Page 36 of The Wand of Lore

Vaylor nodded. “They did, but that’s an excuse, and I won’t hide behind excuses anymore. I could have been braver, and I want to be braver.”

As Vaylor spoke, the bright light dimmed, and their surroundings came into focus. The witches had magicked themselves to a clearing in a meadow surrounded by a grove of old trees with gnarled branches and thick trunks. They heard birds chattering excitedly, chirping about the new arrivals to their grove, perhaps, and squirrels and chipmunks circled them curiously. Around them, the witches were making quite a ruckus, laughing and talking, their eyes alit. Gwenneth watched them for a minute as Vaylor turned his head away from her. She touched her neck and marveled at how light she felt without the collar weighing her down, how alive she felt with magic flooding her body and touching every part of her. Magic broughtcolor back to life. The child witch ran to the flowers and started picking them until her little fist overflowed with color.

“Vaylor!” said Gwenneth, making her decision.

He turned around and locked eyes with her.

“You came back. You had your castle and your title, and you came back, and you paid for our freedom with your blood. We are nothing but the decisions we make, and you made some questionable ones along the way. But in the end, you were ready to sacrifice yourself to do what was right. You should have told me earlier what awaited me in Gorenth, but you didn’t deliver me to the king. You tried to stop me from going into the castle, and you came back for me.” She cupped his face in her hands and met his gaze. “I missed you terribly,” she whispered so that only Vaylor could hear her. She pulled his face to hers, and her lips hungrily searched his. They kissed, and Gwenneth cherished the warmth and moisture of his lips against hers. They kissed, and between them passed the wounds of their entire lives: the ache of a sixteen-year-old girl whose mother would never come home, the fears of a five-year-old boy cowering in the dark. A woman with a collar, and a man who would never know home. They kissed, and between them passed acceptance as the sun wrapped them in its warm embrace. They kissed and lost themselves in each other, and found themselves all over again. They kissed, and the world blurred and spun, and the witches quieted and reformed a circle, this time around them. They kissed, and the only sound was the breeze rustling the leaves and the birds cheering for them. Finally, the kiss ended and they parted and looked at each other.

“Stay here,” said Gwenneth, gesturing around her. “King Egar will be hunting for us, but we will never be found again. Stay with us and help us build our homes.”

“And your sister?”

Gwenneth looked down. “I am scared for her. They said they know where she is, and they told me they cured her of the Devil’s Plague. But I worry what they will do to her. I must go back to Loews Hollow for her after I’ve rested and eaten, but the others can start building a home here.”

“I can’t help build anything with this leg.”

“I can’t replace a lost limb, even with my mother’s wand. But I can help you manage the pain and fashion something that will help you be mobile again.”

The eldest witch emerged from the circle. “We all have much healing to do. Some of us will never recover from the lifetime of pain we have endured. But we have no choice but to try.”

“If you’ll have me, I’ll stay while I heal and rebuild alongside you,” said Vaylor.

The witches nodded, and, as if planned, they gave a collective exhale, filling the warm breeze with their sighs and hopes for a future.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Home

Gwenneth and Vaylor spent the afternoon together, sitting in the grove, trading secrets under the canopy of leaves, and whispering words that nobody else will ever know. The autumn air grew cold, and Vaylor removed the cape that the tailor had placed on him, and draped it around Gwenneth.

“Have it. It will never fit me again, and you look like a queen in it. Besides, you’ll need it to keep you warm on your trip back to Loews Hollow.”

“I have had my fill of regency, thank you very much, and you will most surely walk again. But I will not object to your removing more clothing!” she teased, and ran a finger up his shirt. She stopped when her finger felt the uneven skin under his shirt, and gasped when she lifted the shirt and saw the curse had made its way up his chest. The curse had nearly run its course. Vaylor was dying.

“All that time at the castle, and they never healed you?”

“That’s what they were doing when I got the wand from them. Suffice to say we didn’t get very far in the healing process.”

“Does it hurt?”

Vaylor nodded. “It didn’t. But now it aches all the time.”

“Take off your shirt and lie down.” Gwenneth held his hand as Vaylor lay on the grass with his blackened chest exposed. “Mmm, forgive me, but I still love your chest. Not to worry though, I’ll still heal it.”

“You’re too kind.”

Gwenneth laughed as she put one hand on his chest and swished her mother’s wand with the other hand. The wand pulled at the curse, so that the darkness slithered around Vaylor’s body, pooled for a moment in his chest, and ran out of him through the wand.

He sat up, dizzy from the lightness.

“Lie back down. I’m not finished.”

Vaylor obeyed, and she swished her wand again until there was a wooden peg attached to the bottom of Vaylor’s wound.

“It’s hideous,” said Vaylor, looking at it. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s just an adjustment.”

Gwenneth nodded. “It won’t be easy. You won’t run the way you used to before. It’ll still hurt you some days. I’ll teach you which herbs to brew to ease the pain, but you have a long road ahead of you. A lot of healing to do.” She brushed his chest with her fingertips and smiled at him with her big, purple eyes.

“And the curse? Is it really gone for good? Is this whole thing truly over?” he asked, running his hands over his smooth skin.

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