4. A Witch’s Sanctuary

4

A WITCH’S SANCTUARY

(ROWENA)

W hen I said, “Be on time,” the night before, Riven looked irritated by my tone, but he took it seriously because three hours after sunrise, he knocked at my door.

I’m reading a book on fae spells when I hear the knock. Instantly, I knew he was the one because no one had ever knocked on my door. I open the door to see him draped in gossamer silk, his cloak shimmering with precious gems.

Riven doesn’t need to tell anyone he has royal blood —one look at him, and it’s apparent that he’s regal. He embodies authority.

Then there’s the matter of his hair. The faes are known for having amazing hair, but Riven’s is extraordinary. It’s so long, it goes down his back, and it’s pure silver and obviously silky. When I saw it yesterday, I wanted to run my hand through it. Today, I feel the same way.

“You can stare at me while I’m inside.” He opens his mouth, shattering the fragile bubble I’m enclosed in, reminding me of who he really is.

“I’m skeptical about inviting you into my house,” I say. “I don’t trust you.”

His expression turns serious. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Of course, I’ll just take your word for it,” I answer sarcastically, but hold the door open. “Come in.”

He steps into the house, looking around the space, his head turning in every direction, his gaze hungry to devour everything in his sight. When he sees the bookshelf, he nods and hurries to it.

“Are all these books yours?” He glances at me while running a finger down the binding of one of the volumes.

“Some. My mom owns most of them.”

“Nice.” He doesn’t ask about my mom, and I appreciate that he’s not nosy. I don’t like to talk about her because it’s still a source of hurt to me. “You’ve read them all?”

“Yes.”

“Outstanding.”

His compliments settle on me like a warm blanket during the cold, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter. “Why did you believe that so easily?”

I’m still standing by the door, partly because I’m uneasy with him being in such close quarters with me and majorly because it’s interesting to watch him in my space. It’s a confusing conundrum, and I’m stuck in the middle.

“It’s not so hard to believe.” He turns to me, his hands clasped in front of him. “I’ve read as many books, too. Our bookshelf at home is twice the size of your—-uhm—” he looks around again, and I can tell he’s struggling for the right word. Eventually, he settles on “—hut.”

I’m not offended, but I glare at him because I feel like I should. “Thank you very much. I invite you into my house, and you look down on it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he instantly counters. “Your house is perfect.”

My frown deepens, and there’s suddenly melancholy in his eyes. “You have no idea how perfect your house is,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “As small as it is, you’re alone, and that’s what matters. You answer to no one.”

And? That’s the bane of my existence: Loneliness. Why’s he glamorizing it?

“Do you desire to be alone?” I ask, suddenly interested. Before he arrived, I told myself never to ask him personal questions. If it doesn’t pertain to the curse, then I’m not asking, nor am I interested in the answer. It’s not been a minute since he arrived, and I’m already breaking that. What else will I break in this partnership? What will it cost me?

“That’s my greatest desire,” he answers softly. “To live alone in a place of my own. Answering to no one.”

“You’re a prince.”

“Like I could ever forget.” He flashes a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Talking about identity, what’s yours?”

“What?” I frown.

“Yesterday, you said it’s not your fault I don’t know the Nightshades. It’s not the first time you will speak that name like I should know it,” he answers. “Who are the Nightshades?”

“I told you. They’re the most powerful witch family in the coven.”

“And you’re a Nightshade?” He asks.

“I am.”

“Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Let’s not make this about me.” I purse my lips. “This is about you. Let’s get to why we’re here.”

He nods. “What do I have to do?”

“Tell me about the curse.”

He rolls his eyes. “There’s really nothing to say,” he says uncomfortably. “I was born like this. Been turning into stone at midnight for as long as I can remember.”

“And your family has no idea who may have done this?”

“No.” He shuffles against the wall and stands there, closing his eyes. I stare at his handsome face for a few seconds before frowning.

“Riven, what are you doing?”

His eyes fly open, and he studies me. “I’m preparing myself for your spells,” he says. “Isn’t that why we’re here? To set me free?”

“And you think it’s that easy,” I answer dully. “No spell exists that can set you free, Riven. We have to create a new one, which I’m working on. You can’t rush this process.”

“Oh.” He looks crestfallen, and my heart moves for him.

“But I promise the curse will be lifted.” I walk towards the shelf and pick up one of the old volumes. He quietly watches me as I lower myself onto a tree stump.

“Come take a look at what I found last night while I was reading about the curse.” I flip through the thin pages, and as I do, I feel his imposing presence behind me, and my heart almost stops. I don’t like my body’s reaction to him at all. It’s embarrassing.

I reach the page I’m looking for and sit back so he can see. On the page are different stone statues. They look like beings frozen in time. He gasps and leans forward to touch the images, and his tunic brushes my face.

“They’re like me?” He whispers, glancing at me. “Is this how I look when the curse is upon me?”

That’s when I realized he had never seen himself the way I saw him, so I nodded with a small smile. “Yes. This is what it looks like.”

To my shock, he lowers himself to the ground beside me to read the words under the pictures. After seeing the first word, he turns to me with arched brows.

“This is written in the fae’s old tongue,” he says in surprise. “How can you read it?”

“My mother taught me.”

Again, he doesn’t ask me questions about my mother; he just nods and returns to reading the words.

“In ages past, before the factions divided into separate territories, the faes thrived in vast numbers and unparalleled strength. To weaken them, the witches devised a cruel method: a curse that turned faes into stone, trapping them in a lifeless form for hours. Yet, many faes, sustained by their potent natural essence, managed to shatter the curse after enduring agonizing minutes without breath. For the weaker ones—children and the elderly—a remedy was created. This brew, known as the Restoration Essence, was designed to restore the power needed to break free from the curse.”

Riven glances at me with wide eyes before going over the instructions on how to prepare the brew. The ingredients are simple: moon blossom petals, crystal dew from a silver spring, whisper vine root, sun flare dust, and a hearthstone crystal.

“Why didn’t you make me this brew?” He asks. “It says here that it will set free the weaker souls from the power of the curse.”

He seems excited and hopeful, and my heart breaks for him.

“You’re not one of the weaker souls, Riven.”

“I know, but…” he shrugs. “Whenever the curse comes upon me, my power is the first to take a recess. With my powers gone, I can’t break myself free of it.”

He stares at me, his eyes imploring, but as a witch making herbs and potions since I was born, I have the gut feeling that this brew will not break the curse. But I will try for him because if I don’t, he won’t believe it.

“Will you prepare it?” He asks. “Please.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll keep trying,” he smiles, but the hope in his eyes is still there.

“Fine. I’ll make it.” I rise to my feet and walk into the adjoining room, where there are huge shelves on the wall with different herbs, powders, essences, and a huge cauldron in the center of the room, mounted on top of burning wood.

“You’ll make it right now?” Riven asks, following me into the room. He looks around the space in awe.

“Yeah, Riven. Right now.”

“So, you just happen to have crystal dew from a silver spring and sun flare dust laying around?”

I turn to him with a roll of my eyes. “I am a witch; of course I have those things. Three times a week, I wake up before the first rays of dawn to collect the sun flare dust. It holds the power of the sun and is important in making different types of restoration essences.”

“Oh.” He nods slowly and leans on a desk as I get to work making the brew. It’s the first time I’m working with someone to keep me company, and for some reason, I enjoy it.

“So it’s not your first time making restoration essences?”

“Nope.” I pour the moon blossom petals and crystal dew into the boiling cauldron and stir in a stem of whisper vine. Riven comes to stand beside me, his shoulders touching mine. Is it foolish that it’s just been a day, and I’ve come to trust him not to hurt me? Yes, it's definitely foolish. My mom would hate to see this.

“Who have you made it for?”

“To bring dead animals to life.”

His eyes widen. “You can restore life?”

“Of animals,” I point out.

“What’s the difference between an animal’s life and a higher being’s?”

The brew turns a silvery hue, and I add sun flare dust. As this simmers, I answer Riven. “When it comes to the essence and importance of life, there’s no difference between these two. But the lives of animals aren’t held marked and accounted for, unlike beings like us. When a being dies, their soul has been marked. They have to stay dead; bringing them to life messes up the natural order of things. For animals, no one cares if they die or live, so you can always take back their lives from the spirit realm.”

“Oh.” Riven nods, assimilating my words. “But aren’t you curious to know if you can raise the dead? Not everyone has the power to do that.”

My mom did. She raised the dead, but she didn’t stop there. I know I can probably do the same, but I’m too afraid to find out.

“Take a few steps back,” I tell Riven.

When he obeys, I take the silver fern essence and crush it with my fingers, adding three tiny droplets into the cauldron, and then I stir again. As the brew spits and splashes, I finally dust in the heartstone crystal powder. Right before our eyes, the brew thickens slightly, taking on a faint silvery glow.

I scoop some of this brew into a vial and set it on the desk to cool. River shakes his head. “That doesn’t look like it tastes good.”

I laugh at that. “I wouldn’t know. This brew is only for those with true fae blood. You can tell me how it tastes when you drink it.”

“Ugh.” He shudders dramatically. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“I continue my research,” I answer. “We will find the one that works.”

He nods, and we fall into silence again. When the vial has cooled, I hand it over to him. “Drink.”

He stares into the vial, and his face contorts with hesitation. “I’m just going to gulp it down.”

“No.” I grab his arm, feeling his heat underneath my palm. “You can only take it in three sips.”

“Rowena!” He complains. “This looks like it tastes of death.”

“It gives life.”

With a roll of his eyes, he takes the first sip. I laugh heartily when he struggles not to gasp. With a slight groan, he drinks the second sip. Then, he finishes the brew with the third sip.

“What do you think?” I ask, taking the vial from him.

“Can I drink some water?”

“No, you can't,” I giggle. “Is it that bad?”

“It tastes like sap.” He smacks his lips together. “I hope this works.”

“Do you feel anything inside?”

He pauses, trying to figure out his body, then shakes his head. “No. I feel the same.”

We return to the main room. “You should go,” I tell Riven. “Monitor every change you feel inside, and let me know tomorrow.”

“Same time tomorrow?” His eyes meet mine.

“Yes. Same time.”

“Okay.” He walks to the door and turns to me. “Thank you, Rowena.”

He disappears before I can respond. I know the brew will not work, but for some reason, I’m praying it should so Riven can be happy. The hope in his eyes kills me because I know it’ll be dashed by midnight.

When Riven returns the following day, it’s late evening, and he looks crestfallen. The hope is missing from his eyes, and I just want to hug him close and tell him everything will be alright. Silently, he steps into the house and lowers himself onto one of the tree stumps littered across the floor. I sit across from him, and we stare at each other for a long moment.

“You’re late,” I say. “I thought you would no longer come.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, and the soft strands glide through his fingers like water waves. “I went to sort out some affairs with my father. It was impromptu.”

“Okay.”

“The brew didn’t work,” he says.

I nod. “I figured. I found something else.”

“Let me see.”

Riven follows me to the cauldron room, where there’s an open book on the desk. “I found out that the type of witch who turns a fae into stone determines the severity of the curse,” I explained.

“Oh.” He frowns, skimming the words on the page. “The more powerful a witch is, the harder it is for her curse to be broken.”

“Yes.” I nod. “I saw your stone statue, Riven, and it was severe. You were like ice or glass. Completely unalive.”

He watches me, his eyes full of pain.

“I think a blood witch cursed you. They’re the most powerful type of witches.”

“Okay? It says here that there’s a potion. Should we make it?”

“I already made it.” I nod at the vial on the desk. “I was just waiting for you to arrive.”

“Okay.” He grabs the vial. “How do I drink this?”

“One huge gulp. It’s?—”

He gulps it down before I can say any more, then gags again. “Rowena, that was worse than the restoration essence you made yesterday.”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you! It’s not my fault you’re so impatient.”

He hisses at me and returns to the main room, leaving me to follow, struggling to hold back my laugh.

“It’s getting late,” he says, nodding at the window.

“Yeah.” I lean forward. “Can you stay the night?”

“What?” He shrieks, pulling away as if I’d just asked for his head.

“Relax.” I hold out my arms. “I have my reasons.”

“Oh, so you have more than one reason, yet I can’t think of one possible good one that’ll make you think I’ll stay the night here.”

“So arrogant,” I snap. “And for what? I’m just trying to help.”

“By killing me? We don’t know if the potion will work. What if I stay the night and become a statue in your home? What if you do something to me while I’m here? I can’t defend myself. Minutes before the curse takes effect, my powers will dissipate. What if you kill me?”

“The reason is so I can monitor you and write down everything I notice. It’ll help my research more. I’ve found that there are different stone statues, Riven. If we know your type, we can find a solution quicker. That’s if the potion doesn’t work, and you still turn into stone.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” he says. “What if you kill me?”

I look into his eyes and raise one of my hands. “I swear on my mother’s life. I will not.”

To my shock, he takes my word for it. “Okay. Your reasons are valid enough.”

“You’ll stay?”

“Yes.”

By the time it’s a few minutes to midnight, the curse starts to descend on Riven. I can see him struggling as he meets my eyes, and my heart breaks for him. “Go away, Rowena. Don’t see me like this,” he says.

“But I’ll?—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Go.”

“Okay.” I hurry out of the main room. I’m in the cauldron room moments later when I hear a faint crystalline chime, like the solidification of glass, and I know Riven has now become a lifeless stone in my main room.