| |
Once upon a time, there was an enchantress who made a mistake. Liaandra was a powerful woman, a battle mage for King and Queen Acron of Balini, recruited at the age of only fifteen years old. Due to her forceful personality and immense power, she was soon christened Liaandra the Bold. She was trained in the king’s army, among other wizards, most of whom only had a fraction of her power. But as she developed in skill and maturity, she began to notice some concerning patterns among the king’s forces—mainly that wages seemed to be based not on skill or experience, but on how much a person was liked.
As one of the few female battle mages and one of the most powerful women in the army, she was not particularly well liked. She was too opinionated, too blunt, and too bold.
As she trained and learned and aged, she slowly—much more slowly, it should be noted, than her male battle mage counterparts, despite being far more skilled than they—made her way up slowly through the ranks of the king’s forces. Then, one rather overcast day, she woke up and headed to retrieve her wages, but the wages were not there.
The treasurer responsible for payment had simply not shown up. All the other battle mages and warriors alike were confused and concerned, but decided it was nothing more than an honest mistake—perhaps the treasurer had simply forgotten what day it was.
But he didn’t show up the next day either, or the next day, or the day after that. Eventually, a missive arrived explaining that there had been a calculation error, and that next payday, they would all receive their payment and back wages owed.
Liaandra was furious about this oversight. She used her wages to care for her ailing mother, who was currently living in a sick house, and without her wages, she could miss a payment and her mother would be turned out on the street. But she decided to be patient with the treasurer, so she scrimped and saved and did her best, trusting that the next payday, her wages would be provided.
But the next payday, the treasurer once again did not show. This time, there were mutters about the pregnant queen, suggesting that the king, rather than paying his army, was instead buying lavish cribs and supplies, hiring nursemaids and wet nurses to prepare for the newborn. Liaandra did not begrudge him such things, but she did not think that warranted a lack of payment for those who worked for him, especially those who risked life and limb in his service.
She went to her superiors to complain, but they each turned her away, telling her to be patient. Her wages would come.
The when third payday rolled around and no wages were to be found, Liaandra was enraged. The sick house where her mother lived had given her a deadline for her to pay them what she owed. Without her wages, she could not do so, and her mother risked being put out in the street. Liaandra was furious not only with the king and the treasurer, but with herself for allowing this to go on for so long. She was the most powerful enchantress in the kingdom, for goodness’ sake—surely she should have some say in the matter.
So she stormed into the castle, only to be told that the queen was in labor, and the king was currently unavailable. With rage simmering inside her, she returned to the barracks, figuring that at this point, she could wait one or two more days.
But on her way back home, she stopped by the sick house to see her mother. When she entered her mother’s room, she was shocked to find that the linens on her bed had not been changed and a sickly pallor hung over her, her skin tinged a strange gray. When she confronted the staff, they told her that her mother’s medicines had run out, and with no medicine to buy new, they had simply... left her to die.
And she did. That very afternoon, while Liaandra sat beside her beloved mother, holding her hand, her spirit passed from her.
Now, rage boiled within Liaandra. Fury like she had never beheld burned in her mind, mixed with a deep sorrow and regret that she had not acted sooner. Then a thought whispered quietly amid the anger: the king had caused the death of her mother, and he needed to pay.
She stormed back to the castle and into the throne room, where she beheld the king and queen showing their new daughter to the world.
“King Acron,” she bellowed, “how dare you betray those in your service! How dare you neglect those who risk life and limb to serve you!” She scowled at his newborn daughter. “Throw us to the wolves, and so too shall your daughter be thrown to the wolves!”
And as she spoke, she could feel as her power rose within her and wrapped around the infant like a cocoon.
Then she stormed from the palace, retrieved her possessions, and vanished into the world.
With the hooves of the horse she’d stolen from the king thundering against the road, she fled from the capital city, her great cape swirling around her. Her emotions were near to overwhelming, and she knew that if she failed at containing them, her power could explode around her, injuring or killing innocent people and causing her heart to become blackened as coal. Though, truth be told, she wasn’t sure that her heart hadn’t already turned evil. She had just cast a powerful spell on the heir to the throne, who was but an infant, and while she meant the child no harm, it was a terrible thing to do. The princess had done nothing wrong, and Liaandra had allowed her fury and rage to overpower her common sense and cast an irreversible spell over an innocent child.
Guilt quickly overwhelmed her rage, and when she reached the next town, she used her reputation as a battle mage to trade out the king’s horse for an unbranded one, and kept riding, imbuing her mount with strength and speed as they traveled.
Finally, she reached a town on the outskirts of the Great Winter Forest, realizing that she had been traveling for several days without stopping except to feed and water her horse. She led her mount toward the nearest stable, and after handing over a few coins for its care and trying to ignore the glares of the stable hands, she made her way to the nearest inn. But of course, after paying the stable, she didn’t have enough money to stay at an inn for more than one night. Which meant she would need to get a job.
But what could a battle mage do? Other than... battle?
She didn’t imagine this town would have much need to transport large amounts of goods over long distances, keep entire regiments healthy and fed, or blow things up.
But perhaps she could do something small. Anyone could learn to pitch hay or wash dishes, right?
As she sat in the tavern that evening, slowly eating a bowl of hot soup and a small hunk of bread, she listened to people whispering about the evil enchantress Liaandra the Bold, and the curse which she had placed on the princess. Guilt roiled in her stomach, and she wondered what they would think if they knew she sat among them.
But no, she would keep her identity a secret, she decided. She would go by Anna, as her dear mother used to call her.
The next morning, she began by asking the innkeeper if he had any work she could do in exchange for two or three more nights. He wasn’t happy about it, but told her since he hadn’t had many guests lately, she could help do one day’s labor in exchange for three nights.
She was assigned to the innkeeper’s wife, who had her sweeping and dusting, changing bedclothes, and peeling vegetables—all things she had done as a young girl, but had little to no experience with as an adult. After her day of labor, the innkeeper agreed to give her three nights, but said she wouldn’t be offered any more work.
So on her second day, she made her way into the village. It happened to be market day, so she wandered through the stalls looking for anyone who might need assistance. No one did, though she asked at several dozen stalls, and to her disappointment, not only did she only receive “noes” for answers, but everyone was unwelcoming and stiff. She knew it was likely because she was a stranger, but it got her to wondering if perhaps this wasn’t a good place for her to stay. Perhaps it would be better to save her coin and move on.
Her only positive interaction that day was with a young farmer named Leofric, who had set up a booth selling plants and wooden spoons. He had a strong jaw and quite bushy eyebrows, and when she went up to ask him about work, he was quite apologetic, telling her he and his grandfather ran a small farm together and had no need of additional hands. But she was welcome to have a cucumber and some fresh berries. She almost said no, but knowing she was quite hungry and had little to spare, instead humbly said thank you and accepted the food, feeling a well of gratitude come over her.
“May your gardens be lush,” she said in farewell, surprised to feel her power rise within her and wrap around the farmer like a cocoon. She glanced at him nervously, but he didn’t seem to have noticed anything. And anyway, it wasn’t a curse—it was more of a blessing—and she determined to put it out of her mind. After all, the spell had already been cast, and it was too late to do anything about it.
She went back to the inn and spent her last coin on dinner, feeling quite disappointed. She would have to either sell her horse to continue surviving or move on to a different town. Despite her failure, she arose on the second day, knowing she only had one night left at the inn. She was determined to find something—anything—that would allow her enough coin to pay for dinner and another night. She tried not to think about how much the king owed her in wages; even if she stormed back into the castle again, he would never pay her.
Because the market had left, today’s search took her through the various businesses in the town. There was the inn and stable, of course, a grocer, a carver, and a shoemaker, among others. Most said no, or scowled at her suspiciously as she browsed their wares without buying. But as she passed the apothecary’s shop, she was startled by the door bursting open.
“Get out of here, you useless girl!” an old woman cried, shoving a young woman out the door with her broom. “We don’t allow thieves here!”
“If you just paid me more—” the girl protested, but the old woman cut her off with a thwack of her broom.
“We agreed what we agreed!” she exclaimed. “And if you don’t like it, you can get work someplace else!”
The young woman scampered off with a huff, not even looking behind her.
The old woman caught Liaandra’s eye. “Can’t trust anybody these days!” she hollered before she spun around and stomped back into her store.
Liaandra wasn’t about to say no to the opportunity that had just smacked her in the face, so she hurried into the store after the woman. She didn’t know anything about apothecaries, but she knew she was smart and could learn, if the woman would just give her the chance.
“I have a feeling you’re looking for help,” she said as the woman turned to see who had entered the store.
“And who might you be?” Her wrinkled face scowled back at Liaandra.
“I just arrived,” Liaandra said, “and I’m looking for work. I’m patient, a quick study, on-time, and disciplined. And I don’t steal things.”
The old woman stared at her for a few moments as if contemplating what to do, before saying, “And what do you expect for pay?”
Liaandra swallowed, knowing it was unlikely she would get anything close to what the king had paid her. So she just said, “I’m near down to my last penny, so I’d be happy to take whatever you can offer.”
“Well,” the old woman replied. “That stupid girl has left me on nearly the worst possible day, what with spring colds in full swing and the market day only yesterday. If you’ll work for me today, we’ll see about tomorrow.”
“Thank you!” Liaandra exclaimed.
The old woman’s name was Meredith, and she was what Liaandra might describe as brusque. In fact, Liaandra thought perhaps people from her past life might find her own personality similar to Meredith’s. But she appreciated the woman’s forthrightness—she never had to guess what the woman wanted.
Liaandra remained stoic and quiet throughout the day, only asking questions when she had them and doing her best to follow the woman’s directions carefully. There was a lot of dicing and cutting and slicing up of various herbs, mixing of remedies, measuring of powders. And Liaandra quickly picked up the names of the various plants and ingredients, as well as what they were used for.
At the end of the day, Meredith told her to return the next morning, and offered her a few pennies for her labors. At the end of the second day, Meredith increased her wage, told her she was worth ten times the previous girl, and asked if she would like to stay in Meredith’s extra room over the shop.
And so, Liaandra suddenly found herself with a job, enough income to eat, and a place to live. She did her best to be polite, remained as calm as possible as she ignored minor irritations, and focused on being helpful and unobtrusive. She shared little about herself, but she learned much about Meredith, whose husband had died, leaving her to manage this shop on her own. She did so quite contentedly it seemed. Meredith even had a greenhouse on the back of her shop—an enormous room with walls made of south-facing windows, which remained warm enough year-round for her to continue growing plants of all kinds.
Liaandra loved to work in there, whether weeding and watering, or harvesting plants to prepare various remedies. But there was one mystery: a locked door. It was at the back of the shop, and Liaandra was, under no circumstances, allowed to enter. She did her best to ignore it, though occasionally her curiosity got the better of her, and she caught herself staring at it after Meredith had vanished through it.
As the end of summer neared, Liaandra realized one day that she had found a new normal that she rather liked. Rather than causing explosions that killed people, she was growing plants that helped people. Rather than fighting for the recognition of her skills against many other warriors and mages, she was growing and developing her skills with only herself as a comparison.
But it was an uneasy sort of contentment. For always, in the back of her mind, she felt that lump of guilt that she had let her anger overwhelm her, and in doing so, harmed a child. Or at least, caused a lifetime of strife for a child. It was a mistake for which she felt she could never forgive herself, nor could anyone else.
One day, in early fall, the market came to town. Normally on market day, Liaandra would stay at the shop to help customers, while Meredith went to do her shopping. But today, the local Festival of Leaves happened to be taking place on the same day, and so Meredith closed up the shop and gave Liaandra the day off. Together, they headed into the marketplace. It was the first time Liaandra had come back since her first week in the village, and this time was much different than before.
Now she recognized many of the people selling wares, as they had been in and out of the shop searching for remedies for various maladies. She recognized others who sold their wares to Meredith, and those who had made deliveries. And they recognized her.
As Meredith wandered off to greet her neighbors, Liaandra’s eyes fell on a booth that was overloaded with fall crops; pumpkins, squash, and brightly colored flowers filled every surface and poured out of crates scattered haphazardly across the ground.
“Leofric?” Liaandra asked as she stepped into his booth with wide eyes.
His face lit up as he saw her. “You!” he exclaimed. “I’ve looked for you every time I’ve come to town! My good luck charm!” He swept her up into a great big hug and spun her around.
Liaandra laughed at his ebullience, though her cheeks were red.
“Ever since the day you stopped by my shop and I gave you a cucumber and some berries, of all things,” he let out a disbelieving laugh, “our gardens have been overflowing with harvest, the weeds have been easy to manage, and people from miles around are coming to purchase our wares.”
“I’m happy for you,” Liaandra said.
“My grandfather suggested perhaps I had helped a magical old crone, but I told him you were much too pretty for that.”
Liaandra’s brain couldn’t decide whether to focus on his comment about being a magical old crone—which she undoubtedly was—or on the fact that he thought she was pretty.
“But please,” he continued without giving her a chance to process her thoughts, “would you tell me your name?”
“Anna,” she said, giving the name she’d been using since the king and queen had renounced Liaandra the Bold and put out a warning should anyone who might come into contact with her.
“Anna,” Leofric said sincerely, “if you still want that job you were asking for, I am now hiring.”
Liaandra smiled at him. “I’m working for Meredith at the apothecary now, but thank you for offering.”
“Meredith!” he exclaimed. He spun around and began digging through a box on the ground, before leaping to his feet with a bunch of bluish leaves in his hand. “Would you know if she has any interest in these?”
“Where did you get those, young man?” Meredith’s voice boomed behind him.
“They sprouted in my grandfather’s woods,” Leofric replied cheerily. “He wouldn’t tell me what they were, but said you might be interested.”
Meredith levied him with a stare and then pulled the bunch from his hands. “I’ll take all you’ve got.” Money exchanged hands, and then Meredith grabbed Liaandra by the arm and dragged her back to the shop. Liaandra glanced over her shoulder to see Leofric giving them a perplexed frown. She managed a small smile as he met her eyes before Meredith dragged her out of sight.
Back at the shop, Meredith closed and locked the door behind them, then faced Liaandra.
“I need your help,” she murmured. “But, under no circumstances can you tell anyone about what I’m about to show you.”
“I understand,” Liaandra said, though in fact, she did not.
Meredith led her to the locked door, opened it, and led Liaandra down, down, down the longest spiral staircase she thought she’d ever seen. Around and around and around they went, deeper and deeper and deeper into the ground. When they reached the bottom, where it was quite dark but for the glow of some bluish bioluminescent lichen growing on stone walls, Meredith lit a match and touched it to a trough of oil running along the wall. Flames licked up, lighting an enormous, echoing room with vaulted ceilings. Vines curled their way up from a moist, muddy ground, and a stone path stretched out before them.
Liaandra’s eyes widened in awe. All around her grew a garden filled with dark flowers, a special type of magical flora which only thrived underground, and most of which had magical properties. They sometimes glowed, or their pollen might cause someone to fall asleep, or their petals ground up into a paste could evoke rage or lust or deep sorrow if consumed by a person.
“Meredith,” she whispered. “What is this place?”
The woman didn’t answer, but led her to a worktable on the far side of the room, and tossed the basket full of blue plants onto it. To Liaandra’s surprise, dozens of other baskets full of the same plant filled the area around the table.
“Do you know what these are?” she asked, turning to face Liaandra with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her lips.
Liaandra shook her head.
“Red-hand root,” she replied. Liaandra glanced at the root of the plant; sure enough, they were red.
“These are potent and poisonous,” the woman said. “Do you know where they come from?”
Again, Liaandra shook her head.
“They can only be grown when a powerful enchantress casts a spell imbued with unresolved guilt.”
Liaandra’s eyes widened as she looked at the woman.
“If the plants continue growing, they will poison the land, the animals who live on the land, and the people who rely on the land to survive. And poor young men like Leofric will pull up what they think is a weed, and eventually, their hearts will harden and become infected with rot.” Meredith’s scowl deepened. “And I know it was you.”
“I—” Liaandra didn’t know what to say.
“You have been enchanting my poultices and remedies since the day you set foot in my shop—don’t think I didn’t notice,” Meredith exclaimed. “And don’t think I didn’t recognize your power all over that young man. Who are you? And what did you do to him?”
“I—I—” Liaandra collapsed onto the workbench as tears fell from her eyes. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“These plants are growing everywhere,” Meredith replied. “Leofric is the fourth farmer to sell them to me this month alone. I am going to go broke simply from buying useless plants from unsuspecting farmers.”
“Why don’t you tell them?”
“Tell them what? That a sorcerous is corrupting their land? If they don’t dig it up, it will continue to grow and fester, so I buy it for a pretty penny and tell them not to feed it to anyone.” She scowled. “This has you written all over it. So tell me: who are you?”
“I... I am Liaandra the Bold,” she confessed. “And I suppose, if this—” she waved at the plants, “is a manifestation of guilt, then it is likely my own guilt.”
Meredith gasped and took a step back. “Liaandra the Bold?” she whispered. “The evil enchantress who cursed the princess?”
“I didn’t curse her,” Liaandra said. “But that’s what I feel guilty about, yes.”
“You are possibly the most powerful enchantress in our entire kingdom,” Meredith said. “Your guilt could destroy us all.”
“How do I stop it?” Liaandra asked, tears now flowing down her face. “I don’t want to feel this way! I... I made a mistake! A mistake I don’t know how to fix! A mistake that... cannot be undone!”
“You cannot undo the spell you placed on Princess Sable?”
“I cannot.” Liaandra sank her head into her hands. “There are different types of spells, and the one I cast was... it was not a spell or a curse or a remedy. It was... a blessing.”
“A blessing,” Meredith whispered.
“I blessed her with wolves,” Liaandra wailed. “I don’t know how I did it! I didn’t mean to! I was so angry, and my power was overflowing! My mother had just died, and it was the king’s fault... and I... I...” She began sobbing, a deep heartfelt weeping that burned at her very core. “I didn’t want to hurt the princess, but I wanted to hurt the king. So I cast a blessing on the princess but made it sound like a curse, and... and...”
“My dear,” Meredith murmured, reaching out to rub Liaandra’s back. “Poor dear. How old were you when you went to work for the king?” Liaandra was surprised to hear Meredith’s voice sound almost... kind.
“Fifteen.” Liaandra’s voice was small, like a mouse’s eep.
“Taken from your mother when you were just a child,” Meredith continued, “forced to use your power to kill and maim. Likely trapped in a world dominated by men, where you had to kick and claw and fight to be respected, only to them have them turn around and fear you. And then to have your mother die because of the king’s choices.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“No!” Liaandra sat up suddenly, glaring at the woman who was trying to comfort her. “You’re supposed to be angry with me. You’re supposed to turn me over to the town magistrate. You’re supposed to tell me how wrong I was and what a terrible thing I did!”
To her surprise, Meredith simply gave her a small smile. “My dear, it sounds like you already know those things. What you don’t know is that even though you made a mistake, you still deserve compassion. You still deserve kindness. No one deserves to be punished forever, and it sounds like you’ve punished yourself more than enough.”
Liaandra gazed at the woman, and then whispered, “What do I do?”
“First, you’re going to forgive yourself,” Meredith replied, raising her eyebrows. “Or at least try. Recognize that you made one bad decision, but the king made many. Next, we are going to destroy the red-hand root together. Perhaps with the help of your handsome Leofric there. Nice work with the lush garden blessing, by the way.”
The old woman turned away from Liaandra and put together some supplies: a mortar and pestle, a bucket of water, and a fabric mask.
“You’ll need these,” she said to Liaandra. “We’re going to make red-hand root tea.”
It took the rest of the day for Liaandra to prepare all the roots. She bruised each leaf and stem with the mortar and pestle, boiled water, and then let it steep, wearing a mask the whole time to avoid breathing in the mixture. After that, Meredith added a few of petals she plucked from her collection of dark flowers, and let it steep some more. Finally, they strained out all the plant matter and poured the dangerous concoction into glass vials, now ready to be used.
When Liaandra went to bed that night, she was tired, but woke repeatedly with nightmares of wolves howling, children screaming, and Leofric being dragged beneath the soil by the tentacle-y vines of the red-hand root, dirt pouring over his face as he was slowly buried alive.
She woke early, drenched in sweat, and noticed that Meredith seemed to have slept poorly too.
“That’s how it starts,” Meredith said solemnly. “With nightmares. The mask only does so much good.”
Meredith packed Liaandra a bag with all the vials carefully wrapped inside, some food, and some coin. “You should go back to Leofric’s farm,” she said. “His grandfather will know what to do.”
Liaandra collected her horse from the stables and set out just after the sun had first peeked up over the horizon. She rode for several hours, the whole time turning over the feelings of fear and guilt and anger that bubbled inside her. The moths she’d been living in this town and working for Meredith, she had kept her emotions carefully hidden and contained, except for occasionally letting a spell fix one of Meredith’s remedies, or when she’d bestowed the blessing upon Leofric.
But what she hadn’t done was deal with the feelings. She hadn’t examined them. Hadn’t tried to understand them. Hadn’t made any attempt to resolve or heal them. She’d just buried them and left them to simmer.
And now look what she’d done. Poisoned the kingdom.
“No,” she said out loud. Her horse twitched its ears in response. “I cannot add another thing to feel guilty about on top of what I already feel guilty about. I have to solve this problem. That is the solution to it all.”
When she arrived at Leofric’s farm, it looked exactly as Meredith had described: a cute stone cottage with a thatched roof over which towered a great winter pine. A bright green lawn spread out from around the cottage, and a pebble path led from the road up to the front door. In the field behind the house, a few cows grazed in the shadow of a large barn, and beside it, a lush, vibrant garden overflowed with beautiful plants.
“Anna?” Leofric appeared in the doorway to his cottage, and a broad smile broke across his face. “What are you doing here?”
Liaandra took a deep breath. The first step, she had decided on her ride, was honesty. If she needed to heal her guilt, she couldn’t go around lying to people about who she was. That would only make her feel more guilty. But now that she was here, facing Leofric, she found she couldn’t form the words.
“Hello, Leofric,” she said instead, her voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Never a bother!” he exclaimed with a pleased grin. “Please, come in and have some tea. Let me take care of your horse.”
He helped her dismount and then introduced her to his grandfather, Thomas, before leading her horse to their barn. Thomas sat her down at their table inside their quaint house and plopped a cup of water in front of her. She drank gratefully.
“Meredith sent you to deal with the red-hand roots?” he asked with a frown.
“Yessir,” she replied, looking up into his stern face.
“You the enchantress who caused ‘em?” he continued.
“Y—yes, sir,” she stammered. She found the old man intimidating in a completely different way than she found Meredith intimidating. “I’m... I’m sorry, sir.”
“Sorry about what?” Leofric asked from the doorway. A small frown now creased his face.
“I...” She glanced at his grandfather, who was giving her a stern, yet somehow encouraging look. “I’m the one who caused the red-hand roots to grow.”
“Those are the blue plants I brought you?” Leofric’s frown deepened. “How did you do that?”
“I... I’m an enchantress,” she replied, her voice now so quiet she could barely hear herself.
“Speak up, girl!” Thomas commanded.
“I’m an enchantress,” she said, more loudly this time. “But I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
“You the one who put a spell on Leofric, too?” Thomas asked.
Liaandra wasn’t sure she could shrink down any smaller than she already was, but she felt like she wanted to.
“A spell!” Thomas exclaimed. “On me?” He frowned. “Was it a love spell?”
“No!” Liaandra exclaimed. “It was... the day I met you earlier in the summer and I said the thing about your gardens.”
“That was a spell?” He frowned. “Like a curse? It didn’t seem like a curse. Our crop has been excellent this year.”
“Um, more of a blessing than a curse,” Liaandra said. “I’m sorry. It was sort of by accident. You see, you were the first person to be nice to me in so long, and my feelings just kind of—”
“Exploded?” Thomas suggested. “Erupted? Overflowed? By golly, girl, you’re a battle mage, for crying out loud! You have to be more careful!”
“I didn’t know! I’m sorry!” Liaandra exclaimed, her guilt returning in full force. It had quieted on her ride, but now her face reddened and tears threatened to fall. She felt humiliated. How could she have done such a horrible thing? And even the blessing on Leofric—she should have been able to control her feelings.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Leofric exclaimed, kneeling beside her and putting his hand on her knee. “Is this why you’ve come?”
“My feelings have caused this poisonous plant to grow all over the kingdom,” she answered, unable to meet his eyes. “Meredith told me I could fix it by coming here.” She worked up the courage to meet Thomas’s gaze. “She said you would know what to do.”
Thomas nodded once. “Did you bring the remedy?”
“I did,” Liaandra replied.
“Boy,” he ordered Leofric, “take the young lady down to the patch we found.” He shifted his attention to Liaandra. “You take the remedy Meredith helped you prepare, then pour it on the soil around the base of the roots. Then you’ll know what else to do.”
Liaandra nodded and followed Leofric out of the cottage and through the lawn. The cottage sat on the edge of the great woods, and from here she could see the Alabaster Mountains looming in the distance. They were always snowy, even in summer. In the bright blue sky, two faint moons hung a hands’ width apart from each other. The pine trees of the forest towered just beyond the garden slope and ended just at the edge of Leofric’s farm.
“It’s beautiful,” Liaandra whispered.
Leofric turned to her with a pleased smile, and her heart seemed to stutter as his golden expression rested on her. “Thank you. I love it here.”
Just on the edge of the forest, she could see the red-hand root plants, voluptuous and lush, just as she had promised Leofric all his plants would be. They were tall enough to be saplings and thick enough to create a hedge.
“They’ve doubled in size in the last two days,” Leofric said with a worried look on his face. “I hope you can do something about them before they eat us.” He said these last words with a laugh, but suddenly her dream flashed before her eyes, of Leofric being dragged down into the soil and buried alive. Her guilt rose like bile in her throat, and the plants responded with a surge of growth.
Leofric let out a startled shout and jumped back, but just like in her dream, one of the vines had tangled around his leg and pulled his feet out from under him. He landed on the ground with a thud, scrambling as it dragged him back toward the thicket.
“No!” Liaandra screamed, reaching for his hands, but the red-hand was too fast and too strong, and she knew that the only way to save Leofric was to kill the plant. She opened her bag and pulled out a vial of the tea, then poured it on the ground at the base of the plant. Steam hissed and smoke billowed upward from the soil. The plant veered as though trying to get away from it. Leofric coughed and yelled, still trying to grab hold of the dirt with his fingers.
She poured another vial and another until Leofric and the plant were nearly invisible in the steam.
Then, before her, she saw a vision of the king, the queen, and the princess. And she saw herself, “Throw us to the wolves, and she too will be thrown to the wolves!” the vision of herself called out.
But this time, instead of an evil sorcerous with a heart of blackened coal doing something terrible to an innocent child, she saw in herself an innocent child who had been torn away from her family, forced to fight in battles as early as age sixteen, told she wasn’t good enough or fast enough strong enough, denied opportunities and rejected by those who were supposed to be her peers. Through it all, she had been little more than a child, surrounded by people, but always alone. And then deprived of pay. And most importantly, deprived of her mother.
Alone, alone, and alone again.
And she broke down and cried.
Her tears splashed into the dark soil underfoot, and slowly, the steam cleared, revealing Leofric groaning on the ground amid the limp remains of the mostly dead plant.
She took a deep breath and grasped his hand. “Leofric,” she whispered, “my name is Liaandra the Bold. I made a mistake, but I think that, with time, I can forgive myself.”
Leofric sat up with a smile and took both of her hands with his.
“I think you can too,” he said.
As soon as she heard those words, a wave of power erupted from her, crashing through the forest around them and spreading out through the entire kingdom. And with it, she knew beyond any doubt, the poisonous blue plants had died, and both she, the kingdom, and the princess would be okay.