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I’VE NEVER EXPERIENCED such a restless slumber as I had last night. My mind wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t allow me a minute or two to snooze. Instead, I was swarmed with so many questions that I stayed awake the entire night, exhausted by the weight of information I’d uncovered. Typically, I’d welcome a sunrise with open arms and a renewed zeal about the possibilities life could offer. Before I was whisked away from Yardenfeld, I would usually beat the sun to rise. It was my routine for a while to awaken before my mum did and map out the places I could run off to. I’d check my secret stash of gold to ensure not a gold piece was missing and then head out for my morning sprint. Townies in Yardenfeld were accustomed to seeing me jog in the early morning, where I’d greet the shining star at the docks. Now, though, I’d wish the golden rays of warmth would fall away back to the comfort of night. I have more thinking to do.
Vahilda is my aunt. It’s all I could think of, and all my mind would focus on. During my quick birdbath, I think of the secret she kept from me. My hurried breakfast of buttered bread is more of the same, a haze of thoughts about the fact that Vahilda is my aunt. My mum never talked much about her siblings or my grandmum and grandpop. Mum was the only family I had... until she wasn’t. I’m sure she’s cursing my name and wishing I’d succumb to the same fate as Igbob. I honestly can’t say that I know what a family is. I’ve read a plethora of books about happy families who I wished would adopt me, but reading about family isn’t the same as having one.
Could things change now that I have Vahilda? Or is that too much to ask for? She might be a touch mean and imperious, but she saved my life. She fed me a nice meal and gifted me clothes to wear. She even said good morning to me when I sat with her for breakfast. This is as close to a perfect family as I can get.
I’ll take it; for now, that is. I still don’t trust her for all it’s worth. Though she’s done so much for me in such a short time—more than my mum has ever—I can’t seem to get rid of this nagging suspicion I have in the back of my head that Vahilda is hiding more from me.
The morning dew makes the freshly cut grass appear ultra-glossy under the dawning sun. Parnissi is lovely, a breath of crisp floral air that jolts me more awake than I am. Still groggy and heavy with questions on my mind, I meet Vahilda in her flower garden. Sunflowers, zinnias, daisies, cosmos, lavender, and so much more plant life blanket her garden in a rainbow of colors.
Vahilda wears a flowing white gown with a matching headscarf that shields her curls. I’m still in my nightgown, and my scarf is somewhere in my room on the floor. It fell off after countless hours of tossing and turning. Vahilda holds two sunflowers in one hand, and in the other, the Floret Tome.
“Since we are short on time, I’d like to tell you what to expect come the Flower Trials,” Vahilda says, her face highlighted a warm brown color under the sun.
“Besides death? What else can I expect?” I fold my arms, too afraid to meet her eyes. I’m far too young to die. But death will be around every corner come the Flower Trials since, if I want to run for the hills, Vahilda will be after me in an instant.
“If you do as I say,” she says, tone miffed, “you will be successful.” Handing me a sunflower and the tome, she clenches her jaw. “Elyse... you must keep our relationship a secret. If the Elite knew you were my niece, they’d disqualify you.”
“Better disqualification than death, I always say.” I don’t always say that. I’ve never said that until today. Still, the statement stands. I did not sign up to die. Or had I when I signed Vahilda’s binding contract with blood?
Ignoring my quip completely, Vahilda waves the sunflower in an effortless motion in an M-shape. “The Flower Trials typically occur every hundred years or so. The average life span of witches and wizards is similar to that of humans.” She makes a displeased noise in her throat. “From what I’ve gathered, when I entered the trials with my brother, the trials are identical. For such an ancient rite of passage, some things are better left alone.”
Vahilda focuses on the sunflower pinched between her thumb and pointer. The flower bursts into an orange-red flame that she tosses high above her. I watch the ball of fire hurtling up and up and up until it fizzles out to nothing. I must admit, for something regarded by humans as demonic, magic is amazing.
“To win the Flower Trials,” she continues, turning to me as I fumble with the Floret Tome, “you must collect the required ingredients used to unlock the Astral Veil. Once the Astral Veil is open, the Elites pool their power together to enhance the winner’s magic. The Elite who is stepping down, enters the Astral Veil, to enter the realm of the Gods.”
Astral Veil? Realm of the Gods? I’d love to learn more about all of this, but I’m not too sure about becoming an Elite. Sounds too demanding. Too restrictive.
“What if you win but don’t want to become an Elite?” I ask.
“Well,” Vahilda says, smiling. “As an Elite, you can do as you please. Many Elites have passed their chairs down to their sons, who have never earned the right to become such powerful wizards.”
“Is that what you want?” I’m slowly putting together small pieces to a puzzle that may or may not be accurate. “You want me to win so that you can claim a spot with the Elite?”
Vahilda sighs. “Would you be willing to do that for me? I was never properly awarded my chair after my brother died.” She blinks away tears while she spins away from me. “Forgive me. I haven’t gotten over his death. He and I thought that together if we helped each other, we could both claim the same spot...”
“But that’s against the rules, right?”
“You’re a smart girl, Elyse.” She shows her face to me again, a soft tug pulling on the corners of her lips into a smile. But then she frowns. “Snapdragons?” She kneels near a cluster of pinkish-purple flowers.
“Is something wrong?” I inspect the flower alongside her, wondering why she’s so upset.
“Page one hundred thirty-four.” She snaps her fingers at me.
Thumbing through the pages, I flip to the page she requested. A picture of a sunflower, like the one clenched between my teeth as I balance the book, is described as the sun’s flower—a fire plant. A sunflower contains the elements of fire within each petal. Along with its primary use, it can also be utilized as a mood booster to elicit a sense of happiness or, if eaten whole, can improve one’s strength. Who knew sunflowers contained so much... magic?
“Your first test,” Vahilda says, voice to a growl, “burn these damn snapdragons.”
“Why?” I’m concerned, disturbed by her request to destroy such lovely flowers. The mere sight of the snapdragons makes her cheeks flushed of color, her head slick with sweat. Are snapdragons the black sheep of the magical flower world? I wonder what powers lie within the beautiful plants that would provoke such strong emotion from Vahilda.
Vahilda huffs a breath and glares at me. “Come here, you!”
The sound of her brash voice shakes me to the bone. I nearly drop the book and sunflower as I step to her. “I didn’t mean to question—”
A glimmering gust of black and yellow whirls by Vahilda’s heels. From the glittering breeze, Vahilda’s cat plops to the ground, summoned from Goddess knows where. The cat scans his new surroundings, a tuft of blue feathers inside of his maw. Hacking, the cat spits out a masticated bird, its tiny body an unrecognizable blob of saliva, blood, and bones.
Vahilda snatches the cat by the scruff of his neck, instantly paralyzing the poor creature. It’s only then that I realize that the angry witch wasn’t talking to me but her cat. Her golden-brown eyes flicker with heat as she addresses me. “Burn those beasts. Now!” She yanks the cat in midair, storms back to her home like a woman scorned.
What the hell was that all about? And what does the cat have to do with any of this? Did he plant these snapdragons? Is that why she’s so disturbed? Maybe this book will reveal something.
Dropping to my knees near the patch of snapdragons, I flip to the book’s first page to search the catalogue. Every flower from aconitum to the zinnia elegans is listed in alphabetical order. I run a finger down the long page, each flower curiouser than the next, until I find the listing for snapdragons. Page three hundred twelve. Skimming through hundreds of pages, I reach pages three hundred ten, three hundred eleven, and three hundred thirteen. The snapdragon page is missing. But why?
The backdoor to Vahilda’s home creaks open. I rip through the book, stopping once I’m back on the page with the sunflower.
“What’s taking so long?” Vahilda’s tone is sweet and calmer now.
“Just trying to work out the kinks,” I say, hoping the lie I’m boldly telling isn’t paper-thin. Glossing over the wordy description about sunflowers, I focus on the sentence about a witch or wizard’s intent. Intent is the spark that breathes magic into being. So, with my intent, I can summon a ball of fire that will torch the lovely snapdragons.
I can sense Vahilda’s impatience as her breaths grow heavy, strained. I dare not peek at her.
Sunflower in hand, I tap into my intent and visualize the snapdragons meeting their fiery fate. The stem of the sunflower ignites in my hand like a match, zips up the stem, and lights each yellow petal with orange flames.
“Focus on burning the snapdragons only.” Vahilda’s instructions nearly startle me out of my concentration.
With her words in mind, I allow the ball of fire to roll off my hand and atop the defenseless snapdragons. Plumes of gray and black smoke rise from the flowers as they curl and wither by the intensity of the flames.
“Withdraw your intent, Elyse.”
I’m too enthralled, too fascinated to do as the witch says. Though this senseless act of murder is saddening, it’s also as thrilling as witnessing a carriage wreck. I don’t know what’s so fascinating about it, and yet I can’t turn my head away.
Vahilda runs to her garden and screeches to the high heavens. “Elyse. You stupid girl!”
I’m instantly returned to the cottage with my mum. Vahilda’s words stir up memories that I’d rather forget. Memories of my mother shouting hurtful insults at me that would always make me cry.
“I-I’m sorry.” I blink myself back to reality. The flame I conjured has stretched to other innocent flowers, stealing the life from nearby zinnias, daisies, and sunflowers.
Vahilda rolls her wrist. A bouquet of hydrangea blooms in her hands. Tossing the hydrangeas, the witch manifests a heavy downpour of rain. The bed of colorful flowers is doused in gallons upon gallons of crystal blue water. Hissing in protest, the fire is snuffed out like a light.
Vahilda and I stand in hushed silence. Whirling on her heels, Vahilda pinches the bridge of her nose and chews on her bottom lip. “While I’m gone,” she says, eyes pressed tightly together, “please study that book. I want you to learn what you can about chamomile. And then, I will put what you’ve learned to the test. Tomorrow, you’ll learn about toad lilies and foxgloves. You will train day and night. Is that clear?”
I bob my head. “Yes.”
“Don’t let anyone in while I’m away,” she says, opens the backdoor. “Do not disappoint me, Elyse. You come from a long line of magical blood. Should you fail me again, I will deny you the right to sleep or eat until our work is done.”
***
VAHILDA’S HOME IS SO peaceful, comforting. Though that peace and comfort will fall to the wayside once the witch returns, I’ll savor these moments for what they’re worth. Peace is all I want. Truthfully. Of all the things one could want—fame, fortune, a hot body—all I want is peace. To achieve that peace, I sometimes like to take a nice walk, do a little sightseeing. However, I won’t risk that, as Vahilda could pop up at any moment. She left to go to the market to buy the flower seeds I’ll need to train with.
My feet are cushioned by the lush grass in the backyard as I take a stroll to the edge of the property. I carry the tome in both my hands; the book opens to the chapter about chamomile. Reading and walking aren’t my strong suit, but any chance of me running into someone is nonexistent here. Vahilda has so much space to grow forty acres worth of flowers. I can only imagine how tiring it would be to maintain such a massive garden. Maybe, after the Flower Trials, I can have a garden of my own. Maybe.
What I’ve learned about chamomile so far is that the flower can be used in tea, can help those who suffer from insomnia, gift the user with a sense of peace and harmony, and lastly, allows any witch or wizard to communicate with animals. How cool is that? Once again, I am floored by the magic each flower wields. I wonder why Vahilda wanted me to learn about chamomile? In any case, I’m eager to learn more—
“Ow!” I tumble backward. I land flat on my back. The book thumps against my ribcage. Something thorny pricked my legs. Propping myself up on my elbow, I inspect the cause of the pain. My eyes land on the borderline—a thick flatbed, to be exact—of thorns. For miles and miles, a sea of thorns blankets the landscape in prickly greens and reds. This is unsettling. I begin to wonder about the thorns when I remember something I read last night regarding my father. His obituary mentioned a perimeter of thorns. And how the laws of Parnissi cannot go beyond that. Is Parnissi protected by the threat of humans by way of thorns?
My legs tingle, blood dribbling from my wounds. I’ve got to get back to the house to patch myself up. Lifting myself up, I gather the book and head back toward Vahilda’s home, just an oblong-shaped blob in the distance. Actually, there are two shapes, and one is moving to me, running, in fact.
“Vahilda?” I say to the shadowy figure on a beeline toward me.
Squinting, I notice that the shadow isn’t the witch. It’s Percy. His blonde curls springing with each stride, blue eyes shimmering in the midday sun.
“Well, hello, Elyse.” Percy pants, hunches over to catch his breath.
“H-Hi.” I twist my lips at the sweaty boy. “Are you looking for Vahilda? She went to the market about two hours ago. I thought she’d be back by now.”
Percy wipes his head with the back of his sleeve. He’s still wearing the baggy suit I saw him in last night. “I came to see you.”
“Me?” My brows shoot upward. “Why have you come to see me?”
“Because I wanted to take you out on a date.”
That word “date” gives me pause. First, I’ve never been asked on a date in my life. And second, I barely know the man from a can of paint, and he wants to take me out on a date. All things considered, he is a good-looking guy, but, again, I don’t know him.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I say, words jumbled as I breeze past him. My legs are still burning with pain, and the trickle of blood hasn’t eased. “Vahilda said no visitors. And, if you haven’t noticed, I need to take care of an issue I have.”
“Goddess,” he squeals, “you’re bleeding.” He matches my paces, long legs giving him an unfair advantage over me. “That border is there for a reason. I would assume a witch like you knows that crossing thorn road would lead you back to the human world. Or death. Not too sure. But it’s there for our protection—”
“You should leave.” I press the book to my chest. Gaining speed, I ascend a grassy knoll and sprint for the house. “I don’t want to get into trouble. Not after what I did to her garden.”
Percy is breathless. He is shoulder to shoulder with me, grinning from ear to ear. “Is that why she’s at the market? Vahilda told me something different. And she said it was okay that I stop by, though.”
I come to a halt, ignoring the pain in my legs. “Did Vahilda really say that?”
“Elyse.” He leans his arm on my shoulder like we’re old chums. “I practically live here myself. Vahilda sort of adopted me.” He shrugs, lips twisted in a sort of uncertainty.
“She adopted you?”
“Not really, but... sure.”
“You’re like her son or something?”
He gives me a shrug. “Can’t say.”
“And what does that mean?” I ask, stupefied.
His ears twitch, and his nose wrinkles. “Crud.” He balls his fist and presses it to his mouth. “I should go—Vahilda’s back. But tomorrow, we’ll go on our date. Don’t tell Vahilda. Okay. It’s our secret.” The pale-skinned man dashes off at speeds inhumanely possible.
Vahilda appears at the backdoor a moment later, just as Percy zips by and out of sight. “Elyse.” She waves at me. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”