Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, Marigold thinks herself the first to wake, but as she goes outside to see the spirits paint the sunrise, she finds Lottie sitting in the gardens with a sketchbook.

"Hello," she says, her voice startling the pencil out of Lottie's hand.

"Sorry!" she says quickly, raising her hands innocently. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I didn't expect to see you here."

"It's fine," Lottie says as she gathers her things and stands up next to her. "I couldn't sleep, so I was drawing for a little bit. I always draw when I can't sleep."

The grass is dewy and warm as she steps forward. "Can I see some of your work?"

Lottie flips through the pages and shakes her head. "Maybe when I finish this next one. I don't want to show you anything undone."

"All right, then. I will leave you to it," she says as she turns to walk back inside.

"Hey, Marigold?" Lottie says.

She freezes. That is the first time she has heard Lottie say her name. It's melodic, almost haunting, like it could lure her into the sea.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for yesterday," she says, and she smiles again.

"Of course," Marigold says, their eyes locked on each other. She nearly turns back to go inside, but she pauses. "Can I ask you a question?" Her curiosity regarding the woman has been gnawing at her since she arrived. What is her story? What are her secrets? What more will Marigold discover if Lottie's walls keep coming down?"

"I can't promise an answer, but go ahead."

"Before you met August, what was your life like?"

The woman is taken aback. Sorrow flickers in her bright green eyes. "It was lonely," she finally says. "Very lonely."

Marigold nods in understanding. She was lonely before August came back, too. But there seems to be more to Lottie's loneliness, another layer of hurt beneath it. To her surprise, Lottie continues speaking without her having to press the woman for more information.

"My parents died when I was very young. I was an orphan living on the streets of Lenox, then briefly at an orphanage, and then I met August in school. The two of us became so close so fast, and his parents had always wanted a daughter. So, one day, they asked me to come home with them. And I did." An incredulous smile blooms across her face, as if she still cannot comprehend their kindness. "It was the best day of my life. I'm so lucky to have him."

Marigold basks in the warmth of that smile for as long as she can before she nods. She is actually doing it—she is breaking down the walls of Lottie Burke.

But there is something else happening in her heart. Every time Lottie smiles, every time she stands too close, every time they are alone in a room together, something in the air changes. It feels like having a cool drink on a summer day or a warm fire in the middle of winter, like suddenly everything she needs is right there with her, and she can sink into a sense of peace.

It's a heartbreak waiting to happen. Marigold cannot give in to it.

"He's lucky to have you, too," she says before going back inside to make breakfast.

The table is set for three and includes fresh coffee, scrambled eggs, and pancakes with honey. Lottie, August, and Marigold take their respective seats before it all gets cold.

"Do you eat honey with every meal?" Lottie says in her signature dry tone. August shoots her a look.

"Well, yes," Marigold says with a laugh. "It's the one thing I'll never run out of."

"Do you ever get tired of it?" August chimes in.

"Not at all. You two might think of honey as one flavor, one color, one note. But I know honey to be a magical thing, with so many different variations that it would be impossible to tire of them all in a single lifetime. Would you believe me if I told you that some forms of honey are not even sweet? They can be quite strong and bitter, almost like coffee."

"Imagine trying to sweeten your drink with honey like that. You'd be in for a cruel surprise," Lottie says with a laugh, and Marigold smiles. Lottie is starting to soften around her, although that may not be a good thing. Her heart is precariously placed on her sleeve, and with Lottie warming to her, she fears her heart may leap before she can stop it, and that would be tragic for all of them.

"Are there other types of witches?" August says.

"There are. It's a law of nature that everything has an equal opposite. There are Honey Witches, and then there are Ash Witches."

"What makes them opposites?"

"I believe it comes from the fact that when bees encounter smoke, it inhibits their ability to attack. Burning things until they turn to ash is part of the art of beekeeping for most, though I have the ability to calm them without the aid of anything else. As far as magic is involved, an Ash Witch enchants the remnants of what is burned, while a Honey Witch enchants the honey that is made. There is a long and complicated history involving an Ash Witch and Innisfree, but I will spare you the details. All you need to know is that she is dangerous, and my protection spells keep her away."

"Wow, it sounds completely real and not at all like a bunch of mythcraft," Lottie says.

Marigold does not acknowledge the insult. She simply sips her coffee and grins. "I want to take you both on a tour to show you how my magic works," she says, her voice dripping with confidence. Today will be the day that Lottie sees the apiary. No one could deny the existence of magic from inside such a magical place.

"Wonderful!" August nearly leaps over to her side. His excitement is infectious; he reminds Marigold of herself when she first came to the isle. Every moment, every inch of the world around was thrilling and perfect—an entire life steeped in magic.

Even Lottie's mood seems to lighten from August's joy as Marigold leads them both outside to the apiary. As the door opens, the pink-stained sun meets their skin. The wind carries the sweet scent of honey and lilac, just above the notes of pine and rain.

"Actually, wait. Lottie, do you have anything else to wear?"

Lottie adjusts her long sleeves and tight collar. "What is wrong with this?"

"Besides the fact that it is summer and you are wearing a dress that is meant for the dead of winter?"

Crossing her arms, she says, "Yes. Besides that."

"The bees do not like dark colors. That black dress will make them think you're a predator." Not that they would be wrong about that.

"Are they going to sting me?" she asks, stepping back slightly.

"You'll be safe as long as you stay close to me," she says as she leads them through the white gate. Hundreds of bees dance around their hives, their buzzes resolving into a soft melody. Marigold walks forward fearlessly, eager to greet them. The bees nuzzle up to her and bumble around like a living aura, a yellow halo around her frame.

"They're attacking!" Lottie yells.

Marigold laughs. "They're not attacking, silly. They're simply saying hello." She extends her hand outward and sends the bees gently in Lottie's direction. Lottie jumps back and stumbles into August, taking them both down to the soft, warm grass. The bees float to the ground and bumble softly around the tangled pair, who have yet to let their guard down for the gentle creatures. Lottie at least pretends she is not afraid, while August's fear is much less subtle. He clings to his shirt collar as a child grips their blanket in the dark.

"They won't sting you. I promise." The bees crowd in her palm.

"How do you know?" August whimpers.

"Because they listen to me, and I have told them not to," she says. The bees begin to fly faster around her, turning their gentle bumble into an angry swarm. She flashes a wicked grin and says, "But don't cross me, August Owens."

She giggles as her friends drop their jaws in response to the bees' performance. August and Lottie find their way to their feet.

"That's incredible," he says, marveling as the bees flit around them like snowflakes. "Hey, little guy," August says as he opens his hand, allowing a bee to land in his palm.

"She's actually a female bee. All worker bees are female."

He examines the tiny insect in his hand. "What do the males do?"

Marigold shrugs. "They don't do much; they merely hope to be the one who is picked to mate with the queen and then they die."

"Harsh," he says as he places a hand over his heart.

"It's the truth. They're called drones."

August takes Lottie's hand, and for a moment when she sees this, Marigold thinks she has been stung. She hasn't, of course. But seeing Lottie hold someone else's hand feels awfully sharp. She averts her gaze, and the feeling passes as she continues forward.

"So, welcome to the apiary. Each hive makes a different kind of honey. I work with the bees and tell them which flowers to pull nectar from, and they return it to the hive. When they release it into the wax, which they shape into hexagons to help stabilize the structure of the honeycomb, they flap their wings to dehydrate the nectar into honey. After I harvest the honey, that hive can make something new." She takes the white wooden lid off the top of one of the boxes and props it up. Reaching in, she peels off a piece of the wax cap that covers the honeycomb, and she lets the honey drip onto her fingers.

"Would you like to try some?" she asks with a motion of her other hand. Lottie stays behind, still skeptical of Marigold's power over the bees. August, however, releases his hand and comes up.

"I'm too scared to put my own hand in the hive," August whispers.

"Here." She dips her finger back into the honey and brings it up to August's lips.

He tastes it and smiles wide. "It tastes like lavender."

"It is, actually," Marigold replies. "It's summer, so we have clover, peach blossom, tupelo, and lavender honey. This honey is made from lavender nectar, and it's primarily used in love spells."

"Of course, it is," Lottie says from her stance in front of the door to the house.

August rolls his eyes at his rude and skeptical friend. "Come try it. Don't be a coward."

Marigold smirks. Unable to resist a challenge, Lottie walks forward, slowly relaxing her shoulders. She stands so close Marigold can smell her: vanilla and sandalwood.

She takes her honeyed fingers out of the hive and holds them up to Lottie's lips. Lottie looks up at her through her heavy brown lashes and smirks. She parts her flushed lips and wraps them around Marigold's two fingers. Her tongue tickles her fingertips, and Marigold acknowledges it with a breathy laugh. Lottie smiles as she slowly pulls her lips away, leaving Marigold's fingers glistening and warm.

She tries to pretend that it feels exactly the same as when she had August's lips wrapped around her fingers, but it does not. Here, with her, there is much more heat.

The two finally break from their trance and fumble with a response.

"Maybe it does taste a little like lavender," Lottie says as she savors the sweetness on her tongue. She leans in closer to Marigold, as if she intends to take her waiting fingers back into her mouth. When she is close enough to taste, she smiles. "Still a bunch of mythcraft, though."

Marigold grimaces. She would like for Lottie to get stung right now, if only to shut her up. Unfortunately, the bees are listening, and one of them takes her idea and runs with it. Or rather, stings with it.

Lottie yelps and slaps her hand over her lip, where a needle-sharp stinger has poked into her skin.

"DAMMIT!" she cries, and Marigold spirals into a panic. It was an accident. Lottie was being so frustrating and negative and rude, especially after the moment they shared then. Or, the moment that she thought they shared. Maybe she imagined the way Lottie's gaze lingered on her. She must have, because she is cursed. Lottie, or anyone else, could never look at her the way that she thought she just saw.

She feels such a fool as she hurries to Lottie to help her. She reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a bottle of royal jelly—a substance made by bees to feed the queen and their babies. It is also a form of magic in itself, and when used by a Honey Witch, it can heal any wound it touches.

"Let me see it."

Lottie is still writhing in pain and refuses to pull her hand away.

Marigold places a soft hand over her wrist and gently strokes her skin with her thumb. "Please, let me," she says. Pain wells in Lottie's eyes as she slowly drops her hand. The stinger has fallen out, and her lip is already swelling. Marigold takes off the lid of the royal jelly and scoops up some of it on her thumb. She then drags the salve across Lottie's swollen skin, over and over again until she is soothed. They breathe in time with each other. Lottie brings her hand back up to her lip and tries to touch her wound, in disbelief that it is already healed. Her fingers brush against Marigold's, and the two share a gentle gasp. Marigold pulls her hand away and puts the royal jelly back in her pocket.

"Better?" she asks, her gaze not leaving Lottie's eyes for a second.

Nodding, she says, "You said that they listen to you and you told them not to sting us."

"Well, yes, but I also said not to cross me," Marigold says with an attempted laugh that comes off ruder than she intends. "And then," she stumbles over her words. "You… you were going on with all your mythcraft nonsense…"

"My mythcraft nonsense?" Lottie interrupts.

"Yes, that silly word that you made up. And it frustrated me, and I thought about how I would like you to hush. I didn't realize that the bee would actually act on that thought, and I'm sorry."

Lottie bites her tongue, which must be hard to do with a swollen lip. "At least that one can't sting anyone else," she says.

Marigold's eyes widen. How could she forget about this? Her bees never sting anyone. She has never had to deal with this before. But of course, it remains true that if a bee stings, it loses its stinger and dies. The thought of this poor little honeybee dying on her behalf, and for someone as hateful as Lottie, breaks Marigold's heart. She leaps up from her crouched position in front of Lottie and looks frantically around among the tall grass.

"Help me find her," Marigold commands, panic shaking her voice. August and Lottie approach and begin to follow suit, looking for the tiny yellow body among the sea of grass.

It is August who stumbles upon her and picks her up in his palm. "Here, I've got her."

Marigold runs to him and gently holds the bee in her fist with her eyes closed. She takes a deep breath that stretches out every wrinkle of her lungs, and she centers herself in her own power. She has only ever brought plants and flowers back to life, but she wonders if she can use the same method to save this bee. To bring her back home.

She continues her deep breathing and focuses on the creature in her palm. The magic in the air pours out from the wild things that surround them. The trees, the birds, the roses, the worms. She feels the wild heartbeat of them all as she channels that energy into the bee. Talaya, the snakelike spirit guardian of the apiary, slithers slowly toward her, granting her all the magic she needs. Her energy drains swiftly, as it always does when she utilizes this power, but when she pulls her hands apart, it doesn't work. The bee is still dead, and there is nothing she can do. Her legs wobble with exhaustion.

"I failed her." She can hardly speak. She desperately needs rest.

"It's just a bug," Lottie says.

She clenches her jaw. "You do not understand." Her voice is a weak whisper.

Lottie places her hand on her hip. "We can agree on that."

The two glare at each other until Marigold says, "Entertain yourselves for the day. I'm no longer up to the task." She turns to go back inside.

"Oh, come on. Do not be so dramatic," Lottie calls after her, but she does not turn. Their voices grow quiet as she gets farther away.

Marigold has passed through the gate and is standing at the door to the cottage when she hardly hears Lottie say, "Watch out for that snake."

"Snake? Where?" August yelps.

"Open your eyes. It's right in front of you."

"Stop messing with me! I can't see it!"

Is she talking about Talaya? Can Lottie Burke, somehow, in some way, see the landv?ttir? If so, it begs the question—what else can this impossible girl do?