I swiped an apple from the counter, biting into it as I slipped into an ancient rocking chair. It groaned beneath me like it had every year since I was small.
And I waited—
Until the shuffle came, then a hum, just beyond the door. It pushed open as Gemma strolled in, basket tucked in her arm, fresh bread and herbs spilling from its center.
I broke the silence first, holding up my hand. “You know these are bad, right?”
“Gods’ fates, Verena!” She clutched her chest with the same hand that had held me through fevers, through grief. Through every shattered piece of me. “What have I told you about breaking into my home?”
Her voice was stern, but it fooled no one. Especially me.
She kicked off her boots, cracked leather softened by years of wear. Two satchels hung heavy at her waist, stuffed with tinctures and salves that kept half this town alive.
Her long, silvered hair had half fallen from its braid, honeyed eyes tracking the mud trailing all the way to where I sat.
“Technically,” I said, taking another bite, its bitter juice running down the curve of my chin, “I didn’t break in.” My lips rounded slyly. “Youleft the door unlocked.”
In a flash, she snatched it from my hand. “These,” she shook it in my face, “are for baking. Not eating.”
Oh. That made sense.
She tossed it into the simmering pot without hesitation.
I grimaced, pointing at the bubbling stew. “Ew. I bit that like three times.”
She ignored me, dragging a wooden spoon through the liquid before unloading her market basket across the counter.
“What kept you, anyway?” My smile deepened, wicked with false innocence. “Did the king finally croak, and you so sweetly eased his last breath?”
Gemma only scoffed. “Obrann is alive and well...enough.”
Well, that was disappointing.
I leaned back in the chair, biting into the edge of my grin. “Shame. For a moment I thought you might’ve traded your herbs for poison.” My gaze narrowed, playful but cutting. “Or maybe exchanged for another royal secret.”
Her eyes flicked toward me, tough beneath the weight of years, the kind of hush that said she carried too many truths.
“But you,” she jabbed a finger at me, “youshould know better.” Bread slammed against a cutting board, her fingers gripping it hard enough to crush the crust. The knife followed, slicing through the loaf with more force than grace. “Two people, Verena. Just this morning.” The pot hissed as she swiftly moved back to it, stirring, her movements brisk, furious. The scent of clove thickened, wrapped in disappointment. “You threatenedtwopeople. One of them, a palace guard in the center of town, for everyone to see. For everyoneto whisper about.” The spoon slammed against the rim of the pot. A sharp, ringing sound. “You are stupid, stupid girl.”
She snatched a piece of fruit next, thumb digging into its skin until juice ran down her wrist.
“Oops?” I grinned, too wide, shrugging like a child caught with blood on her hands. “He had one eye. I wasn’tthreateninghim, or the pathetic mortal crying beside him. I just…” My hand arced vaguely, dramatically. “Pointed at the socket with my dagger and asked what happened.”
Gemma stared at me like she was praying for divine intervention.
Her lips parted, then pressed thin again. “You are foolish.” The words were quiet. Condemning. “To throw away everything we’ve built for you.” She gathered the torn bread, the fruit, then tore off a wedge of cheese as if the act itself might delude her anger. She dropped them all onto a plate and sighed. “I admire your fire, Verena, I always have. Ever since Callum found you in those woods, you’ve made it known you would never find peace in staying quiet. Even young I could feel that loudness in you. That wildfire.” Her voice had softened for a moment, before it sharpened. “But fire left unchecked doesn’t warm. It burns. And it will burn you, and everyone you claim to love, if you do not learn control.”
The sting landed hard enough to crack through my skin. I huffed, trying to deflect. “That’s super insulting, actually.”
She didn’t laugh. She marched forward and my heart quickened, the same way it always did around her when she was like this. She had that power. Even aging, her presence could be terrifying.
Her fingers yanked the collar of my tunic down, exposing the serpent ink at my shoulder.
“That,” she hissed, “is what people will see. Not the girl raised in this cottage. They’ll see the serpent. The curse. And fear, Verena—” her eyes locked on mine, “fear always strikes first.”
The words went deeper than poison. And for once, I had none to throw back. I knew the shape of my fate. It hadn’t fully claimed me yet, was almost polite about it, letting me get acquainted before it slipped the leash tight around my throat.
Sometimes, on the darker days, I wanted it to. Sometimes I wanted the end to come fast and clean, instead of this slow drowning.
