“You’re what, Marigold?” he says.
The three of them freeze in his presence. No wonder he was so good at helping Marigold sneak out; he’s quite the rogue himself, apparently.
“Frankie, Althea, I need a moment alone with my daughter. Both of you, wait in the sitting room.” His voice is so stern that no one tries to protest.
“I’m sorry,” Althea says before she turns, and he gives an accepting nod with a light smile. He whispers something to Althea—Marigold will always wonder what—and then she is alone with her father.
After a long silence, she whispers, “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please let me go. Please.”
His brow furrows. “Mari, I’m not here to change your mind.”
She widens her eyes. “Then why are you here? How did you know we would be doing this?”
“Because I know your grandmother very well, and your siblings, and most of all, I know you. And I know what you’ve always wanted. That’s why I never stopped you before, and I’m not stopping you now.”
“But Mother—”
“I knowher, too. She is only trying to protect you, so much so that she cannot see how it is harming you. Perhaps it is the artist in me, but I’ve always thought it so romantic to have beauty and creationas your purpose. And that is the life ahead of you, Marigold. I have every confidence in you. Your mother will see that soon, too.”
He pulls her into an embrace, and she says, “Thank you, Father.” She returns to the sitting room and takes her grandmother’s hand, and they leave the estate together.
The journey through the wood feels longer than it ever was, on account of Marigold having to aid her grandmother through the twists and turns of the uneven path.
“Are you sure you want to keep going? I’m confident we can find another suitable spot for the ritual,” she says, but Althea refuses to stop, even as her legs tremble.
“Grandmother, please, let’s take a break.”
“Marigold, at this point, your whining is slowing us more than my legs. I am fine, darling. Onward!”
She rolls her eyes and continues alongside Althea until they finally reach the meadow. The sun is only just peeking over the horizon, waiting patiently to greet the sky. The two women are centered in the meadow, the world around them still as stone.
“Look around and tell me what you see,” Althea says as she takes her hands.
“I see trees, streaks of clouds, dew-wet grass, and flowers that have yet to bloom. It’s just a meadow.”
“Exactly. It is just a meadow. Beautiful, of course, but only a meadow.”
She cocks her brow. “Right?”
Althea hands her the crystal vial of honey that she showed her earlier. As Marigold wraps her hand around it, Althea pulls off the lid. The strong, spiced scent of honey fills the air, sweet enough to make her teeth hurt. Inside the vial, tiny flecks of light float throughout the golden liquid, as if they were captured from the sun itself. “Now, close your eyes and drink this. When you open them again, tell me what you see.”
She takes the honey potion that will allow her to access her full power. The crystal is cold against her full bottom lip. As she tilts her head back with her eyes closed, the warm honey drips into her mouth, the drops heavy on her tongue. It coats her entire mouth and swims down her throat, landing warm in her belly. Immediately, she feels something surging in her veins—power. It’s hot, almost burning underneath her skin.
But it feels good. It feels right. It feels like she was always meant to burn.
When she opens her eyes, the world around her is completely changed. It is the same meadow, her feet still firmly planted in the tall green grass. But all around her, peeking through the leaves, leaping through the flowers, flying through the sky, are the spirits. Not only Lunasia, but dozens more. An entire world lives beyond a veil that has just been lifted.
“The creatures you see now are called the landvættir, and they are spirit guardians of nature.”
Marigold extends her hand to Lunasia, who lands on her finger where a gold band would sit if she chose a different fate.
“She is always here,” Althea says. “Before, the veil was only thin enough for you to see her during the full moon.”
Lunasia’s wings are brighter than ever before in the light of the rising sun. Above them are colorful creatures that Marigold does not recognize, turning the sky into a mosaic of flighted beauty. Pastel clouds trail behind them like ribbons. It’s amazing. Art, alive. “Are they painting the sunrise?”
