set my water canteen and the little basket of food Mrs. Bilberry had prepared for me by the foot of the stone bench and craned back with my nose in the air to breathe in deep, savoring this freedom.

Ossian instinctively kept his bare arms tucked tight against his sides. While he'd shed his fox pelt, he was still bootless and shirtless, a thick apron covering just the front of him. Instead of joining Alec on the hunt and leaving me fully unattended at the castle, he'd decided to busy himself with his silversmithing hobby. While gold was inert to magic, silver was not. Ossian hadn't told me what project he was working on, other than to say it was critical to what happened after I summoned the portal to his home realm.

The gooseflesh along his bare arms indicated Ossian was missing the heat of the smithy, but he pulled me down to sit beside him on the little stone bench. It hadn't been engulfed by the unchecked growth of the roses, not yet. The stone would've been freezing had the white fur coat he'd given me not turned away its touch as I sat down, tucking a leg under me.

The fae king took one of my hands in his, thumbs stroking along the ridges of my knuckles. "Open yourself to me, Meadow."

His grip tightened as I tried to yank my hand away. Our training sessions always involved touch. Had this just been a clever ploy, a ruse to lower my guard?

"But—"

I flinched as he reached up and smoothed a lock of hair behind my ear. The golden haze warming the edges of my mind encouraged me to submit.

"It's not what you think, love. Your idea to tap the roses has given me pause. A moment of reflection. Last week I was intent on breaking your curse myself. I was… remiss in upholding my end of the bargain. This is your burden to bear, as much as I hate it, but I can give you the tools to succeed. Now, surrender."

Swallowing thickly, I allowed myself another shudder before dropping my guard. His presence filled my consciousness, uncomfortable but not searing, and we went to the shrouded oak tree of my magic. This time, he kept that painful sparking copper magic to himself and we simply gazed at the chain mail curse. Well, maybe he gazed. I glared.

"I promised you I would help you seize your potential, Meadow, and the path is simple in its explanation," his disembodied voice intoned. In my mind, it rang with the deep bell-like tones of its actual timber, but it held none of its usual warmth.

"One of the differences between a mage, any human with magical ability, and a fae is the way we access our magic," he continued. "Yours is a core, like this tree. Mine is me. It's infused in every cell—we cannot be separated, we cannot be blocked. There is no distinction. It is as much a part of me as my blood, as the texture of my hair, as the color of my eyes.

"You tap your power. That is why witches and warlocks and everything in between will never be as powerful as fae. But, for the few truly talented and powerful, you can become like us."

Become . The word held more meaning to me than anything else he'd said, vibrating in the very center of my being like a strummed harp string.

"You are Violet Ní Dara's true daughter, heir to her power. Your core resembles an oak tree because of her. Now, you must become it, Meadow. Absorb it fully into you until there is no distinction. Its roots will become your feet, its trunk your body, its canopy your mind. Its heart—its true power—will be your heart. Become that, and you will be unstoppable." He chuckled. "Among witches and the mages of this realm, at least."

Ossian released his hold on me then, returning to himself. I opened my eyes to find him staring intently at me, my hand gripped tightly in both of his. My bones shifted painfully.

"In practice, I suppose it is similar to your grounding techniques. Instead of drawing externally, draw internally. Your core is alive, and everything that is alive has a rhythm. A pulse. Feel your magic like you would the plants here. Meld your rhythms together. You can start with simple breathing exercises—match your breath to the pulse you feel. Then your heartbeat to that pulse. The more you free your core of the curse—when you can truly touch your magic again—the easier it will be."

"It'll also be easier if you don't break my hand," I said.

The fae king blinked, his intensity gone, and he released my pale hand. Circulation and the flush of life flooded back into it, and I massaged my knuckles.

"I'm going to shut the courtyard door and seal it from the outside. You need peace and quiet and no distractions for this to work." The fae king withdrew a bell similar to Mrs. Bilberry's from a pouch on his belt and set it on the stone bench. "This bell is enchanted to be heard anywhere in the castle no matter how softly it is rung. Ring this when you're ready to come in, and someone will fetch you."

"Thank you, Ossian," I told him, meaning every word. "You're very kind."

His mouth twitched. "I'm not often called that."

"I don't know why."

"I do." Leaning forward, the fae king braced one large hand on the bench on either side of me, caging me in his arms. The stern instructor of earlier was gone, replaced by this rogue and his penchant for stolen kisses. "Kings are demanding"—he kissed my throat—"and arrogant"—he swirled his tongue in the hollow of my collarbone—"and selfish."

"And presumptuous?" I asked, catching his hands as they tried to unbutton my coat. I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have a secret silver project to work on? And me a curse to lift? Plus a magic tree to become?"

"Or we could just fast-track the return of your magic by other means." Sliding his arm around my back, he swept me to the side and laid me back against the bench, positioning himself between my knees. His hands smoothed down my legs, scrunching up my dress as his eyes shone with hunger.

Memory roused with a sense of déjà vu as the golden haze threatened to overcome my inhibitions, but a little tug on my heart and a tiny voice whispered, No .

A gentle kick to his chest left a frosty outline of my boot against his leather apron and forced Ossian back enough so I could cross my ankles. Pillowing my hands behind my head, I fought for nonchalance and just barely succeeded. "We discussed this. Letting you bed me might open another pathway to my magic via the fated mate bond. But we have no way of knowing if that will even break the curse on me. Nor if it will cause the curse to pass on to you too." If the both of us were cursed, we'd never get into Elfame.

He tapped my knees, prompting me to unhook my ankles and allow him access. "Well we certainly won't know if we don't try."

My legs remained firmly crossed, resolute against the golden haze lapping at the edges of my consciousness, lulling me into submission. "You're incorrigible."

"You mean, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to free your magic? What a magnanimous king I am." Ossian braced his hands on either side of my head and leaned down, kissing me in that fierce way of his. "Then make haste, love. I don't know for how much longer I can resist keeping my hands to myself."

It took more effort than I cared to admit not to react to his words. So much of me wanted to succumb to what the golden haze promised, yet that little voice… Thankfully my voice was strong when I replied, "Bye, Ossian."

He snorted, nipping my earlobe before straightening. It was so sharp I thought he drew blood, but there was no stain of red on his lips. "Enjoy your cold rosy purgatory."

I popped upright like a winter spruce who'd just shed the snow from its boughs and said with peppy cheerfulness, "I will, thank you." The cold wouldn't bother me. I had more freedom in this tiny courtyard than I had in that entire castle, and I was going to savor it.

Ossian gave me a suspicious look. "Did you finish all of your tonic today? You're acting… different."

"Maybe I'm excited to be outside? Maybe I get a little punchy when I don't get enough sleep and drain what energy I have fighting mice and bears?" I shrugged. "I'd like to focus what little I have left on this stupid curse now, if you don't mind. Shoo."

He eyed me for a moment then grunted his acknowledgement. Careful not to touch the barbed wire of the roses, the fae king left, and I most definitely watched him leave, my lower lip pinched between my teeth. By the Green Mother, he was stunning. And yet, despite all the time we spent together, so much of him remained a mystery.

Like the gemstones on the golden wire necklace—why would a fae king as powerful as him need so many magic caches? Unless it had something to do with his exile? And that big blue one at the necklace's center? It was always glowing, always channeling, though the smaller ones only twinkled with power every once in a while. And if he had so many, why didn't he offer to use those caches to help set me free? Or let me use the crystals I had charged? It's not like I couldn't recharge them when I was stronger. My own amazonite pendant was drained—though I couldn't remember why—otherwise I would've used it myself. As it was, I was too exhausted at the end of the day to even remember to charge it.

And there were times when I caught him running a hand through his curls, which I'd normally attribute to anxiety or frustration, but as strange as it sounded, it looked like he was feeling his scalp for something. And always in the same two spots, as if he expected to find horns growing there.

Stranger still, sometimes his shadow looked different, his legs reverse-jointed at the knee like a deer's.

The glow of copper light from the keyhole roused me from my ponderings, the sound of retreating footsteps spurring me to focus on the reason I was here.

"First things first, and second things second. Lift the curse, then open the portal to Elfame," I said aloud, as if I needed the reminder. I'd made Ossian a fae bargain to open that portal, since ancient magic prevented him from doing it himself. He'd been against the bargain, but I'd insisted out of love. Though, for the life of me, I didn't know why I'd restricted myself to a deadline of three days before the winter solstice.

A date that was rapidly approaching. Thistle thorns.

There was nothing for it. Peeling off my gloves, I stuck them into the coat pocket before I carefully took hold of the rambler roses. With my magic more or less sealed off, any injury I sustained, even thorn pricks, would have to heal the long way.

The last thing I saw was my exhale misting against the backs of my hands, and then I looked inward.

Hello, friend , I greeted the oak tree of my magic.

The chain mail net of Grandmother's curse, each link shaped like a leaf, dulled the tree's golden-green glow. Stole it, rather. It was a clever piece of magic—my own core sustained the net. It was a parasite with adhesive tendrils like those of a five-finger ivy vine along a walnut tree, fusing and climbing ever higher. But unlike a five-finger ivy, which a gardener could rip clean off a tree so long as the main vine wasn't too thick, I had to detach it link by link.

Unless I had a powerful cache like the Hawthorne ember to draw upon.

That's where the green life energy from the roses came in. A green witch could tap that, borrow it, and I was hoping to weaken entire sections, not just individual links.

Instead of grounding as I had done so many times before, since my feet were shielded by leather and blocked by stone, I turned my attention to my hands. Handing , the act of grounding myself through my hands. In theory. But why not? It was this same agility of mind that would help me merge with the oak tree once it was free and become … whatever I was supposed to be.

We can do this, right? I asked the oak tree, rolling my shoulders.

A voice answered me, "We obey one rule, child. The only rule that governs Nature itself: growth."

I startled, losing my focus. By the Green Mother, that voice was so familiar. I'd heard it before but I couldn't place it. Had it come from the oak tree?

Was that a little breeze playing in its trapped leaves? Had it awakened?

I eagerly clamped down harder on the rambler roses, ignoring the thorns biting into my palms. Well, if that woman's voice in my head was correct, growth could explain the exact thing I was doing: adapting my grounding technique from my feet to my hands.

Invigorated, I concentrated on mimicking that feeling, of drawing up strength from the ground through my feet and legs and into my core, instead tapping the strength of these vivacious rambler roses through my arms.

I pulled like I was reeling my canoe to shore from where it was moored at the dock in the lake on the Hawthorne estate. It was a strenuous process, overcoming that initial hump of static friction, but just like the canoe, the green life energy eventually surged forward.

Gasping with delight, I nearly lost hold of it.

Focus , I cajoled myself, subconsciously aware of the many times my own grandmother had told me the same thing.

The energy of the rambler rose trickled into me slowly but steadily, nowhere near as powerful as that from the earth, but these roses were tenacious. I quickly directed it to the hem of the net by the oak tree's roots. It fused with my own magic, boosting it, and four links dissolved.

It was just like when I'd used the Hawthorne ember (albeit on a smaller scale)! Gleeful, I pulled more from the roses and dissolved another tiny section. Ha-cha!

As I pulled a third time, the rose vines beneath my hands shattered. Abandoning my efforts, I opened my eyes to find my fists full of brittle brown branches. Even the red thorns were a dark brown. There was a snap, and then the entire rose crumbled to a heap on the ground. I'd sucked the very life out of this plant.

"Oh no!" Horrified, I dropped to my knees and brushed away the debris until I could seize hold of the main stock sticking out of the seam between the wall and ground. Sacrificing a piece of my magic, I healed the poor plant, not stopping until a fresh, light green sprout spurted from the stump. "Thank the Green Mother."

Shaking, I brushed the brown bits from my hands. I'd never planned on draining the rose to the brink of death! To suck the magic and life out of something, even if it was just a rose, for my own selfish gain? I wasn't that cruel… or that desperate yet. Closer to the winter solstice, I just might be.

"No," I promised myself, turning to the next rose. "Not even then."

I would proceed much more carefully this time. But I wouldn't stop until I'd tapped each and every rose bush in this little courtyard.