Chapter Six

Caoimhe groans at every bump across the uneven path, and as she turns on her side and curls into her husband, Marigold sees the blood that pools beneath her.

So much blood. It runs like a river through the cracks in the bench, seeping into the pores of the wood. Ronan looks over his wife to the puddle of blood by her side, and he chokes on a gasp.

"Ronan," Althea says sharply. "Stay calm. Keep your eyes on me."

He shakes his head. "Is she going to—?"

"No. Do not even say the word. She is going to live."

Marigold clenches her fists as her eyes dart about the carriage. What can she do to help? What even is there to be done? This world is new, but the stakes are high. She cannot fail now, not when she has given up everything for this, not when another woman's life is at risk. She gathers her skirt into her arms until she gets a grip on her petticoat. With one sharp tug, she tears off the ruffles around the hem. Althea glances at her with her brows raised.

"For the blood," Marigold says. The fabric is white and useless, but it is all that she has to offer. She covers the bench as best she can and sits back in the tense silence that consumes the carriage. They tear through streets lined with a mixture of old white clapboard houses and new redbrick structures like that of the Claude estate. A few Gothic cathedrals scrape the sky with their dark spires. The ground becomes more uneven as they get closer to the water, and the lake's coast comes into view.

Landv?ttir are still painting streaks of vibrant orange and pink around the golden glow of the rising sun, but there is no time to marvel at the world around her when death looms over them. Ronan carries his wife from the carriage and into a small boat that has ALTHEA painted in blue letters on the side. Marigold follows her grandmother, and Mr. Benny helps them into the boat as well before squeezing between her and the wooden edge. Without a word, Mr. Benny and her grandmother each begin to pull the oars in perfect time with each other. Water splashes over the sides but they do not slow.

She leans forward into her knees, trying to take up less space as they rip through the water. Caoimhe whimpers in Ronan's arms, and his hold on her tightens. His frantic gaze lands on Marigold, and he sees the fear in her eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She blinks and softens her gaze as she understands her purpose in this moment. Althea will be the one to save Caoimhe—that much is clear. But she can serve as a comfort for Ronan as his entire world cants. She can keep him intact as her grandmother performs a miracle.

"You love her very much," she says. He runs his hand over his face and nods.

"Caoimhe is my angel. I cannot live without her."

Her gaze hardens, feigning certainty. "You won't have to. I promise." Althea quickly pats her on the back as they reach the dock.

Taking in the isle for the first time in years, it's as if her senses are on fire. She is surrounded by beauty and magic but filled with sickening dread. Innisfree is a beautiful haven, with every inch covered in colorful blooms and luscious greenery. Even the bark of the trees seems more vibrant here, with tones leaning closer to red than brown. The song of the birds, the hum of the bees, and Caoimhe's wails of pain create a dissonant cacophony.

Ronan carries Caoimhe out of the boat and onto the dock. Mr. Benny and Marigold each take Althea's hands to help her onto the dock, and they hurry along the stone path that leads to the cottage. Caoimhe reaches for Althea and pulls her close so her whispers go unheard by everyone else. Althea nods. All rush inside as Marigold trails behind. Before entering, Althea turns to her and says, "Stay here for now."

"But Ronan needs—"

"Stay," Althea echoes before closing the door. Air gusts into her, throwing her slightly off-balance. Having just felt the first pull of her purpose, it takes everything for her not to break down that door and get to Ronan before he shatters. He cannot continue to watch his wife suffer alone. She has no idea what sort of ritual or procedure her grandmother is performing, but it must be shocking if she won't even let her witness it. How will she be able to handle situations like this on her own if she can't train alongside Althea? It's not fair. Standing here, falling back into the throes of self-doubt, helps no one. She is a witch, too. She can help. She deserves a place in that room.

Just as she is building up the courage to barge in, the handle twists. Mr. Benny comes out with his arm around Ronan's shoulders, and he closes the door behind them. In any other circumstances, she would bombard them with questions, but she holds her tongue. If not a source of comfort, she is nothing.

"Althea said everything would be fine in a few hours," Ronan says, though his voice shakes.

Marigold nods, looking up through her lashes. "She is right. She will heal Caoimhe." She places a hand on his shoulder as Mr. Benny moves to pat his back. "You can take comfort in that."

"I'll take comfort in her arms when she is all right again," he says sharply.

Mr. Benny dips his chin. "Have faith, Ronan. Althea never makes a promise that she cannot keep. You know this."

A faint cry comes from inside the house, and Ronan gasps. "I must be with her." He turns to the door, but Mr. Benny holds him in place.

"Ronan, she asked you to leave her for now."

Marigold stills. Why is Althea forbidding anyone else to be part of this? It doesn't make sense unless she fears that Caoimhe won't survive. She shakes her head, disrupting the dark thoughts.

"She is not herself! She doesn't know what she's saying," Ronan cries, ineffectively fighting against Mr. Benny's surprising strength.

"You must respect Caoimhe's decision. She does not want anyone other than Althea in the room right now. Her wishes come first."

There's the answer—it's not Althea separating them. It's Caoimhe. She must believe that she will not survive, and she is sparing them all from witnessing her end. At that, Ronan slows until he ceases. He wipes his eyes and says, "I don't understand. Why won't she let me help her now?"

Caoimhe's decision is an act of true love. Even on her deathbed, her final wish is to spare Ronan the lasting image of her passing. Marigold steps closer and says, "You have helped her as much as you can. You cared for her while Althea was away, and you carried her here in your arms. She asks no more of you."

Another cry carries on the wind. Mr. Benny moves to hold on to Ronan, but Ronan doesn't try to run in again. He shudders and says, "If she doesn't want me by her side, I cannot stand here and listen to her scream. I won't be able to stop myself from running to her."

"Come with me, then. We will forage for things that can be used in her aftercare."

He nods, and Mr. Benny steps away from his side. She takes his hand and leads him off the path. She doesn't know this isle any better than he does, but she can pretend. As they walk around the cottage, the sunlight wraps itself around the trees like strings of twinkling lights, and little creatures jump from branch to branch, adding a natural percussion underneath it all.

Innisfree is about ten times bigger than Marigold's meadow. The cottage is surrounded by flower gardens, and the apiary takes up the whole backyard and then some. She hasn't met the bees yet, and to be truthful, she is afraid. The only thing she knows about them is that they sting, and that is the last thing Ronan needs right now. As they walk past it, she counts a total of twelve hives, each five white boxes tall. By her rudimentary calculation, there must be thousands of bees living here. Their buzz hovers over the note of E-flat, creating a meditative hum that calms her and Ronan. His breathing settles into a normal rhythm as they walk. Since she still doesn't know where she's going, she's simply waiting to stumble upon something that looks like a destination.

"How did you and Caoimhe meet?" she asks so he won't notice that she's as good as lost. They weave through the tall trees, pushing branches out of their faces as they walk.

"We grew up together. I've loved her since we were both little kids. I remember pretending to be bad at reading so she would read me stories," he says, followed by a small laugh. He looks up, his blue eyes aglow in the sun. "I would've done anything to get her to talk to me, but she wasn't interested for the longest time."

"You loved her before she loved you?"

He nods. "Everyone loved Caoimhe. Sweet, kind, funny, and smarter than everybody around."

"So how did you get her to choose you?"

"I merely told her the truth. I told her that I'd make it my mission to make her happy. I said that if I wasn't what she wanted, I would make myself become it. I would be soft or strong, funny or serious, a rich man or a farm boy. Anything she wanted. I was willing to defy everything I was for her." He pauses and smiles. "But I didn't have to. She stopped me in the middle of that whole spiel and kissed me because she wanted me as I was, accepted me for who I am. We've been together ever since. Fourteen years. Two kids. A perfect life."

Her heart warms. "Your love story is so beautiful," she says. It's much easier to enjoy love from a distance like this.

He sighs deeply. "As long as she lives, I'll never ask for anything else, never want for more than I have."

"She will live. I know it," she says, and they continue to walk in silence for nearly an hour. The trees finally start to thin, and they find an open meadow filled with wildflowers.

"Here we are!" she says, relieved to have found a place to stop. "We can collect flowers that aid in healing. Lavender, daisies, and goldenrod are all great choices, but you can't go wrong with anything here."

Ronan nods and they move in opposite directions as they work. For every flower Marigold picks, she envisions Caoimhe, perfectly healed and standing alongside her family. Maybe it helps, maybe it does nothing, but it's all she can do. Her fist is full of flowers when she reaches the center of the meadow. There, she finds a small oasis vaguely in the shape of a heart, or a bean for those with weak imaginations. Inside the sparkling clear water is another landv?ttir—she can tell by the bright glowing aura surrounding it. It's a koi fish with brilliant yellow scales all over its body, and it swims in a constant circle around the pool. She gently eases her fingers into the water, and the koi moves beneath her, allowing her hand to run across its body. The midday sun burns bright above her as she imagines what this place will look like when the blue moon rises in its stead, lending its light to the pool below.

She is enamored with the beauty that surrounds her, so much so that she begins to fear that there will never be enough time to enjoy it all. Even if she were granted an eternity here, she would still leave parts of the isle unexplored. It is at this moment that she perfectly understands why her grandmother never wanted to leave this place, and why she must protect it at all costs.

Somehow, the minutes pass like seconds and the sun starts to fall into the twilight. Ronan takes hold of the flowers as the two of them start walking back toward the cottage. They collide with Mr. Benny at the halfway point.

Breathless, Mr. Benny says, "There you are."

"How is she?" Ronan says.

"She is well," he says, pulling Ronan into a hug, and he immediately weeps into his shoulder.

"She's okay. She's okay," Ronan says through sobs. He pulls back and says, "Can I see her now? Please."

"Go to her. She waits for you at the cottage."

At that, Ronan runs, kicking up dirt behind his every step. Marigold beams up at Mr. Benny. "Thank the heavens that Caoimhe is okay. I was terrified for her, and for their family."

"Thank your grandmother, Miss Marigold. She performed a miracle. I never doubted her for a second, and you shouldn't either. You'll be just as powerful as her very soon."

"I do not know about that. I cannot imagine myself handling today the way she did. It feels impossible right now."

"Well, you only just arrived. Give it time. Nothing is impossible here."

When they reach the cottage, Ronan is carrying Caoimhe in his arms down the stone path, kissing her in between every step. Mr. Benny nods to Marigold and Althea as he follows them and helps them both into the boat.

"How did you do it?" she asks her grandmother once everyone else is too far to hear.

"This is what our magic is made for. When a person's life is at risk, we stop at nothing to save them," Althea says, bringing her trembling hand to her forehead and wiping away the sweat. She remained so calm and strong through the whole ordeal, but now the adrenaline is wearing off, and the pain seems to be hitting her in waves.

"I was worried there, too, Marigold. If we were one day late, Caoimhe would not have survived." She covers her mouth with her hand for a moment as she collects herself. "I hope you can understand now why I did not visit Bardshire. It wasn't only because of your mother's wishes. It was because people needed me." She takes a deep, dry breath and leans against the cottage. "You will be able to travel. I swear it. But never forget your purpose while you are away, and always let it guide you back home."

"I will, Grandmother. I promise."

Althea smiles and stands up as straight as she can, opening her arms for Marigold. "Come here, darling girl." Her grandmother holds her as they watch the boat float into the glittering evening, farther and farther until Mr. Benny's lantern can no longer be seen from the dock.

"You did so well in comforting Ronan. I'm so proud of you."

Marigold sighs into her shoulder. "I felt useless through most of it. I don't know if I will ever be able to do what you did." She pulls back and meets her grandmother's gaze. "I can't believe that your magic is powerful enough to save someone from an affliction so dire."

"Our magic, Marigold. You have all the power that I do, and you will have no trouble using it after I train you." She grips her shoulders. "You were made for this. You belong here." Her grandmother takes her hand and ushers her inside for the first time in fifteen years. The door creaks open and leads directly into the kitchen, which is an odd little room filled with much more than typical cookware. The walls are lined with hundreds of jars and vials, all with neatly handwritten labels. On one counter sits a plate full of sweets, but on the other, there is a bowl of black sludge next to an old open book. It smells like rot as she comes closer.

"Is that what you used to heal Caoimhe?"

Althea nods. "Don't get too close to it. You'll make yourself sick. In fact," she says, stepping past her and picking up the bowl, "why don't you head straight to your room? Benny already brought your things inside while you were with Ronan. I'll clean up while you get settled, and we'll explore the rest of the isle tomorrow. I have spent all my energy today."

Taking in the cottage, she can't help but notice all the undone tasks. The walls could use a wash, the floor is decorated with boot prints, and every surface is covered in a layer of dust. Althea hasn't been able to keep this place perfectly clean for some time. "Why don't I clean up for you and you go rest?"

"No, let me. You deserve to start your training in a clean space."

"Grandmother, please let me—"

"Do not think I'm too weak to clean my own kitchen, Mari. Now go on," she says, shooing Marigold out of the kitchen and down the cottage's only hallway. She passes the living room and notes that the green sofa and its pillows desperately need to be fluffed. The rug deserves a decent scrub, and the curtains should be replaced altogether. They're sun-bleached and frayed at the ends. The wood floor of the hallway creaks underneath her step. Her bedroom door is slightly ajar, and she lets herself inside. It has just enough space to feel cozy, yet safe. This room has had more attention recently—new bedding and hardly any dust. She has a beautiful window overlooking the sparkling lake outside, and she can see the beginnings of the apiary. Her bed is large, white, and so very welcoming. Her grandmother has placed a lovely bouquet of marigolds in a vase by her bed that makes the entire room smell like fresh flora.

Marigold starts unpacking her belongings and takes some time to hang her dresses in her wardrobe, which looks to be made of sleek cherrywood. There is a matching vanity with an ornate circular mirror sitting atop it. She witnesses herself for the first time in this new life. Her face looks healthy but quite tired and dull. She starts to undress to then slip on a nightgown, but before she is able to fasten the ribbons into a bow, she crashes into the bed and falls asleep.