“She will stay outside like the insect that she is.”
Marigold doesn’t have the strength to fight. Chesha’s grip on her is already bruising her. If she pulls too hard, the landvættir will crush her bones.
“Go, Lottie. I’ll be fine here.”
Lottie tightens her arms around her. “I cannot let you—”
“Pet. Come!” Versa commands.
“Please,” Marigold says. “Neither one of us needs to suffer more tonight. Follow her. It will be okay. I love you so much.”
“I love you,” Lottie says, reaching up to her face. “I just started loving you the way I want to. I can’t leave you.”
“She is not going anywhere. She’ll be working through the night to create flora for us to burn.” Versa pulls Lottie off her and grabs Marigold by the throat. “Isn’t that right, Honey Witch? When we wake up, there will be gardens waiting for us. There will be dire consequences, if not. Who knows who will reap the worst of my punishments? You, or my pet?”
With that, her twisted fingers thread back into Lottie’s hair and tug her away. They close the door, and Marigold is alone.
Fearful of what punishment could await either one of them, she works through the night, exhausting all her magic and energy to regrow the beauty that was burned. Roses, oak trees, bloodred berries, rows of lavender, and ivy vines. Chesha’s grip never wavers in strength and does not yield. Through it all, she thinks of Lottie. In her wildest dreams, they are far away from this. They kiss in the mornings and Marigold brings her tea in bed. They can hardly escape each other’s arms. The moon rises early just to watch them dance. There is no ash, no curse, no pain. They have all that they have ever truly wanted—love. Unconditional, all-encompassing, damn-near-suffocating love. She wants all of it, too much of it. She would let herself drown in it. That would be the perfect little death.
When morning comes, it is not Lottie who wakes her. It’s Versa and the smell of sour smoke. The gardens that she healed through the night are on fire.
Crack.
Snap.
Gone.
Versa kicks her in the ribs. “Get up. Do it again.”
Breathless, she says, “Where is Lottie?”
“Training. She will not see you until she is strong enough to kill you if she must.”
Horrific visions flash in her mind of Versa poisoning Lottie against her. Lottie’s words from the battle echo in her ears: “Marigold does not love me.” That’s what Versa forced her to say. What if she starts to believe it?
It goes on like this for three days. Everything she creates, Versa destroys. On the third day, when she has had no food or water or honey to replenish her magic, she breaks. Her blood feels too thin in her veins. Her bones are her heaviest burden. Every breath is a reminder that all this pain is earned. Lottie felt this every time they kissed. Every time they got too close. Every time Marigold pushed her too far.
She does not scream. She does not cry. She sits with her punishment, makes friends with it, pours it a cup of tea sweetened with her blood. That is her only choice.
That night, Lottie comes to her with food and water. Chesha stands guard, one hand still firm on Marigold’s wrist.
“I am so sorry I couldn’t come to you earlier,” Lottie says, kneeling beside her. “Her magic trapped us all inside. She’s been forcing me and the other landvættir to try to heal her.”
“How… did you… get out?” she asks between ragged breaths.
“I have been studying. I learned how to undo her spell.”
She brings a cup to Marigold’s cracked lips, and the water is so cold it feels like it’s shredding her mouth. She spits it out.
“You must drink, my love.”
She nods, letting Lottie bring the cup back to her lips. She forces herself to swallow.
“My… love…” she says.
“You must understand, Marigold. I took this power for us. I am going to find a way to end her myself. I’ll burn that house from the inside if I have to. Give me a little time.”
It’s no use. Lottie will not be able to defeat Versa in whatever short amount of time Marigold has left of this life.
