Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore by Emily Krempholtz - 33

“He thinks the Eye of the Serpent is here in Dragon’s Rest,” she muttered to Peri, who was batting at Bartleby in a half-hearted duel. “But where ?”

Bartleby swung a vine over her shoulder, curling lazily around her neck until she pushed him away. “Not now.”

The town commerce meeting was due to start in two hours, but Violet couldn’t shake the sense that she was running out of time. Sedgwick was trying to bring back Shadowfade. Violet knew what would happen to Dragon’s Rest if he returned, and she knew exactly what her fate would be. There was no place she could run that he wouldn’t find her, not after everything that had happened. Not after everything she’d done. Best-case scenario, she’d be forced to become the Thornwitch again, but after a taste of who she could be without that part of her identity, Violet knew she could never go back.

And Shadowfade would know it too.

He would seek out everything she loved—every one she loved—and he would destroy it all. Her shop. Her flowers. Her friends.

Nathaniel.

All to prove a point: that she was no one without him, and it was foolish of her to try.

No, she couldn’t let Sedgwick bring him back.

Her best chance was to stop him before that ever happened, and it was there that she felt she had the upper hand. Magic was her strong suit. Sedgwick was a powerful alchemist but a weak mage; his own natural magic barely registered as a threat. It was why he’d put so much effort into alchemy, which could gift him power far beyond his innate abilities.

She shuddered to think of the things he’d done—the things they’d done together. The havoc they’d wrought, the destruction…until she met Nathaniel, she hadn’t realized alchemy wasn’t limited to explosions and devastation. Nathaniel used his knowledge to help people in a way that was utterly brilliant—and it wasn’t just her lust-addled brain telling her so.

Perhaps your magic isn’t so bad either , said a small voice, one that had been growing bolder recently. Violet still didn’t understand the garden she’d grown that night in the greenhouse, not fully. But she knew with certainty that even if she’d pulled it from deep inside herself, it wasn’t evil, not in the way she’d always been taught her power was destined to be. Perhaps Nathaniel was onto something after all. Perhaps it wasn’t about the magic itself; perhaps it was how she used it that mattered.

Nathaniel had faced so much, carried the weight of his family’s legacy on his shoulders, and yet he was still using his magic to overcome the fear that harried him. Despite the tragedy of his past, he was moving onward, and Violet took inspiration from his actions. She had never fought with anything to lose, not really, and she found now that she wasn’t sure she liked it. But if Nathaniel could push past his fears, then so could she.

She had never been in love before—how could she, surrounded by villains who saw emotion as weakness? But though the word itself frightened her for its foreignness, she wondered if it explained what she had come to feel of late and what she was feeling now, this almost uncomfortable fullness in her chest, like a plant grown too big for its pot. She wanted to expand, to grow, to see where it took her, but there was still something holding her inside, trapped within the walls of her own secrets.

For the thousandth time that week, she wondered what would happen if she told Nathaniel the truth about her past. He cared for her, that much had been made abundantly clear, but could he care for who she’d once been? She could explain it tactfully, warn him ahead of time that her past would upset him. Once he knew, perhaps they could find a way to tell the rest of the town. Pru, Quinn, even cranky Jerome…they were her friends, weren’t they? They would understand that Violet was no longer the Thornwitch. They would see how much she was trying, how she had become someone new and better and good. They would understand that she was trying to stop Sedgwick from bringing back Shadowfade, and even more, they would help. Wouldn’t they?

But what if they rejected her? What if they feared her? What if, all this time, Violet had been fooling herself? What if her brief escape from villainy was just that, brief, and she succumbed to the training of her past? It wouldn’t be on purpose, but she couldn’t deny that her first reaction to being surprised or caught off guard was still to protect herself with thorns, to wrap the threat in a stranglehold of vines.

If she told them the truth, she might let her guard fall. She might hurt one of the people she cared about, and as Nathaniel would tell her, even accidents could have dire consequences. Then all of it—her shop, her friends, Nathaniel—would be lost to her.

From his place on the counter, Peri creeaugh ed at her and butted his stony head against her arm.

“I don’t know how to tell them the truth,” she said sadly, stroking her thumb over the bumpy surface of his head.

Bartleby reached over her shoulder and idly flipped a page in the book she was reading, the one they’d found at Shadowfade Castle about the resurrection ritual.

“I know,” she told him. “I’m done moping, I promise. Back to work with me.”

The bell above the door tinkled a gentle greeting, and Violet looked up, her smile freezing when she saw it was Sedgwick. She slammed the book closed in front of her and passed it to Bartleby, who curled his vines around it until it was entirely obscured.

“What do you want?”

He tutted at her scowl. “Now, now, Thornwitch. I know you’re not known for your bedside manner, but is that any way to greet a customer?”

“You’re not a customer.”

“Sure I am. I’m here for…” He looked around and plucked a packet of seeds from a display. “These.”

“They’re not for sale.” Violet crossed her arms across her chest.

“Interesting way to run a business.”

“They’re not for sale to you ,” she clarified, glaring at him. “What do you want? Come to gloat? Interfere with my magic some more?”

“I came to see if you’d reconsider my offer.”

She scoffed. “In other words, you’re stuck and you need my help with your little resurrection plan.”

His eyes widened in surprise for only a moment. “I’d have thought you’d be more pleased. Although, now that I think about it, I seem to remember the two of you having a little bit of a disagreement at the end there—but no, that can’t be right. You were his favorite.”

“And now I’m on my own, making my own plans,” she said coldly. “I don’t need him.”

He looked her up and down with disdain. “Don’t fool yourself. We all need him. He made sure of that—none of us were allowed to have the vision to make it on our own.”

She swallowed hard, the words ringing a little too close to something that felt like truth.

Sedgwick continued. “But once I resurrect him, things can go back to the way they were. I won’t have to hide like this anymore, in this horrible little town where no one understands that I am somebody . I’ll have a place by his side again. And if you’re set on getting in my way, petal , then perhaps he’ll be on the lookout for a new favorite.”

“You’re an idiot if you think being favored by him won’t cause you anything but more grief.” For the barest second, she stopped hiding and let him see her. Not the Thornwitch, not Violet the florist, but the little girl behind them both who had been taken in by a villain and manipulated and brainwashed until she had no idea who she was anymore. “It’s not the picnic you think it is, being the one he depends on. The things he will ask you to do, the ways he will make you hurt if you fail him—the reward is greater, it’s true, but so are the punishments. Are you prepared for that, Sedgwick?”

She saw the moment he wavered—and the moment he shoved it away in favor of arrogance. She could work with arrogance.

“Tell you what,” she said casually before he could speak. “I’m growing tired of this business with the blight. It’s interfering with my plans. If you put a stop to it, I’ll hear you out. Maybe I’ll even help you.”

But she was met by a look of utter confusion, quickly masked by Sedgwick’s usual insufferable smarminess. “The blight? I thought that was you.”

“Excuse me?” This did stop her in her tracks.

“It has Thornwitch written all over it, doesn’t it? Blighting plants and wrecking crops? Isn’t that what you’re known for?” There was no guile in his expression, only puzzled uncertainty.

Had she been heading down the wrong path all this time? Was it possible Sedgwick wasn’t behind the blight?

He watched her closely, tracking her open shock. “If it’s not you, then I’ve no idea where the blasted rot is coming from.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, trying to mask the quiver in her voice. “What about my magic?”

“What about it?” He seemed genuinely confused. There was no crowing tone to his voice, no smirking glory in his expression. If Sedgwick truly had nothing to do with the side effects of using her magic, then that meant Nathaniel was wrong. The pain was coming from her because Violet using good magic just wasn’t natural. It meant her magic really was evil after all.

Sedgwick scoffed. “Come on, Thornwitch. Even I know better than to—”

“Don’t call me that,” Violet hissed, her mind racing evil, evil, evil with each beat of her wicked heart.

“Thornwitch? Why? It’s who you are.” Sedgwick cocked his head. “Unless…”

She whipped her attention back to him.

“You couldn’t possibly think you’re fooling anyone with this getup, could you?” His expression turned delighted. “Don’t tell me this is more than a gambit? You’re not actually playing house here with this sad little shop and these sad little people?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think perhaps I do. Poor little Violet felt unloved and unappreciated by Papa Shadowfade. He betrayed you, after all. Stole you from Mummy.”

Violet hardened, the panic of that day in Silbourne coming back to her.

“You thought you could run away from it all and no one would notice one of the most powerful sorceresses in the world had set up as a florist, practically still in view of the castle?” Sedgwick laughed cruelly. “You’re not that stupid.”

“Leave,” she spat at him.

But he had wrested control of the reins, and the power made him brave. “I don’t think I will. You’ve gotten soft, Thornwitch. You’ve gone and thrown in your lot with this ridiculous little town, and unless you want them to suffer, you’re going to help me. Or I will raze this sorry place to the ground and tell everyone about your secret.”

“You’re mad. You think telling them I’m the Thornwitch will work for you? I know your secret too, Sedgwick. You’ll be ruined here just as much as I am.”

“I couldn’t care less about them knowing my identity. The shop was a necessity for me, and a temporary one at that. But no, I’m talking about your other secret.”

Her blood froze in her veins. He couldn’t know. The only other person who knew was Karina the Tempest.

Sedgwick smirked. “I have spent weeks preparing for this ritual. I have built the space in his Great Hall, preserved his body for his return. I have cared for his wounds, Thornwitch. I know exactly the weapon with which he was murdered. I know who drove it through his chest. And I can put a bigger price on your head—yours and the heads of everyone you care about—with that information than you ever could on mine.”

He knew.

Three moons, he knew.

And whether or not he managed to bring back Shadowfade, he would use that information to his advantage—and put not just Violet but everyone she loved at risk in the process.

Thorns erupted from beneath her skin, and from his fearful expression, Violet knew exactly how she looked: eyes glowing green, thorny vines snarling through her hair, skin spiny with armor that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Her clothes would be shredded, and as the buckets of flowers behind her shriveled and withered away with the force of her anger, she knew she’d have to regrow all her commissions before tomorrow. Magic flooded from her body, radiating around her in a way that felt almost like relief. It erased the residual sting in her palms, leaving only delicious, wicked power. Sedgwick wanted her to be the Thornwitch? Fine. Evil came as easy to her as breathing.

“What makes you think you can demand anything of me?” Violet’s voice was low, and she watched with satisfaction as he swallowed hard, trying to mask his fear.

“I demand nothing, milady,” said Sedgwick, backtracking. Violet’s mouth pulsed in a cruel smile at the deference in his tone. A part of her had missed this, the fear, the groveling. She was powerful, and why shouldn’t she show it? Sedgwick continued. “Although I am pleased to see you are still yourself.”

But there was still that tone to his voice, the one that said he knew he had something over her, something that could ruin her. He could control her with the knowledge of what she’d done. She would be his puppet, his plaything—unless she put a stop to this right now.

She laughed, knowing it sounded arrogant. Her magic swirled and eddied inside her, rejoicing. Being without this power had been like breathing with only one lung. The other magic, the one that hurt, had never felt this way. Somewhere inside her, Violet Thistlewaite the florist pounded against the inside of her chest, begging her to remember… something . But no, she needed to scare him. She needed him to think she would end him, that he couldn’t intimidate her or control her. No one would ever force her into their service again. No one.

“You know nothing,” she told him. “Of me, of my power, of what Shadowfade was and was not. How could you? You are a weed, seeking opportunity to grow wherever you can. But a weed cannot uproot an oak. You do not know the extent of my power. You will never understand how far beneath me you are, how easily I could crush your roots. Leave this place and do not return.”

Sedgwick’s eyes had gone wide, and again triumph thrummed through her. She was proud of making him feel fear; she wanted to crush him. Tear the building down over his head. If he was dead, he couldn’t talk. She was—

Something bit her hand, hard, and Violet rushed back to herself, panting. Peri had latched his stony teeth on to the skin between her thumb and forefinger, not biting hard enough to draw blood, but enough to snap Violet out of the bindings of her past. She didn’t want to be that person anymore. She wasn’t that person anymore.

Sedgwick was still staring, but no longer at Violet. Complex thoughts raced across his features, too fast for her to follow. “That rock goblin,” he whispered, then cut himself off, his eyes darting back to Violet. “I’ll leave,” he said slowly, drawing his cloak around himself like a shield and curling his hands into his pockets. “I yield.”

It was meant to soothe her ego, and a moment ago, it might have, but Violet had shaken off the Thornwitch like snow from her cloak, and all she could feel was cold disgust. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want anyone to fawn over her or fear her. The people at Shadowfade Castle had never known her, never wanted to know her, because they were too afraid of ending up like Bartleby or one of the hapless victims in the towns she destroyed. She would never have been able to build a friendship like any of the ones she had created here. She—

Glass shattered on the worktable in front of her, and a faint orange mist rose in the air. Before she could stop herself, Violet inhaled, registering an overwhelming scent like bitter wormwood and sickeningly sweet hyacinth. She wanted to grimace but suddenly found that she could not move her face. Her eyes darted to Sedgwick, who smiled triumphantly and used his cloak to cover his nose and mouth.

“I would apologize for this,” he said, “but I’m not actually sorry at all.”

Violet tried to lunge for him, to twitch her fingers and use one of the plants on the shelves to wrap him in bindings so tight he couldn’t move, but she was the one who was frozen in place. Her arms and hands felt tight, and her feet felt heavy. She teetered where she stood as Sedgwick chuckled.

“It will wear off,” he said smugly, “but by then I’ll be well on my way to completing the ritual.” He reached for Peri, who had also been rendered motionless by the contents of the vial. “I do thank you, however, for solving the final piece of the puzzle for me.” He tapped the big peridot in Peri’s chest. “I had just about given up on finding the Eye of the Serpent, and here it was right in front of me all along.”

Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she struggled to stay on her feet. Peri! How could she have missed it? No! she wanted to shout. Let him go! But her mouth wouldn’t work, her muscles wouldn’t listen to her brain’s demands. She crashed to the floor, her balance giving way at last, and took down a shelf as she fell, half burying herself in fallen plants and broken pottery. Her vision began to blacken, and consciousness began to leave her.

Sedgwick smiled at her again, clearly amused. “It appears,” he said, flipping the sign in the front window to CLOSED as he left the shop, Peri under his arm, “that the weed is capable of felling the oak after all.”