Right before she’d stolen the witch queen’s stone potion, her aunt had looked her in the eye and flashed her thin and terrible smile.
“Trust me, child, he will try to control you, in the end. I know what you want, and the only way to get it is through power. Soon enough, you’ll see. He’ll just try to keep you down, and then what will you do? Better to look out for yourself, to loveonlyyourself.”
“Are you all right?”
Imelda glowered. She felt unaccountably angry at him. Angry that he’d made her feel this. Angry, still, that she didn’t know what to do next.
“Ah, then I suppose you really did like being a statue.”
“What?” Imelda snapped.
“I’ve never seen you so silent. We’re practically there.”
Ahead, the enchanted road sloped into a valley surrounded by golden hills. The town was less than an hour’s walk away and lookedalmostordinary. There was a tiny castle, ribbons of houses, and a river flowing through the middle. But the whole thing was completely enclosed by a glass sphere. Flurries of snow drifted past the crystal globe, and frost webbed its way across the surface, like a bowl of winter had toppled over and trapped the town beneath it. Meanwhile, autumn painted the earth outside in streaks of gold.
“How strange,” Imelda said, awestruck.
“That women would rather be statues than suffer my company? Because I was thinking that was more harsh than strange.”
“Oh, stop rooting around for a compliment.”
“Toss me one and I’ll stop searching.”
Imelda looked at him. Autumn light had picked out the bronze undertones of his skin, turned his dark hair lustrous, and softened the hard set of his mouth. Or maybe that was just his smile, which he’d brought out more and more lately. Her pulse quickened.
“For example,” he said magnanimously, “‘Ambrose, you are as fair as the day is long.’”
The day is almost over, the horse cloak contributed.
Ambrose swatted at the hem, and a laugh snuck out of her throat.
“Or ‘Ambrose, you make an exceptional beaver.’”
“Badger.”
“Perhaps ‘Ambrose, thank you for hauling me through God knows where while I was a piece of rock.’”
“Fine,” Imelda groaned. “Thank you.”
Ambrose grinned, and they passed the rest of the hour in a silence that wasn’t stiff or awkward but heavy and, honestly, sad. With each minute, Imelda realized, they were getting closer to the last. The witch would meet them soon, they would hand her the potion, and she, in turn, would give them that which they most desired. The flavor of the fruit of Love’s Keep ghosted across her tongue, promising her freedom and a life spent chasing all her wants. It’s just that, somehow, her wants had also taken the shape of someone she hadn’t expected.
“Today is our last day,” said Imelda.
“Is that what has you so grumpy?”
“I’m just tired, is all.”
A look of pain crossed Ambrose’s face, but he smiled.
“Either way, I promise not to waste it.”
***
The moment Imelda and Ambrose crossed the bridge leading to the snowy town, wintry magic wrapped around them. On the other side of the bridge stood a huge, ice-rimmed castle. Villagers crowded its sprawling lawn. Every few feet, there appeared a magical wonder. Imelda spied an entrance to a garden made entirely of glass. A towering, eight-foot-high merchant wearing a trailing, iridescent coat full of pockets shouted out his wares for sale:
“Angel lilies! Seedlings for unicorns! Truth mirrors and more are here to find! Just let me take a peek inside your mind!”
Strings of frosty lights crisscrossed above them. A carousel of ice and glass floated over the ground, its carved crystalline horses and gryphons leaping off their posts and gallivanting around the palace before settling once more onto their podium when a likely customer ventured past.
