“No—” Morgana resists, then clutches her neck. Oh, I know that feeling. I know her throat has closed up and squeezed like a vise. A taste of her own curse, thanks to the enchanted nightshade.
“Both?” I press. “How?”
The sorcerer struggles to keep her secrets sealed. Her pinched lips aren’t enough to hold back the compulsion to speak.
“Aconite and hemlock. In the foxgloves I sent.”
Of course…I’ve always thought there was something else in the perfume, a pinch of something spicier I could never figure out. The aroma oils, the dried flowers, the layers upon layers of foxgloves hiding a combination of deadly poisons, not strong enough to kill instantly, but powerful enough to make a difference if exposed for a lengthy amount of time.
“Aconite is a hallucinogen,” Ruth says, and runs her eyes over the queen at my back, “and can cause paranoia, fits of hysteria, nausea, and heart problems…. Fern, your health problems haven’t beennatural. The foxgloves you thought were a remedy were worsening your symptoms.”
“Shut up!” Morgana spits.
“Hemlock causes anxiety too,” Mum adds. “Tremors, memory loss, paralysis…Gods, it’s a miracle neither you nor Garland have died!”
Fern goes limp, and I use the moment to dive forward. I slide on my knees right up to the edge of the circle and plant my palms on the surface of the translucent barrier, the texture smooth like a thick pane of glass, firm and cold. Morgana stamps a heel petulantly before Will can drag himself my way.
“What?” Morgana asks, distress hammering at her confidence. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Morgana,” Ruth says, “tell us why.”
The sorcerer seethes through gritted teeth.
“As if you’d understand,” she scoffs, and folds her arms against the force of the flower’s magic. “You and Marc, cute little school sweethearts. It was disgusting. And then you, Lilibeth, show up all mopey at my door, moaning about how lonely you are. You had no idea. I didn’t know my parents. I grew up alone, and the only people I knew—you, my friends—abandoned me after the smallest slights. You hated me for not solving all your problems with a wave of magic.”
I’ve had a lifetime of restraining myself, years to practice sheltering words. Morgana hasn’t. Her words and insecurities are unhindered and tumbling in free fall.
“The love spell wasn’t meant for you—it was intended forme—but I’m glad you tested it out first,” Morgana continues, glaring at my mum. “What a disaster. I didn’t know it would end that way or pass on to your daughter. At the time, I thought I was better than the rules of magic, but it showed me that the Library was right; there are no spells to make someone fall in love. Not forever, at least.”
Ruth takes Mum’s elbow and keeps her upright.
Morgana laughs, spiteful. Hollow. “Gods, did I celebrate whenmy curse put a wedge in your friendship. Finally, I thought. Finally, you will know what it’s like to be alone. The only person I had left was Fern. She was the only person who understood me, whosawme. I knew I couldn’t lose that so, yes,fine,I cursed her baby son. I made it so he couldn’t use magic. I made her paranoid. I filled her head so I’d be the only person she’d need. She’d come to me for help, me for advice, for magic, anything. She’d be reliant onme.You don’t understand. She’s all I have. Ineededher to need me.”
The queen’s knees strike the floor. I glance back. Fern stares at Morgana, her mouth open under misty eyes and messy hair.
“My…my son…” she mumbles. “You…”
Morgana strides closer to the barricade of green.
“I regretted it instantly, Fernie. I’ve spent my life trying to undo it. I made sure that any evidence of my dark magic was hidden from the Library so I could stay, so I could use their resources, their knowledge, to find a way to undo it.” Her hands twist together as she pleads with all her might. “I traveled all eight kingdoms of Calla—the outlying forges of Hemlor, the deserts of Ject, all the way to the Island off the coast of Berian to find a way to break his curse. And look! Look, didn’t I do it? Didn’t I find a way? Using an oak tree was worth a shot—one that luckily everyone seemed to blame on Ruth’s kid when it went wrong—but now, this,thiswill do it. It will fix everything and then you won’t have to worry anymore.”
“I—I—” Fern stammers. She’s moments from crumbling.
“With Garland gone and Merit happily betrothed in Dreah, then Bastion can take over your duties here,” Morgana implores. “We can be together. Finally. Just you and me, Fernie. How it’s supposed to be!”
Fern looks past Morgana. She looks at her husband, at her two sons, her eyes a well of tears. Even now, his strength petal thin, the king chooses to protect his children foremost. He’s holding Merit’s shoulders again, eyes watchful for anyone moving closer to Bastion.
The queen wavers.
Morgana snaps her head to the king then back.
“Him?Come on, Fernie. I know you better than anyone. He’s too dull for you. Too placid! I possessed Willoh for you. To helpyou.To make you see that you’re better without your husband! Without him, we could—” Morgana chokes. She slams a fist on the green barrier. “We wouldn’t need anyone else. There wouldn’t be anyone left to betray us.”
“What have I done?” Fern trembles. She stares at her shaking hands.
“Fern,please.Please.Don’t hate me too.”
“My husband…my sons…I almost lost them. I can’t—I’ve done some awful things. My—my people. All those people I let suffer…I’m never going to—”
