I watch as a beautiful golden light that looks like the mist covering a sunrise swirls out of Azalea’s mouth, through the air, and lands in the witch’s palm.
Dianthus tsks, shaking her head back and forth. “You should’ve done as you promised. Now, this will be mine until we’re done talking.”
Azalea grabs her throat and tries to shout, but it’s a futile attempt. Nothing can be heard besides the air she expels from her lungs. She made a promise, and the witch had the consequences in mind that she didn’t need to verbalize for the promise to be in effect. Now, she has Azalea’s voice until she’s done with whatever the fuck any of this is.
My eyes scream my apology at her.I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to tell you about the promise. I’m sorry for ever agreeing to this curse. I’m sorry for getting you roped into all of this madness with me. I’m sorry for not letting you die peacefully. I’m sorry for not letting you go. I’m so, so sorry.
“Now, you might be wondering why I’m picking on our sweet little Prince Braxton.” I garble my response around my invisible gag. “And despite what I’m sure he would leave you to believe, I’m not some heartless bitch that likes to draft up curses for fun. Curses are actually worse for the caster than the castee, so believe me when I tell you this was all worth it for me.”
Dianthus picks at her plum-colored nails, purposefully drawing out the next part of her story for dramatic effect. I’ve sat through too many of her horrendous monologues not to know exactly what she’s doing.
“It’s actually a fun little story. Well, fun for me now that it’s coming to its long-awaited end. Since you both love to research curses so much, you might be aware that a witch’s age is often tied to her magic, which is why we have to be careful with howmuch and how often we use it, as well as the strength of our spells. If a witch runs out of magic, or it’s somehow taken from her, she begins to age like any normal human and will eventually die.”
Azalea sits back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. I know that look. I’ve had that look pointed at me for the last few centuries. She’s fantasizing about the different ways she could kill Dianthus right now, and damn if that doesn’t have me a little turned on, which I’m well aware is fucked up given the current situation we’re in.
“Focus, Braxton,” Dianthus snap her fingers at me, drawing my attention back to her. She’s stalking around the table, the dark train of her dress trailing behind her on the floor like a small pool of silk. “So,yourfather,” she points one of her dagger-like fingernails at me, “funny enough, is the entire reason you’re in this mess. You see, he made an agreement with my sweet, innocent daughter.”
My brows pull together. I have no recollection of my father ever mentioning any kind of agreement he made with a witch; nonetheless that Dianthus has a daughter. In fact, growing up, my father was always viciously against ever turning to magic to try and solve any problems, big or small.
“Long story short, she got into a bad deal with your father. She was still so young and fragile. She didn’t know better. She didn’t understand the consequences of wielding too much power.” Dianthus clears her throat, and for the first time, I see a flicker of pain in her eyes. A pain I never knew she was masking but is clear as day now as she talks about her daughter. She shakes her head, and just like that, her walls are back up, her malevolence shining through. “It was a deal to save the kingdom, except your father hid how much disrepair he had put the kingdom in. What should have been a simple snap of her fingers became much more complex.”
There are so many questions racing through my mind, but I’m unable to voice any of them. Even if I could speak, I don’t know if I’d be able to string the right words together to garner the answers I need.
“The reason your kingdom was in such a horrid state, filled with famine, disease, death, and what have you, was because your father made a previous deal with a different, very powerful, mage. One that would guarantee him his early spot on the throne. But, when the time came for him to pay his end of the bargain, your father refused. Unlucky for him, he didn’t read the fine print. I guess the lack of intelligence runs in the family.” Dianthus winks at me, and my scowl intensifies. “The mage agreed to make him king in exchange for whatever goods he could ever want from the kingdom. Your father wasn’t prepared for him to ask for the most valuable items he had to offer. You see, the mage was looking for new objects to tether his magic to. One of those things included your mother, and your father refused. Thus, the curse was born.” Dianthus claps her hands as if this is all some kind of grand play.
“The mage cursed your father to a failing kingdom until his dying breath. That’s when the disease, famine, and death all started to run rampant. So your father struck a deal withmydaughter, who had barely grown into her magic. It seemed like a simple enough deal to restore some land back to health, but when it’s being caused by a powerful curse it becomes significantly more complex. My daughter was bound to her promise though, so in order to break the curse, every last drop of my daughter’s magic was fed into the land to eradicate the magic that was hurting it. She lost all of it.”
“When a witch has her magic sucked out of her like that, it takes her life force with it. She came back to me a shriveled old woman teetering on the cusp of life and death. Precious time I could have spent with my daughter was stolen from me, andthere was nothing I could do to reverse it. I had toburyher. And the worst part of all of it? Your father came out unscathed. His kingdom was restored, and she was too weak to ever collect on her end of the bargain they made, which would have been you, Braxton. Your father bartered you. My daughter dreamed of being a mother, but the celestials had something else in mind for her. Still, she longed for a baby, and so that’s what she asked for. His first born, and your father agreed.”
As much as I try not to have a reaction, I feel my shoulders stiffen, and I know from the cruel curl of Dianthus’s mouth that she noticed it.
“Regardless, no one knew the sacrifice my daughter made to bring the people of his kingdom back to health, and restore where they lived, because your father was too ashamed to tell the truth. And because of the binding of the magic, I couldn’t touch him. Not until my daughter passed. Only then would I have been able to extract my revenge, but the useless, selfish, shriveled man died before I had that chance.”
My head is spinning as I try to take in everything that Dianthus just brought to light for me. True to what Dianthus was saying, my father never mentioned any of this as he prepared me for taking over the kingdom. He only talked of the sacrifices he made, and implored I never turn to magic if I ever need help.
Dianthus looks between me and Azalea. “I will let you know, though, that it wasn’t your father’s actions that caused me to curse you. It was your own. When you came to me that night, and you were willing to make the sacrifice you did to save her, I knew you were cut from the same cloth as him. Possibly worse. When you—” Dianthus stops when she sees my eyes dart to Azalea, who is hanging onto her every word. Her eyes glimmer with a newfound evil, as she remembers that Azalea doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what I sacrificed to bring her back to life.
“Oh, I know that look,” Dianthus coos turning to Azalea. “You want to know what he sacrificed, don’t you?”
Azalea’s face becomes a mask of cool indifference, but it’s too late. My heart hammers against my chest. This is it. She’s going to find out the full truth. Everything I refused to tell her.
“Well, you’re in luck, little rose, because I’m going to give you a gift.” Dianthus props herself up on the table so that her back is to me and she’s facing Azalea. “I’m going to restore your memories.” Dianthus gives me a spiteful glance over her shoulder. “Allof your memories.”
61
Azalea
Mythroatconstricts.Iwant to scream, but there’s a vacancy in me where my voice once resided. I can only make sense of bits and pieces of what Dianthus is saying, leaving me utterly confused.
She’s right, though, I want to, no, Ineedto know what Braxton sacrificed, what he hasn’t been telling me.
Dianthus lifts her hand and snaps her long fingers, and I feel a warmth coat my throat before I break into a coughing fit.
“You bitch,” I choke out, as my voice returns to me. Before I can react, she grips the sides of my face, squeezing painfully tight. I refuse to wince when the sharp tips of her nails dig into my squishy flesh, but I can’t stop the layer of mist that coats my eyes from the sharp sting.
Yanking my face toward hers, she practically hisses, “Be grateful, or I’ll take it away again.”
She throws me back in my chair, and my head smacks against the wood backing, rendering me momentarily dizzy.
