Page 39 of Thistle Thorns

When had Grandmother decided she was the gatekeeper to knowledge? That she alone got to choose what morsel she parceled out?

“That ring allows its master to travel between realms for short periods of time,” she finished, “so Arcadis will definitely be wanting it back. No matter the cost.”

I almost broke the chain to get the ring off and onto my finger. “Then why don’t we use it right now to go get Marten? Why bother with this mirror and all these spells and—”

“I told you fae bargains are tricky,” Grandmother said ruefully. “That ring can only be used by Arcadis. That was the deal.”

My exasperated huff blew the stray wisps of brown hair out of my face.

Grandmother chuckled. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Well, we should have a backup plan, just in case. Arcadis isn’t the only demon wandering around up here from time to time. There’s this warlock, Jakob Tabrass, who’s the ringmaster at the Carnival Cauchemar, and he—”

“Meadow!” Grandmother seized my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “A warlock? Have you learned nothing—”

I shook her off. “I’ve done what I had to to survive out here—to free you—and I’ll not apologize for it. It’s not like I was having afternoon tea with the man! I just know there might be other options. Other Unseelie we might contact if Arcadis proves troublesome.”

“Warlocks and their patrons don’t mix well with witches, Meadow. I’ll not expose you, nor our weakened coven, to their attention.” She inhaled deeply, settling her shoulders. “If Arcadis isn’t willing to deal, we have another option that doesn’t include demons or warlocks.”

“We do?” I asked hopefully.

Her eyes turned cold. “Of course. Marten was—is—the best choice to replace Hare as the newest robed elder. But we have an entire manor full of other candidates as well. Less suited, obviously, but still viable.”

I stared at her, hardly daring to believe what I’d just heard. “You… you’d leave him there and go back to the manor to rebuild the Circle of Nine and then continue on as if nothing had happened?”

“Expelling Marten from the Circle of Nine would make him no longer a liability to our strength. He would just be another uninitiated witch with no tap to the Circle’s power.” Then she stepped close and seized my cheeks with her vice-like fingers, pinching tight. “I must be shrewd, Meadow, to lead this coven, so I must see and weigh every option, no matter how unsavory. But make no mistake, whatever choice I make, I will not just leave him there.”

She gave me a little shove then, and when I regained my footing, I found tears glittering in her fierce eyes. They knew better than to spill down her cheeks, though.

“You might hate me for the secrets I’ve kept, for the bargains I made, but know this,” she said, her voice low and savage. “I would die for any one of you.”

With that, she turned back to the shimmering waterfall of the mirror, and I was dismissed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Later that evening, when the witching hour had long since come and gone and all the wood carvings had been divided and sealed according to Uncle Badger’s specifications, the Hawthornes took turns in the shower and bedded down for the night.

Grandmother had ousted me from my room, and with Aunts Peony and Eranthis, Mom, and Dad in the guest rooms hammocks, and Aunt Hyacinth, Uncle Badger, and Otter asleep in the den, there was no place left for me except the attic. With the shimmering waterfall mirror-portal. Alone.

“You’re in the hearth room,” Grandmother told me as she caught me gazing up the pull-down ladder.

Then she led me through my own house to that very room, barefoot and in a long nightgown, just like me. Summoning her magic, she grew me a bed by the fireplace. Not a hammock, but an intricately designed four-poster bed that looked to have come straight out of a fairy tale. Across the headboard, foxes chased after clever rabbits that hid in the knolls of trees or amongst the briars. Down the lengths of the frame, trout pursued minnows through a thicket of lily pads, turtles and frogs snoozing on their broad leaves and oblivious to the antics below. And at the foot of the bed, a field of wildflowers with dozens of butterflies.

I didn’t know whether or not I wanted to sleep or open a bottle of Riesling and explore all the other nooks and crannies to see what scenes they depicted.

“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to a small piece of wood that jutted out from the hearth-facing side of the frame. If I didn’t know any better, it would seem Grandmother had grown a soft-boiled egg holder right by the pillow.

Grandmother didn’t reply right away. Instead, she moved around the bed and crouched down by the hearth. Sticking her glowing hand into the flames, she retrieved the Hawthorne hearth ember. It was tucked quickly away into her golden censer, which fit perfectly into the little stand she’d grown out of the bed. Immediately, green threads of magic coursed from the censer and along the bedframe, pulsing faintly but steadily.

“For your protection, Meadow,” was her answer. It wasn’t just this ember that would be protecting me, but this entire hearth. There was no room safer in a hearth witch’s home than the one that held her fire. “Should something happen, hold it tight. It is like the amazonite pendant I gave you, but much fiercer. But it’s a last resort, Meadow. It burns hot and fast, so use it only when all else has failed you.”

I cast a worried glance at the hearth. Now that there was only one fire in it, its flames had shrunk. But not too much.

“Badger was right,” Grandmother admitted quietly, already turning to the kitchen. “You’ve quite the scrappy hearth.”

When I could no longer hear the stairs creaking with her ascent, I climbed into bed and rolled over to examine the gold censer. I’d been expecting something akin to a tea infuser, just a bunch of plain pin-prick holes to let out the smoke, but of course Iris Hawthorn would have something more ornate then that. The vents resembled violets.

Were you just a dream? I asked my hallucination from all those weeks ago. Or were you really in that milk bath with me… Violet?

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