“Is Witch Village going to get relit soon?”I croaked one night from the foot of my bed, nursing my throbbing fingers.
Christabella was slumped over the other end, an arm thrown over her eyes.“We’re working on a solution.”She sat up and winced.“Can you turn down the lights?It’s bright in here.”
I blew out the singular candle on my bedstand, plunging the room into darkness.
“Ah.Much better.”
***
ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH.I wasn’t going to let Ma keep me under her thumb.The morning of the fourth day, I gathered my satchel and the last of the mending and snuck out of the house, making sure to avoid the creaky floorboards on my way out.The witchlights floating along the streets were a temporary solution to the blackout, set a dim blue during the night and a warm yellow during the day.They were currently greenish, which meant it was about dawn.I breathed deeply, relishing the lungful of cool air, grateful that there were still weather witches in charge of air flow.
I rounded the house, hiking my skirts up to avoid trampling the herb garden, until I came to the base of the First Oak.Its branches fanned out in a great canopy above our cottage.Floating witchlight lanterns were nestled between its boughs, which rustled slightly from a soft breeze.The leaves were still green, seemingly unaware that it was autumn.
I touched the trunk, wondering how it had gone its entire life without the rays of the real sun, yet had grown so sturdy and strong, rivaling even the trees in Delibera.Grandma had told me she had planted this tree herself without the aid of magic, to prove that Witch Village would be as hospitable to life as the world aboveground.
At the opposite side of the trunk was a wooden ladder.I grabbed the rungs and climbed up the trunk, grasping the lowest branch, then swinging myself two branches above to my favorite bough.It was slightly curved at the base, ideal for sitting.I rearranged my skirts, mildly out of breath.I was much less agile than I remembered.Then again, I hadn’t climbed this tree in three years.
This vantage point granted me a bird’s eye view of the thatched and tiled roofs of our neighbors and the spiraling streets that led to the fields below.It was rather picturesque—a vision of a quaint, quiet village lit aglow with colorful lanterns.
I opened my satchel and pulled out the last remaining piece of mending Ma had given me—it was Pamela’s doily, a finely crocheted circle made of yarn so thin it resembled thread.Maple leaves and other swirling motifs spanned out from the center, though one side was unraveling.Luckily, Pamela was considerate enough to include an illustrated diagram of the pattern and some spare yarn.
“If you went through all this trouble you might as well have mended it yourself,” I grumbled under my breath as I tied off the unraveling thread and stuck my crochet hook into the doily.After the initial struggle of figuring out the pattern, the work came relatively easily.I hummed under my breath as the witchlight lanterns went from green to yellow, illuminating everything in a soft golden hue that mimicked the sunrise.
As I crocheted, the vision of a new wedding dress came to me like strands of thread weaving and tightening into fabric.
It was in the fashionable silhouette: an empire waist gown with a square neckline and slim flowing skirts.Crocheted lace covered the bodice like a confection of icing sugar, tiny flowers looped from the finest silk yarn, so delicate it could be mistaken for tatting.The lace would drape over Narcissa’s shoulders in small, scalloped edges.The dress would be nothing like high society has ever seen.
“Yes,” I whispered.“Yes!”
“Yes what?”a deep voice came from above.
I yelped, grabbing the tree trunk for balance.A pair of legs dangled from the branch above me, wearing crisp gray trousers and polished shoes.Edmund peered down at me through the canopy of oak leaves, a smile gracing his handsome face.
“How long were you up there?”I sputtered.
“Long before you came,” Edmund admitted sheepishly.“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to distract you from your work.”
A blush rose to my face when I realized he’d heard all my strange mutterings and humming.I wanted to bury my face into the tree and never emerge.
The leaves rustled as Edmund eased himself down to my branch, bracing his arms against the trunk above my head.He settled, clasping his large hands between his knees, and turned his attention to me.
The full effect of his beauty was almost too much to bear.His hair had a windblown, boyish quality to it and there was an even layer of stubble over his jaw, as if he hadn’t had a chance to shave yet.He looked good primped and polished.He looked even better like this.
I swallowed with some difficulty.“What brings you here?I thought everyone was still asleep.”
“I was looking for a quiet place to spend the morning,” Edmund admitted.
“To escape my mother?”
The apologetic look on his face was all the answer I needed.
“I’m sorry,” I said.“Are you tired?I know you just recovered from your fever and Ma dragging you around Witch Village all day probably isn’t the best—”
Edmund threw back his head and laughed.The husky sound only embarrassed me more.“Your concern is touching, Giselle.But I’m fine.Your mother is a very thorough tour guide.This little respite is all I need.”He gazed below us, swinging his legs.“It’s quite beautiful here.In a quaint, fairytale sort of way.”
I twisted my face.“Fairytale?”It wouldn’t be my first word to describe the village.
“It’s nothing like the city,” Edmund continued.“I’m almost envious of your life.”
