Page 117 of A Bride for the Winter King
“So, who are you?” Mabel asks me.
“I’m Lori,” I reply, my voice steady despite the swirling confusion in my mind.
The corners of her mouth quirk. “Are you really?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Everything is muddled.”
“Two souls, one body. One body, two souls. Such is the Marassa’s fate. Two sides of a coin. One light. One dark.” The old woman turns to Elio. “I’m not sure why you came to me, King of Death. Witches deal in flesh, blood, and bones. The Dark One himself couldn’t touch a soul if we wanted. Only your father, the King of Light, could divide the two twins and kill only the dark half.”
“My father would rather burn his cities to the ground than grant me a favor. Hell, he’d probably spare Iris and kill Lori just to spite me.” Elio’s chest heaves, his jaw clenched on a bitter sigh. “Are you saying there’s nothing that can be done?”
“I didn’t say that.” The witch raises and lowers her hands in an orchestral conductor fashion, a gesture that signals us tosimmer down. “The dark twin is weaker than she lets on. She might be persuaded to…rest for a while.”
I instinctively walk toward her. “How?”
“Patience.” She inches toward the sink. “The Standing Stones won’t topple over in the next hour. Help me with the tea, dear, so I can get to know you better.” She passes me the infuser and motions toward the glass cupboard. “Eight spoonfuls should be enough.” With these incomplete instructions, she clicks on the stove and fills a water boiler to the brim.
I open the cabinet door and grab the closest tea box, but the witch clicks her tongue. “Not that one. It’s as dark as the highlands on a stormy night. That one”—she extends her wrinkled hand to the metal box at the very back of the shelf—“will do nicely.”
I crack open the lid, and a bittersweet, herbal scent supplants the others. The tiny, dried sun-shaped flowers of the herb ring a bell, but I can’t quite place it.
We wait in stifled silence while Mabel adds milk and honey to the table. The metallic teapot shows signs of wear and tear. A bump in its side gleams under the electric lights, while freckles of heat discoloration and welding marks decorate the handle.
The high whistling sound of the boiler sends goosebumps up my arms. Mabel gives me the go-ahead, and I place the infuser into the pot before pouring the hot water over it. The tea steeps, its color gradually deepening as a sunny fragrance fills the room.
We exchange weary glances while we wait. Elio’s expression is a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and Damian’s eyes reveal a guarded patience. Mabel’s gaze, though calm, holds an unspoken scrutiny. The minutes stretch, each of us lost in our own troubled thoughts as the tea continues to infuse.
Finally, I serve us each a cup of tea in vintage porcelain cups. The delicate aroma wafts up, a small comfort amid the tension. After I’m done, I join Mabel and the men at the table, sittingopposite the old witch. She stirs her tea with a small golden spoon, dipping the tip of her biscuit into the cup.
Elio stares down the brown liquid with his brows furrowed. “So… How would you go about making Iris sleep?”
“Tea, first,” the woman orders with a scowl.
I swallow a long swig, eager to get this part over with. The beverage’s muted floral taste is oddly enticing, and before I know it, I tilt my head back and finish the whole cup in one go.
Mabel sets her spoon down with a satisfied nod. “Well done.”
Iris curses me to all hells before she slowly slips away, as the old witch clearly planned. I sigh in relief, finally regaining control over my body. Her influence dissolves, leaving my muscles spent and aching but fully mine once more.
Mabel takes a measured sip of her tea. “I didn’t want to alert the dark twin. The tea you’ve been drinking is made from St. John’s Wort. It grows during the summer solstice and brings light and positivity to the mind and spirit. Drink it every morning and night, and it should be enough to keep the dark soul from taking control and spreading its roots too deep inside of you.”
“But Iris will still see and hear everything?” Elio croaks.
Mabel shows off her pearly white teeth. “I expect she will remain mostly dormant, with the occasional bout of consciousness.”
Elio and I exchange a heavy glance. While that compromise might sound perfectly acceptable to Mabel, it sure as hell isn’t enough of a solution for us. But the old witch is not our friend, so I swallow back my reckless, biting comments and take solace in the fact that I can’t hear Iris’s thoughts or feel her emotions anymore. Wherever she went, she’s far enough away for me to feel like myself again.
My hands shake, and the teacup clinks repeatedly against the golden-rimmed plate as I set it down. “Thank you for your help.”
“Eat a biscuit, dear, before you pass out.” She turns to Damian. “Now… about that meeting.”
Chapter 48
Songbird
LORI
Sara clicks her knife on the side of her crystal flute, interrupting the guests’ chatter and the live band. “Thank you all for coming. After the week we’ve had, I knew we needed a wedding reception to honor our new queen, a chance to celebrate and lift our spirits as this year comes to a close.”
