Page 19 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)

I glanced down at my hands, a green light blossoming from my palms. If something had stopped the Blight from consuming the castle, it certainly wasn’t any Earthly science or technology.

It had to be magic. Or a magic artifact.

Maybe a cache? Is seems the brigands of the Bitter Isles were pirates of both immortal and mortal realms, maybe even Erusians.

Had they stolen (returned, in their point of view) something from the mortal realm that unwittingly helped stall the Blight?

“Don’t you see?” Kian asked. Fiachna clung to his shoulder as his gait gained an exuberant bounce.

“The Court of Shoals was the only court to have mortal artifacts in its possession when the Blight attacked. If you—a living mortal—are successful at penetrating the Blight, perhaps even being immune to it, you could find this artifact. We could study it, maybe somehow replicate its effects, even use it to attack?—”

Flora snorted. “You want her to search through an entire dragon’s horde for one thing? She’s already going to be searching for a mirror in an entire castle!”

“No, she’ll find that mirror in Beryl’s sea chest in her room on the fourth floor in the southeast tower.

” Kian produced a letter from his coat pocket, the wax seal having long since crumbled away.

He carefully unfolded it to reveal the correspondence between Shannon’s father and his cousin, or so I assumed, since none of us leaned forward to examine it.

“See? So since we already know where the mirror will be, it’ll take only a minute or two to acquire, and then — M-Misty? What are you doing back there?”

My boots had rooted into the ground while the others had walked on. Kian stopped, and this time, the humans towing him forward found they were no match for a fae male’s strength. The whole party jerked to a halt. Even Sawyer, who had been moseying around with his sparkle vision, paused.

When he caught my mood through the bond, he immediately abandoned his search for the owner of that strange smell and raced back to the party. “Meadow, just calm down.”

“I’m going home when this is all done,” I told Kian flatly. “I’m not here to spearhead a crusade. I have my own blight at home to deal with, thank you very much.”

“But,” Kian pleaded.

“No buts. This is not negotiable.”

“But you could free an entire continent from?—”

“Free a nation that knew what a horror Ossian was and yet still banished him to my realm where we had no defense against him?” I shouted.

“He killed hundreds of women! Maybe thousands. Sucked them dry of their lives and magic just so he could come back here and do the same thing. The things he did to me?—”

My insides boiled and the magic oak tree crackled with power. Its opalescent light started to darken to an ivy-green, its outstretched canopy condensing upon itself and its roots lengthening to form a point. A sword. From the depths of Death’s Sword, an entity stirred. Violet’s vengeance.

“And I let him!” I screamed.

That was the worst part of it. I was only a victim for half my story—the other half was a fault of my own making.

In my panic to save Arthur and Marten, I had submitted myself to Ossian.

Allowed myself to become his tool, his weapon.

Had… craved him. Even without the stolen fated mate bond, I’d been attracted to him.

That call I’d heard so often from the deep forest beyond the manor wall?

That had been my destiny. My prophesy aching to become fulfilled. To join the Stag Man. Make my choice.

Tears seared down my cheeks before the wind lashed them away. “I made a deal with a devil and others paid for it. I won’t have my family or my friends or that poor town suffer anymore from my mistakes.

“And you know what the real kicker is?” A deranged laugh cut through my sob.

“I won’t have a home to return to when my work is done.

No rest for the wicked. I can’t go back to the manor and Grandmother’s influence, and when Redbud wakes up, it won’t want me.

Not after all I’d put it through. A-and Arthur?—”

I’d become the rolling stone my cousin Rose had always wanted to be. Unable to set down roots anywhere because whatever I touched would turn to ash eventually.

Violet’s Heir, commander of Life and Death, at her finest.

Shari’s calm, quiet voice pierced the wind. “You think one mistake outweighs all the good you’ve done?”

“What good ?” I snarled at her. “I’ve only brought ruin here!”

“It might seem of no consequence to you, but after you and Flora sealed away that heart tree at Alder Ranch and I made that crocheted mural of my past, I’ve been able to sleep through the night without any night terrors.

” She stopped fidgeting with her sleeve cuff and gave me a small closed-lipped smile.

“Because I knew you would stand between me and anything like that happening again.”

My sob lodged in my throat. I hadn’t known that.

“You freed Flint,” Flora piped up, smiling.

“I know that fiáin has been enjoying his new lease on life, and my roses have never been so June-bug-free. Poppy’s not lonely now while I’m away at work.

And my allergies don’t suck the life out of me anymore after I have your tea.

Speaking of, I don’t suppose you could make some more?

Agnes should’ve given me an entire tub of butterbur balm, not this measly jar. ”

Sawyer finally shoved his way free of the tall grass and came to my feet, placing a paw on my boot and looking up at me with trusting amber eyes that shredded my heart. “You gave me a home. You defended my freedom to choose.”

“ Always, little cat, ” I managed to tell him through our bond.

Daphne approached in that way of hers that exuded calm authority tempered with gentleness. She took hold of my shaking hand and gave it a squeeze. “I think you’re forgetting, dear, that your motivation was to free your family of a spell that had turned into a curse. At great personal sacrifice.

“And even while this was going on, you never turned away someone who needed you, though you tried.” A little chuckle.

“The hobs, us, even Brandi—you gave her mercy when she needed it most. You even freed Redbud from that heart tree’s evil.

And I wouldn’t have met Lewellyn if it weren’t for you.

” She smiled, a mixture of joy and regret, for none of us knew his fate.

“He’s a bit of a hell-raiser, but he reminded me I’m not dead.

That I might be sixty-eight but I still have prospects. ” She winked at Cody.

Emmett laid a grandfatherly hand on my shoulder.

“From a business standpoint, Miss Misty, you’ve been great for moving product, what with settling your home, that Brandi woman buying out all the vintage farmhouse décor to sabotage your booth the First of Fall Festival, and your grandmother purchasing all those diamonds.

And personally, you captured Wystan and prevented him from draining any of the other magic folk in town.

Including my Monkfoot. That wretched hobgoblin woulda done something like that with or without that antlered fae’s say-so. ”

They all looked to Cody then, even Kian. The old man took off his ball cap and ran his hand through his white hair. Resettled his cap. Looking down at his boots, he huffed, “What Coon said.”

Emmett leaned over and flicked him in the ear.

“Ow! Whatcha do that for?”

“You know what. And don’t make me do it again!”

Cody muttered something then raised his head to look me right in the eye. His own had turned glassy. “The boy.”

My chin dropped, my whole head not strong enough to support the flood threatening to burst from my tear ducts. Suddenly strong, wiry arms were around me, a hand of twiggy fingers cradling the back of my head.

I’d never apologized to him, never bared my soul for his forgiveness. Heartache for Arthur wasn’t reserved solely for me. “Beaver, I’m so s?—”

“Of all the Greenwoods I’ve apprenticed,” Cody whispered into my ear, “none have gotten into my cold shriveled heart like he has. Damn cub wormed his way in there somehow. You have no idea the crushing responsibility he bears, but you made his life light again. I’ve never seen him so happy.

And for a cranky old man like me, seeing my boy with that stupid sloppy grin on his face after you’ve come around, why it’s like the first break of sunshine after a howler of a storm. ”

The old carpenter pulled back, hands cupping my face and thumbs smearing away the tracks left behind my tears. “He hasn’t stopped fighting for you, not even now.”

My throat was so tight I could barely get the words out. “How do you know?”

“What does your heart tell you?”

He paused, searching my face, and then a mischievous spark came to his eyes. “I’m serious. What does your heart tell you? I told you mine is cold and shriveled, so it can’t be relied upon.”

I laughed then, pressed a hand over my heart where I could still—miraculously—feel the echo of the tether that bound me to the lumberjack shifter.

My perception flickered, slipping into that sparkle vision for only a second.

The cobalt thread was still there, still ragged, still persisting. “He fights on.”

Cody released a held breath. “Good to know. Let’s not keep our boy waiting then. So, um, stop all this”—swallowing nervously, he gestured to what was behind me—“and let’s go shake a leg like a dog after a good long piss, okay?”

Stop all this?

A tree had grown at my back. Something like a sycamore but with bark like pitch and leaves like shiny sheafs of obsidian.

Grown from the power of Death’s Sword. I’d lost control again, overcome with soul-tearing emotion, and my oak tree had responded in kind.

As I calmed from my friends’ reassuring testimonies, the magic oak tree abandoned its sword-like appearance for the carefree canopy of opalescent leaves and shimmering silvery bark.

The Tree of Life. In the physical world, the tree grown from my heartache and wrath abandoned its fearsome appearance.

Its trunk paled to brown with furrows instead of scales, and thick branches spread green spade-like leaves high and wide. White flowers streaked with purple and spotted with yellow like a showier version of foxglove clustered here and there and released a gentle perfume into the wind.

“What is that?” Kian wondered, fumbling with his coat for his sketchbook. Fiachna abandoned his shoulder pad to find it for him.

“This tree doesn’t exist here?” Daphne asked.

“It’s a catalpa,” Flora said. “Seed must’ve been stuck in your boot, cider witch.”

Sawyer and I shared a glance. There was no seed stuck in my boot. That had come from me , just like the vining black-eyed Susans that had sprouted to life in my castle bedroom.

“Well it exists here now,” Emmett said, craning his head back. “Mmm, shade feels nice.”

“A foreign, full-grown tree in the middle of a prairie where none have grown before,” Shari said. “If the high lord didn’t know where to look for us before, he certainly has a clue now.”

“Time to go.” Flora picked up the tow rope and gave it a pull that the junior scholar didn’t even feel. “C’mon, Book Boy.”

Cody scrubbed his scruffy chin with the side of his finger. “Suppose we could cut it down. That sword ain’t much of an axe, but maybe you can put an edge on it with your magic, Miss Misty. The grass’ll hide the stump.”

“Cut it down?” Kian exclaimed. “Do you hear yourself, man?”

“What? Like you never cut wood to keep your home warm?”

“No! We have—” He might’ve said servants to do that just then, but shook his head instead. “ That is living wood. We only collect and burn deadwood. You cut that tree down, and the whole earth will cry out.”

No wonder Shannon had thrown a fit when I’d snapped off a branch to grow Faebane’s scabbard.

“…every lesídhe in that court will come barreling out here to avenge this tree,” Kian was saying, “and the high lord will certainly know of us then. Just… let it be, and let’s be gone. Not many venture here”—he cast a glance at the sky—“but it’s best if we’re not here when they do.”