Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore by Emily Krempholtz - 9

A basket clutched to her side, Violet threaded her way through the throngs of vendors and curious customers that had gathered in Wingspan Green. The paths were lined with carts and booths; Quinn waved from hers with a grin as Violet passed her stall. A heavenly smell, thick with spices and sugar, wafted through the air, and a little girl marveled at the small posies in Violet’s basket.

“Oh,” said the girl on a breath, wistfulness in her blue eyes. Violet smiled at her and willed a spark of magic into a small, pink-daisy bouquet to give it a little extra life. She held it out to the girl.

“For you,” she said, but the girl’s mother pulled her back.

“No, thank you,” she said curtly.

Violet’s smile wilted. “That’s—of course.”

She took a step back, right into someone else. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not a problem,” said a familiar voice. “Oh, Violet! It’s you!”

Pru was dressed in another of her bright dresses, tied seemingly at random with scarves, her hair coiled on top of her head and pinned with a large and cheerful red feather. There was a violin slung over her back like a quiver of arrows. “Enjoying Market Day?”

“I—”

Pru followed her darting gaze to the daisies in Violet’s hand, and the mother who was tugging her daughter away by the arm. Her face twisted for a moment before resuming her usual grin. “Elis! It looks like you’ve met my friend Violet. She’s new in town and opening a flower shop. Isn’t that just what Dragon’s Rest needs?”

The woman—Elis—froze.

“A flower shop, you say?” An unsteady smile settled on her features, though it did nothing to calm the storm of nerves that had snapped the branches of Violet’s budding confidence. “We’ve not had one of those before.”

“I’m hoping to be open in just a few weeks,” said Violet, her voice timid. She had brought entire cities to their knees! She had wielded power beyond imagining! And this sharp-eyed woman could make her cower all because Violet was afraid she didn’t like her?

“What are you called?” Elis asked.

“I’m Violet.”

“No, what’s your shop called?”

“Oh.” Heat flushed her cheeks. “It doesn’t have a name just yet.”

“Hmm. A business worth remembering merits a name worth the same, don’t you think?”

Violet had given some thought to it, of course, but like a water lily in the desert, she was coming up dry.

“It will be something wonderful, I’m sure of it,” said Pru smoothly. She swiped the daisies from Violet’s hand and pressed them to her nose, inhaling. “Ahh. These are gorgeous. Violet, how much did you say you were charging for them?”

Violet startled again. “Oh, there’s no charge.”

“None? You’re sure?”

Feeling suddenly embarrassed, Violet explained, “I just wanted to explore the market and get to know the town.”

Pru’s expression was still friendly, but her eyes were on Elis. “Of course, because Dragon’s Rest is your new home. That’s incredibly kind of you, wouldn’t you agree, Elis?”

Elis nodded, and Pru handed the flowers to her young daughter, who by now was bouncing on her toes, completely unaware of any subtext between the adults.

“Tell the nice lady thank you,” said Elis uncertainly, nudging her daughter until she looked up shyly from her treasure and thanked Violet.

Pru’s grin widened. “And remember, once she’s open, come see her sometime for more! She’ll be just on the other side of the Green, next to the apothecary. If you stop by both our shops, we might even cut you a special discount!”

“We will,” promised Elis, and though her smile was tentative, at least now it looked real. Pru waved as Elis led her daughter away to a stall selling whittled wooden spoons and utensils.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Violet said, and she wasn’t certain whether she meant scolding Elis or referring to Violet as a friend . She stared down at her basket of flowers, which she’d spent most of her morning growing, exercising her new magic muscles. Some of the flowers looked a bit wonky, but overall, Violet was pleased to find it was getting easier.

“Of course I did,” said Pru. “You’ll have to forgive her, and anyone else who acts like that. People around here, we—well, we haven’t had much reason to trust outsiders in a long time.”

The understanding of what Pru was talking about hit Violet like a punch to the gut. Guy was the reason people in Dragon’s Rest were suspicious and scared. She was the reason.

They had every right to reject her.

Pru nudged her. “Don’t worry, they’ll come around. Things are changing for the better around here. You’re proof of that!”

If only she knew.

Violet allowed herself to be led around the market, handing out flowers with a smile as Pru introduced her to bakers and innkeepers and farmers and craftsmen. With every new interaction she felt more and more on the outside, more and more like Pru’s forceful “And we’re so happy to welcome her to Dragon’s Rest” was a stake driven deeper into dried soil, cracking the surface and making clear it wasn’t ready for planting. Still, she had to admit that, as word spread through the market and Pru introduced her to more people, Violet received fewer hard stares and more kind smiles.

“How often does this happen?” Violet asked after they walked away from a friendly candlemaker, who had insisted on giving Violet a floral-scented candle in exchange for a bouquet.

“Market Day? Once a week. It’s grown smaller over the years, mind you, but perhaps now that Shadowfade is gone, some of the old merchants will return.” Prudence looked around the market wistfully before settling her attention back on Violet. “How are you enjoying your new space?”

Violet beamed, brightening up for real. “It’s perfect. The ceilings, the shelving, the windows, the—” She paused, and Pru laughed.

“The greenhouse? I imagine that takes more getting used to than the rest. You weren’t anticipating having to share.”

“Neither was Nathaniel, it seems.” She didn’t bother hiding her grimace.

“That’s my fault, I’m afraid.” Pru gave her the courtesy of looking sheepish, at least. “My brother’s never been good with change—he’s always been a bit rough around the edges. I hope you won’t let him intimidate you.”

“I’ve tangled with worse,” Violet said truthfully.

“He’s been through a lot. Don’t get me wrong, he could do to loosen his collar a bit, but I promise you, he’s a dragon who only blows smoke.”

A gruff voice from near Violet’s waist growled, “Are you gonna play, then, or chatter like a pair of squirrels?”

She looked down to find a squat gnome with a shapeless yellow, knitted cap perched on his head, his hands on his hips and his skin blotchy red like he’d been yelling. He eyed Violet with suspicion and scowled at Prudence like she’d done him some great offense, but Pru only smiled back, wrinkling her nose at him.

“Hello, Jerome, you old bat,” she said fondly, then winked at Violet. “Duty calls.”

Pru leapt up onto the low stone platform Violet had noticed the other day and, in one fluid motion, pulled her instrument from her back like she’d done it a thousand times.

“Hello, Market Day!” Gone was the friendly landlord, and in her place was a performer, her voice booming, her eyes glittering with energy. “I’m Prudence Marsh and you’re all in for a treat. ”

She tucked the violin beneath her chin and immediately launched into a lively tune, her fingers flying across the neck so fast they blurred. Pru’s eyes fluttered shut, her foot stomping on the platform until someone on the other side picked up the beat, clapping along. Violet soon joined in, and once Pru was satisfied, she began to dance, her body bending and legs kicking up her skirt to reveal underskirts in contrasting colors, all the while keeping to the beat set by the crowd. Suddenly the scarves at her neck and her waist made sense; as she twirled and leapt across the stage, they billowed out behind her in mesmerizing streams of color.

The crowd thickened, but though she was jostled by bodies, Violet couldn’t take her eyes off her new friend. The bliss on Pru’s face was totally foreign—it was clear that this was Prudence in her element. Violet couldn’t imagine letting her guard down so completely; her own instincts constantly urged her to watch for threats and gauge the weaknesses of those around her.

How can you turn a situation to your advantage? Guy had taught her. Look for things that grow. Look for what you can bend to your will. This is how you keep yourself safe. Violet’s instincts had already homed in on the wooden instrument and bow and how easily she could twist them into something sharp and violent.

She felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable, like her root system had been entirely unearthed. The voice inside her that was the Thornwitch was waking up, telling her she needed to prove she wasn’t weak or timid. That she wasn’t someone to be bossed around and messed with and called “friend” by any of these small, silly people. Up there on that stage, Prudence was vulnerable, her instincts told her. Now was the time.

The time for what? Violet asked herself, and her treacherous thoughts had no response. You’re not a villain anymore. Be good.

Still, it felt strange and wrong to watch someone throw down their walls and invite the world in for a peek. Although the music was beautiful and Pru’s steps graceful, Violet found herself backing away from the stage, the crowd eagerly filling in the space she’d left. By the time she reached the edge of the throng, her breath had crawled up into her throat, refusing to go any deeper into her lungs, and her vision was swimming with dark magic that ached to burst from her. Let us protect you , her thorns coaxed, pushing their way to the surface of her skin. Let us make everything go away. Violet crouched by a tree, her basket dropping from her arms, and shut her eyes, trying to remember how to breathe.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat like that, but when she came back to herself and opened her eyes, the song had ended. Pru was calling out, “Now who among you would like to hear ‘The Tale of the Witch and the Warrior,’ and how the great stone dragon came to rest beneath this very mountain?”

Violet squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the grass that, in her panic, had grown tall enough to wrap around her knees and had even sprouted little yellow flowers. It nuzzled against her fingers like a cat seeking attention.

Focus on Pru’s words , she instructed herself, trying and failing to pay attention to the fantastical story she wove of two lovers fighting a dragon. When she opened her eyes again, there was a wizened old man sitting next to her, carefully placing her flowers back in her fallen basket.

Violet yelped, leaning back sharply. She felt sweaty and clammy and out of control. Her instincts told her it was a feeling that someone could take advantage of if they wanted to, and dark magic threatened to flare within her again at the thought. Her eyes sharpened in suspicion at the old man, who only looked at her with a kind smile and pushed the basket back toward her.

She cleared her throat, smoothing the thorns and calming the tempest of power that raged within her. She clenched her hand around a bit of rock, squeezing to calm herself. “Thank you.”

He raised his eyebrows and pointed at her, clearly asking if she was well.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I don’t—I mean, that’s never happened to me before.”

The old man stood and offered Violet a hand. She took it and rose to her feet, brushing her dusty hands on the tails of her jacket. She was still holding the rock, and as she dropped it she realized it was shaped exactly like a spoon. Rock goblins , she realized. They must have transformed it.

“Thank you,” she said again, turning her attention back to the old man.

He waved away her thanks, but then gestured for her to follow him. Violet glanced around her, that voice in her mind once again convincing her that he meant to lead her into a dark alley and pull a knife on her. But he was old and frail, and she was surrounded by soil and trees and things that grew. Like a child might count sheep before bed, she counted the ways she could take him down if she needed to as he led her toward a row of stalls just on the other side of the path. She chided herself for her unkind thoughts when he reached a cart set with a charcoal stove and several rotating spits above the open coals. It turned out to be the source of that incredible smell she’d noticed earlier, which she registered the moment he handed her a warm package wrapped in brown paper.

“I don’t have any coin on me,” she protested, but he waved her off and motioned for her to open it. Inside the paper was a long, spiraling pastry, shiny golden brown and rolled in glistening sugar. It was cylindrical and hollow inside, and the scent of cinnamon that rose from the cake made Violet nearly faint again for entirely different reasons. The man smiled at her and gestured like she should pull at the edge of the spiral and eat it, so she did.

Violet practically moaned when the pastry hit her tongue. It was sweet and yeasty, with a slight crunch around the edges where the sugar had caramelized. Flavors of cinnamon and vanilla overwhelmed her—it was like nothing she’d ever tasted before.

“This is amazing,” she said to the man. “What are they?”

He pointed to the sign on his cart: Dragon Horns .

“Making friends, I see?” They both turned to find Quinn standing there, arms crossed, smiling at them. “You fool, you didn’t even give her any of my whipped honey for dipping.”

“It’s perfect the way it is,” said Violet, before she remembered who she was talking to.

Quinn laughed. “I see you’re in league with Guy, then.”

Frost settled over Violet’s nerves. “What?” she spluttered.

“Guy.” Quinn nodded to the old man, then seemed to realize what she’d said. “ Oh , not big bad evil Guy. Just regular Guy. Good Guy. It was a popular name for a while, not that it helped our Guy. Shadowfade took his tongue when he was a young man.”

The old man—Guy—waved cheerfully, but Violet only felt nauseous. Of course, they were so close to Shadowfade Castle, and Guy Shadowfade had been in power for over a century. It stood to reason that some of the townsfolk would name their children after him to try to please him, just as it stood to reason that people here would bear scars. “I see.”

“Guy’s dragon horns are fantastic, aren’t they?” Quinn winked. “Though not as good as my honey cakes. You’ll have to come by for tea sometime and I’ll make them for you.”

Guy made direct eye contact with Violet, his face losing all traces of humor, and shook his head vehemently.

“Oh, stop it, you,” said Quinn brightly. “They were much better last time!”

Guy didn’t look convinced.

“Well,” tutted Quinn. “I have a new idea for the recipe, so we’ll see, shall we?”

Guy made a movement with his hands, and Quinn nodded. “Great idea.” She turned back to Violet. “A few of us get together every Thursday and chat. You could come, tell us a bit about yourself and how you came to be here.”

But Violet couldn’t agree to that. How could she? She still felt cold, and the clamminess she’d felt watching Pru was returning—these were real people who’d been affected by Shadowfade’s reign, who had suffered under him. The kind old man who had helped her and fed her—he’d been mutilated by the closest thing Violet had to a father. She didn’t deserve their kindness. No matter what she did now, she’d never be worthy of a normal life. Violet clutched the paper that held the dragon horn, crushing the cake in her hands. It tasted like ash now.

“Perhaps,” Violet said finally, holding back her tears. She selected the biggest bouquet left in her basket, thrusting it at (Regular) Guy. “For the cake,” she choked out. “Thank you.”

And then with a shaky smile at the two merchants, Violet turned tail and fled.