Without hesitation, Theodore clapped his bloody hands together, his chanting growing louder as a current of power flowed through him. It felt like the air had been siphoned from the room, pulled tight as a bow string, the tension stretching and stretching until Branock was sure he would burst. His breath was shallow, his mind muddled.
With a snap, a bolt of magic erupted from Theodore, sending Branock stumbling.
The cry of not one, buttwobabes rang in his ears.
He quickly righted himself and reached for the healer holding his daughter, his gaze frantically searching for the other?—
There, by the window. Safe. His son was safe.
But something caught his attention in the sky beyond the window.
His mouth fell open.
A red mist descended from the heavens, draping itself like a blanket over the land. He staggered to the sill. His breath fogged the glass as he peered through the dim moonlight. The red cloud coated the thin line of forests outside his palace grounds, coasting down to meet the tips of the buildings of Veridia City, the trees and gardens, the streets and houses. It settled into the ground and dissipated, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.
He blinked away his disbelief.
“What was?—”
“The cost, Your Majesty,” Theodore said from behind him. Branock whirled, his stomach leaping into his throat.
Evadine.
She still lay unconscious as the midwife and a healer sewed the incision together, but the color had returned to her cheeks, her breaths now deep and even.
“Sh-she’s alive,” he breathed. “Both of them.” He took Theodore’s hands in his own. “Thank you, Gayl. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“You have no idea what this has done, Your Majesty.” Theodore stared into Branock’s eyes. “What you have unleashed upon your empire.”
Branock’s heart stuttered. He wet his lips, a sour lump forming in his throat. “What do you mean?”
“The price of this kind of magic runs deep, Branock.” Theodore extracted himself from Branock’s grasp, glancing at both of the crying babes and their sleeping mother. “But it is not you who will pay it.”
Branock’s eyes strayed to the view of his land outside the window, terror gripping him.
What had he done?
1
Rose
TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS LATER
Islid my hand beneath the counter, feeling around the boxes of metal tins. I knew what each contained simply by touch—I could find anything in this apothecary with my eyes closed. Rounded edges:lavender stems. Chip on the corner:shredded stinging nettle.Ripped label:lemon balm. None of which I needed.
Ah. There it was.
Square tin, still smooth and undented. Hardly touched.Foxglove.
“Can we hurry it along, please?” the customer asked impatiently. I peeked over the counter to see her anxiously looking behind her shoulder to the window leading outside, as if preparing to duck if anyone glimpsed her darkening the doorsteps of my shop.
I bit back a retort and swiftly opened the lid to the tin, pinching the crushed purple petals between my thumb and forefinger, then brought it to the counter and sprinkled them into the tea blend. Shooting the young woman a saccharine smile, I sifted the mixture together, tied the bag with twine, and held it out.
“Here you go, Madeline. That should help you get some more sleep.”
She snatched the bag from my grip so fast one would think I’d burned her. “What’s in it, again?” she demanded.
I cleared my throat. “Valerian root, chamomile, and a dash of lavender.”
