Chapter Thirty

Marigold should be celebrating; she just helped her best friend and her brother come together. Her sister is getting married tomorrow. Lottie Burke has admitted her feelings and her belief in magic.

But all she feels is anger.

She is surrounded by so much love, and yet she cannot have any of it for herself.

It is a cruel trade, a heart for power; she is left questioning whether any of it was worth it.

Of course, if she had not become a witch, she never would have met Lottie in the first place. Is it better to have loved alone than never to have loved at all?

The quiet estate welcomes them home, and they each go up to their respective rooms. August and Frankie elect to keep their own rooms for the night, happy to take it slow. They are soulmates, after all. They have a lifetime together ahead of them. There is no need to rush, to run, to hide. She is extraordinarily happy for them, and wildly jealous. She can hardly stand to look at Lottie without thinking of their last words before they stumbled upon August and Frankie.

I am starved for you.

I did not want to stop.

I still want you.

Want—the word is bitter in the back of her throat. Lottie wants her. She aches for her. She lusts after her.

But she cannot love Marigold without destroying herself.

The two women are standing outside their respective doors, backs turned to each other.

"Mari," Lottie whispers.

"What?"

"Do you think you'll ever be able to break your curse?"

She sighs. The answer is no—tonight's disaster proved that they can't come that close without causing terrible destruction—but she can't bring herself to say it. "I'm not sure. Rest well for the wedding tomorrow, and then we shall figure it out." Marigold pushes through her door before Lottie can respond, and she throws herself onto her bed, weeping wildly.

She gives herself a few moments to grieve, to mourn the love she will never have. Lottie is in the room next door, and it takes every bit of her strength to not rip through the wall just to be by her side. Tonight was the only time she would allow herself to pretend that a kiss between them could mean more than a moment, and now it is over. There is a sharp hopelessness in the pit of her belly that tells her she will never have another night like this.

And now that she is positive her soulmate spell works, it is only a matter of time before Lottie is pulled away to someone else.

Someone whom she can truly love.

Though she does not understand why it could be taking so long. The effects of the spell should have started by now. Why is August already with his soulmate, but Lottie has not felt a singular pull in any direction?

She distracts herself with the book spread open across her bed. Her tears threaten to splash the pages. This book has answered all her questions so far; a history of spirit guardians, the magic of resurrection—it must have something in it that explains what happened back at le cirque des étoiles.

Did she truly summon that storm and then cast it aside? Without a spell or incantation of any kind? And the flames—where did they come from?

She flips toward the back of the book, hoping for any helpful information. This section of the book deals more with how Honey and Ash Witches work together. An interesting passage catches Marigold's eye—what happens when ash magic is close by?

Their energies feed off of each other—air and flame, life and destruction. Proximity increases both of their strengths. An Ash Witch can control the flames and rock, while the Honey Witch can control both air and water. So, she may not have been controlling the weather so much as pushing the air around them and pulling the water from the clouds.

But it wasn't simply a storm. There were wicked flames surrounding them. Does that mean that an Ash Witch was near? Or was it simply the ash magic of the curse rearing its head at their kiss? Her head is spinning as she replays the events of the evening in her mind.

She thinks back to her ailing landv?ttir who await her return to the isle. Could their transformations be an Ash Witch's doing as well?

It must be.

They weren't sick—they had been poisoned. And it is only the beginning. She saw it in her tarot reading and feels it now in the pit of her belly. Something dark is coming, or perhaps it already lies in wait. Her blood is thick with fear and regret from the entire evening. She put her heart, her life, and Lottie's safety at risk. Now she wants nothing more than to return to Innisfree, but despite how terrified she is for the fate of herself and her isle, she cannot leave yet. She could never do that to Aster, no matter how badly she wants to run away. Regardless of whether tonight's destruction was because of the Ash Witch or the curse, she must protect her family from both.

She darts to her bags and spreads her tools across her bed. With a vial of peach blossom honey in her hand, she retrieves cloves, salt, and chili powder from the kitchen to create a protection spell to try to ward off Versa. It takes nearly an hour to reach each corner of the expansive estate and paint that protective arrow, now doubling the number of runes hidden throughout the house and on the backs of her father's paintings. The work calms her, bringing her from a state of panic to one of exhaustion by the time she finishes and comes back to her room. Tears prick her eyes as she finally starts to remove her costume, layer by layer, until only her chemise is left. She removes that, too, and then tugs at the bandages around her torso that protect her tattoo. As she pulls, the bandage rubs against her still-raw skin, but she does not stop.

She welcomes the pain. It is the only distraction, and it hurts less than the truth she has seen on this night. When her skin is exposed, she touches the small bee that sits below the swell of her breasts. Her greatest fear is that this may be all she will ever have of Lottie Burke, but it is not only a fear—it is a promised fate.

She vows now to herself in the mirror to build up her walls, to no longer be flesh and blood, but a girl of ice and stone. She cannot be weak again. She will not give in again.