Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore by Emily Krempholtz - 10

The A-frame signboard caught on the cobblestones as Nathaniel dragged it inside. As he shut the curtains in the front windows, he watched from the corner of his eye as the last of the market stalls packed up their wares.

Pru slipped in through the door just before he closed for the night, her violin tucked beneath one arm.

“Hello, brother mine,” she said, singsong, as she removed her hairpins and shook out her mane of black hair, dropping the pins all over his clean counter. “How goes life at the apothecary?”

Nathaniel grunted and turned back to counting money in the strongbox. A busy day like today helped, and with Violet’s rent money it would go a long way toward their bank payment, but he’d have to find a way to boost business if they wanted to restock their supply of burnroot, whose wholesale price had tripled since the last time they needed to purchase it.

“I saw Violet at the market today,” Pru continued, ignoring his bad mood as usual. Pretty things , he thought darkly. Sharp edges.

“I introduced her to a few people—can you believe the cold welcome she’s had? I thought better of everyone.”

He ignored the pointed barb, knowing she included him in that sentiment. “We’ve got every right to be careful,” he said, his eyes still on his work.

“Pah!” Pru tutted, sounding so like their mother for a moment that the invisible band around Nathaniel’s chest tightened a notch. “Quinn said she had a bit of an episode, poor thing—apparently she’s not used to crowds.”

“Quinn’s a busybody,” he muttered. The beekeeper meant well, but part of him would never forget the way everyone already seemed to know his business before he’d even moved home and how she seemed to be at the heart of it. “Why are you listening to her gossip?”

Pru ignored him as though he’d never spoken. “She had a basket of the most gorgeous flowers she was giving away.”

“That’s no way to run a business.”

“I’d call it advertising, I think.”

“And when she uses up everyone’s goodwill and interest before even opening her doors?”

“You really think that will be the case? Besides, it sounds like her problem, not ours.”

“It’s our problem when we’re collecting her rent money.”

Pru tutted again. “I think it’s nice what she’s doing. Dragon’s Rest could use a little brightness. A little hope.”

“Hope doesn’t pay the mortgage.”

His sister leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “When did you get so boring and old , Nat? Listen to yourself!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t disparage me for speaking sense when you won’t. I have a right to be concerned and so do our neighbors. I know nothing about her! Is she fit to run a business? Where did she even come from?” And what could she do with that peculiar magic of hers?

“Should have thought of all that before you let me handle leasing the shop,” she quipped.

“Don’t think that thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Nathaniel threw his hands up. “Why don’t you seem at all worried about this?”

“Nathaniel.” Pru’s tone shifted. She wasn’t playing anymore. “You’ve barely been back a year, and you were gone a long time before that. You’ve seen the shuttered windows of shops and homes, yes, but you weren’t here to watch the people flee. You weren’t here when Harriston’s closed their doors or when practically the entire elven population up and left Dragon’s Rest in the dead of night.”

“You’re forgetting I served with the Queen’s alchemists. I saw—”

“I know. ” Something in Pru’s voice snapped his head up to look at her. Her playfulness was gone, her eyes as serious as he’d ever seen them. “I know,” she repeated, gently this time. “It hasn’t been easy for you, and you haven’t escaped this life unscathed, even aside from what happened to Mum and Da.”

She put up a hand, stopping him before he could even open his mouth to interrupt.

“But it’s different here. Your experience counts; I would never try to tell you it doesn’t. But ours does too, here in Dragon’s Rest—and it’s allowed to be different from yours. It’s alright if other people deal with it differently.”

Nathaniel pressed his lips together, trying to force the emotions away. This conversation did not fall under his usual confines of neat and tidy, and therein was his problem. He couldn’t organize his grief or guilt in one of his ledgers. He couldn’t make it fit into a formula or balance it with alchemy. Even if he could, he didn’t want to.

He just wanted it to go away.

“Dragon’s Rest was dying under Shadowfade,” said Pru quietly. “We were holding on out of sheer stubbornness, but always looking over our shoulders in case today was the day he or one of his minions decided to destroy us for fun or use us in one of his schemes. And now that he’s gone and someone wants to settle here and build something new, why would I choose to see anything but hope in that?”

“But she could be anyone ,” he said weakly, ignoring the guilt that itched like a too-tight sweater at his twin’s words. “We don’t know her.”

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” Her voice took on a note of warning. “And before you go any further, I know you of all people aren’t going to begrudge someone for wanting to start over in a new place. Isn’t that exactly what you did?”

Nathaniel grunted. “Yes, and where did I end up?” He looked around him, gesturing to the apothecary that had been in their family for four generations. The apothecary he never wanted. “Right back where I started.”

“All the more reason for you to be supportive of someone else trying not to end up there.”

Pru’s words stung. Properly chastened, he turned his attention to his varnished countertops, swiping specks of the cherry bark he’d measured earlier this morning into the palm of his hand so he could dispose of it neatly.

Pru ducked her head until Nathaniel had no choice but to look at her. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you or dredge up unpleasant memories.”

“Great, then don’t.”

She sighed at him, the long-suffering sigh of someone who had been exasperated with him since they were in the womb, and he turned back to his paperwork. The jangle of coin turned his head, and he found Pru smirking expectantly, a fat purse in her hand.

“I played a few ditties before the rock goblins came for me,” she said airily, her eyes sparkling. She was going to change the subject, then. Fine by him. Mentally, he swept the conversation back out of sight, where it belonged. There. Nice and tidy once more. “They’re really cutting my shows short—I’m trying not to take it personally. Anyway, add these coins to the count, why don’t you?”

He scowled. “You might have asked if I needed your help here before you left.”

“Nathaniel,” she said dramatically, batting her eyelashes. “Did you need my help here before I left?”

He’d had barely a dozen customers all afternoon, and she knew it by the meager sum in the box. “That’s not the point. We’re a team, Pru. We need to work together.”

“Work together like you telling me you’d received a letter about Mum and Da’s debts?” Nathaniel froze, and Pru’s eyes narrowed in triumph. “I ran into Travers from the bank.”

“I was going to tell you,” Nathaniel said listlessly.

“Were you?” His sister didn’t look convinced. “Or were you going to ignore it and hope it went away on its own?”

“I was not—”

“You can’t just run away from things that scare you,” she said quietly, and suddenly they weren’t just talking about their finances anymore. “I feel it too, you know. I miss them too.”

His new anxiety potion wouldn’t be ready for at least another week, but Nathaniel craved it like a stiff whiskey. He forced a breath through his lungs and turned back to the ledger, focusing on the numbers. “I know,” he said without looking at her. “And I’m not running. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Are you?” she echoed, managing to make it sound like an entirely different question.

“Yes,” he responded firmly.

“Well then, as you said, we need to work together.” She shook the purse she’d earned playing music and shoved it closer to him, smiling a playful, infectious smile that was just so Prudence . This was the magic of his sister, that indescribable thing she had that he didn’t. She could turn her mood around, could summon optimism like she was turning on a switch. He was as envious as he was annoyed. “And this is me working together with you.”

“I’d still rather you help me out behind the counter every so often,” he grumbled.

Pru clucked her tongue at him. “Oh, come on, Nat. We both know I’m rubbish at the shopkeeper thing. I’ve got a three-night gig at an inn in Westkeep next week—that’ll help, won’t it?”

It was true, Pru’s music brought in just as much as the apothecary these days—sometimes more. But there are too many ghosts in this place when you’re not here , he wanted to tell her.

Instead, he sighed and took the purse, spilling it out onto the counter so he could begin to assess how much was there.

“You know,” Pru added as he counted, “we could put in a few little tables over there in the corner. We already sell tea, and there’s always a kettle going because you’re an addict, so if we get a few people in here to drink it, I could play for them every day. I’m sure Guy would sell us a few pastries we could offer.”

“We haven’t the space. And besides, you’d knock over the shelves with your dancing.” He pictured the mess of the greenhouse the night he’d met Violet. She hadn’t considered for one second that she’d placed those crates too close to the door. Her face had been so shocked when they tumbled, her golden-brown eyes so wide as she blinked those long lashes at him.

“What about the back garden?”

“No.”

“I’m sure we could convince Violet to plant us a lovely patch of flowers. We could clean it up for the summer and—”

“I said no, Pru.”

She actually growled at him. “Well, what then, you ridiculous grump? You’re going to keep your eyes down until we run ourselves into the ground?”

“I’m just doing things the way Mum and Da always did. The way things have always worked.”

“But they’re not working anymore,” she argued. “We need to change course. Wasn’t that your plan all along? I know it’s a risk, but why don’t you try picking up your alchemy agai—”

“We’re not talking about this.” Nathaniel snapped the ledger closed. His thoughts were mixing with memories again.

“We never talk about this!”

“Because there’s no point!” It was no use now. There was no way he could keep it all together; his emotions had spilled, shattering from their delicate glass vials to spout toxic fumes he couldn’t help but breathe in. “My plan was a disaster. I failed spectacularly, Pru. That’s what changing course got us.”

“Nathaniel, what happened wasn’t—”

“I’m not an alchemist anymore,” he insisted. “We’ll keep the shop afloat without any dangerous new ideas. We always have and we always will. Collecting rent will help, and you can keep performing at the market.”

“Right.” She laughed humorlessly. “Running the shop. Performing at the market. The lives both of us always dreamed of.”

“It’s the hand we’ve been dealt, Pru. There’s no point trying to reshuffle the deck now.”

“So you’ll just keep on being miserable in a job you never wanted, here in a place you should never have come back to?”

“Yes!” He caught his words. “I mean, I’ll keep things running here at the shop. I’m—I’m not—”

“Nathaniel.” Her tone was pleading; suddenly he didn’t want to look her in the eye. He knew what he’d find there, and he needed her pity like he needed another bill to pay.

She laid her hand over his ink-stained fingers and squeezed tightly. “They’d understand, you know.” She sounded like she wanted to cry. He still couldn’t look at her. “If we changed things, I mean.”

“It’s their legacy ,” Nathaniel said desperately, as though this could make her see.

“I hear you,” she said finally, squeezing his hand once more. “I don’t agree, but I hear you. We’ll keep going for a bit. We have three months, right?”

“Two and a half.”

“Right.” She nodded, as if that decided it. “Maybe business will pick up.”

She disappeared up the stairs, and Nathaniel realized he’d lost count of the money before him. He started over, his brow furrowed, until the front doorbell rang and he realized Pru had left it unlocked behind her. With a sigh, he schooled his features into something pleasant and friendly and said, “I’m so sorry, we’re closed for the evening.”

The man who stood in the entryway looked around with interest before turning to Nathaniel with a too-wide smile, like he’d stretched it a bit too thin over his face.

“Are you the proprietor?” His voice was reedy, as though his words were being carried to Nathaniel on a gust of wind that warned of a storm.

Nathaniel straightened. “I am,” he said, studying the tall, pale-skinned man. He looked to be a few years younger than Nathaniel, with long blond hair pulled back with a black silk bow and piercing blue eyes. He wore a thick, fur-lined cloak made of fine wool and tall leather boots with pointy toes edged in gleaming silver. A man of means, then. Perhaps looking to part with some coin. Nathaniel urged a smile to his lips. “Can I help you?”

“In fact, you can.” The man swept forward until he stood before Nathaniel and held out a hand for him to shake. His grip was cold from the outside air. “I’m an alchemist, and I’m new to this… charming little town.” He said charming like someone else might say ghastly or decrepit . Nathaniel straightened his shoulders. “I’m looking to replenish some supplies for my work.”

The skin at the back of Nathaniel’s neck prickled. More newcomers. A young witch looking to sell her silly flowers was one thing, but this smarmy, wealthy-looking fellow on top of it? And an alchemist at that? He smelled trouble.

“We’d be happy to help you get set up,” he responded as pleasantly as he could. “Tomorrow. During business hours.”

The man’s mouth twitched. “But of course. You wouldn’t mind if I leave you with a list, would you? I know what I’m looking for.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his cloak and slid it across the counter.

Still watching the man, Nathaniel picked up the paper and opened it. His gaze flicked down the list of ingredients, written in a slanting script.

“Several of these are quite difficult to procure,” he said in a low voice. His breath hitched as he reached the bottom of the list. He looked sharply back at the man. “Minotaur horn? Powdered hellstone?”

The two ingredients were not only rare but extremely volatile even on their own. Combined they were pivotal ingredients in a number of dangerous weapons.

“Familiar with alchemy, are you?”

“I spent ten years in the Crucible.” He scanned the rest of the list. Acacia and rue were easy enough to obtain, but curare was a dangerous paralytic, and mane of marea? That was outright illegal.

The man smiled. “A man after my own heart! What in Rava’s name are you doing in this craggy mountain backwoods?”

Nathaniel’s mouth tightened. “This craggy mountain backwoods is my home.”

The man smirked, and the anxious ball of unease in Nathaniel’s chest grew and hardened into dislike.

Nathaniel knew when Guy Shadowfade was defeated that his death created a vacuum. For years, they’d been under the sorcerer’s thumb, and that had been no picnic, but in a way, his power had kept them all safe. No one had dared to interfere in Dragon’s Rest and risk angering a dangerous mage like Shadowfade, but now that he was gone, there was nothing to stop anyone else from moving in and staking their claim—and the people of Dragon’s Rest, left all but destitute from decades of hardship, were in no position to fight it. Nathaniel wasn’t inclined to feel positively about anything that troubled the waters of his careful life, and the man before him might as well have been a giant rock tumbling off the mountain toward the surface, ready to make waves.

“I’m afraid I’m unable to sell you some of these ingredients,” he finally said, his voice several degrees cooler. “We don’t keep them in stock.”

“Ah.” The man paused, assessing Nathaniel with new eyes. “Might you be able to procure them for me?”

“No,” said Nathaniel without hesitation.

The man’s eyes flashed. He understood the message. “I see, Mr. …?”

“Marsh.”

“Mr. Marsh, then. Thank you for your time, and for allowing me into your…” He looked around the apothecary, one corner of his mouth curling. “Fine establishment.”

Nathaniel bristled, hearing a tone underneath his words, the thread of an insult snagged and pulled taut.

“If anything changes, do send word my way, would you?”

“Certainly,” said Nathaniel politely, but something about the man made him know he wouldn’t.

“I’ll be staying at the Claw & Hoard. You can ask for Sedgwick.” He smiled again, with his whole mouth this time, and it brought to mind nothing so much as a dog baring its teeth in warning. Come closer , that smile seemed to say. I dare you. “You never know. Perhaps something will sway your mind.”