Without honey, she is nothing.
“Let me go, Lottie. You must think of yourself. You have to survive her without me.”
“I cannot, Marigold. You are the other half of me.” She reaches into the bodice of her dress and pulls out her soulmate spell. It glows as she brings it close. “You are my soulmate.”
She tries to gasp, but the air shreds her dry throat. “What?”
“I felt it the moment the ritual was complete. It was you all along.” She kisses her softly, wary of hurting her, but Marigold does not care. She forces herself to sit up and take Lottie’s perfect face into her free hand.
“You’re mine,” she says, weeping.
“I’m yours. And I will not let you die here.”
Their kiss deepens, breathing life back into her. She tastes Lottie’s magic as it mixes with her own—this warm, sweet ash. Still entangled in the kiss, she reaches for the soulmate spell around Lottie’s neck. It’s warm in her hand. She runs her fingers along the glass, feeling the curves and points of the heart shape.
Lemon seeds.
Rose petals.
Moon water.
And honey. Sweet, soft lavender honey.
“Lottie, the spell,” she whispers. “It’s honey.”
Lottie pulls back, nodding. “Of course.”
“No, you are not hearing me, my love. It’shoney.”
Confused, Lottie tries to give her more water, but she pushes it away with the back of her hand and tightens her grip on the spell. “Lottie, we can use this to give a honey offering to Chesha and free her from Versa’s control. I’ll be free. Then we can destroy Versa together.”
Lottie gasps, wrapping her hand around Marigold’s as she holds the spell in her palm. “You are brilliant.” She kisses her cheek. “You are perfect.” Then kisses her forehead. “You are the reason we are going to be free.”
Their lips find each other, and they melt like harsh winterunder a ruthless sun. This is love. This is the secret that everyone is searching for. This is the warmth in the bones, that sleepy-sweet feeling in the muscle. This is the moment between a dream and the morning, where such goodness feels so real but impossible to hold.
And yet, here she is, holding on to it. Holding on to her.
Her hand flexes and moves to Lottie’s hair.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
Lottie smiles against her kiss. “Not anymore.”
Lottie strengthens Marigold every night, and Versa is none the wiser. She sneaks out during the smallest hours, bringing food and water and a heart full of love. Marigold can feel it working within her—muscles stitching back together, bones clicking into place. They start planning their attack. Marigold is too weak for battle, and without honey, she’s useless. Lottie’s magic, while strong, is too unstable. She can hardly manage it, and Versa refuses to teach her anything that would allow Lottie to fight back. It was Lottie who came up with the most perfect plan, one that allowed for such poetic vengeance.
Tonight is the night. In the morning, they will be free.
As the moon reaches its highest point, Lottie sneaks out of the door with the Honey Witch’s grimoire in her hands. That was the only thing that Marigold asks to be saved. Everything else can burn. Lottie lays the book at the base of the wisteria tree and kisses Marigold deeply, as if it is the first and the last time she will get to do it.
“Are you ready?” she asks when she pulls away, pulling the soulmate spell from her neck and handing it to Marigold.
“Yes,” she says, pulling out the tiny cork with her teeth. She stands and lightly runs her finger across Chesha’s white-knuckle grip.
“Chesha, my sweet girl, I’m going to save you.”
Chesha does not acknowledge her. She remains cold and stilllike a statue. Lottie takes a deep breath, then lunges for Chesha’s throat and drags her to the ground. The landvættir thrashes violently, pulling Marigold around as if she were weightless. Her head collides with the gnarled roots of the nearby tree, but before the pain can set in, Chesha flings her to the other side and smashes her back against the earth. Something cracks. Pain shoots through her neck and chest.
“I cannot hold her!” Lottie says.
