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I HAVE STOPPED TO SIT by the river, oblivious to the danger I may be putting myself in, or maybe just not caring.
I have good reasons for leaving, I have gone over them in my head again and again, but the further away I get from the castle, the worse I feel. I feel like I’m abandoning Everleigh without explanation, without even trying to make up for all the terrible things I’ve done.
And I know I was under a spell, then, but I’m still running away now.
Even with good reason, I am being a coward.
And when Millard finds me and Ceryn gone from my little cottage he will be in a blind fury and he will go to the castle to end this.
I know that.
So, I am running away from him too. From what he did to me.
Since this whole thing began, I have been a victim of circumstance.
Macsen came to my cottage looking for a death draught and if I had refused him I would have died. My draught killed the old King. Then I was to be Halfreda’s replacement, simply because it was always assumed that I would be. My little life at my cottage was brushed off, unimportant, I had to go to the castle. And then I had to work for Millard, spy on him, a foot in each camp as the play went on. I was drinking a love potion without knowing, and I was just a player in Millard and Everleigh’s game, really.
But if I am to move on with my life on my own terms, I have to finish things properly. I can choose to leave or I can choose to go back but I have to choose.
And I want to choose the path that will make me happiest. Not the path of least resistance, or a path thrust upon me by others. My path. My choice.
I pride myself on being good and doing good – death draughts aside, and now I know what to do.
I smooth down my skirts and lift the little vial of poison from my pocket. Before I head back to the castle I need to make this nasty little potion harmless. Undo my bad work – almost like a sign to myself. Bad things can be undone.
I remember Halfreda telling me how precise the draught was – each ingredient in the exact amount, stirred in the right way at the right time, all leading to the perfect storm of evil. I can’t feel it throbbing in my hands, like before, but I’m sure that’s because I’m in such turmoil. I don’t want to just throw it away. I want to keep it to remind me. Bad things can be undone, bad can be made good again.
I have that power.
I walk into the woods, looking for edible petals and berries I can add to this monstrosity to change the very heart of it, alter the essence of what it is.
I squeeze berry juice into the vial, thinking about Finn as I do so. Poor Finn; he didn’t get the chance to change the bad to good, to alter things, make up for the wrong choices.
And we all do it. We all make bad choices. At least once in a long life.
Only once if we are lucky and wise. Most of us do it far more often and spend our time balancing the good and bad. The wise and the stupid choices. Trying our best.
I shake the little vial once the lid is screwed back on and when I open it back up the smell is overpowering. I have changed the draught into something different. It will not have any powers; it is not a new spell to do something different, but it is no longer lethal.
It’s a harmless little reminder to me.
I head back to the castle and my step is as light as when I was leaving it.
I have changed my mind, the course of my life and it’s the right thing to do.
I only hope I get to the castle before Millard, Wolf and their men.
I do not want to arrive in the middle of a battle. I want to see Everleigh before it all kicks off.