The herbwitchs apprentic.., p.9
The Herbwitch's Apprentice, page 9
“Want to stop for a visit?” Miriam asked without looking back.
“No,” Rowena said. Miriam grunted.
I stole a look at Rowena, but I couldn’t glean anything from her now impassive expression.
For the first time, I realized my nannies had lives outside of Papa’s manor. Lives that started here, no doubt. Why did they leave to care for me?
Perhaps they would tell me another time.
“Where is everyone?” I asked instead. Other than the overflowing flora, the five of us were the only living souls to be seen.
Miriam glanced back at me. There was a glimmer of something in her eye. “We witches are reclusive people. Not as social as humans. Not as strict, either. Your rules and regulations are frivolous to us,” she said. “But what you see here began when King Humphrey started the Non-Magic Age.”
I looked up. The history of King Humphrey had never been taught to me from a witch’s perspective.
“Two generations ago, to be precise,” Theodora said from behind me. She sounded tired, but not from the exercise. “The witch Navierre was accused of poisoning the royal family after the sudden death of Queen Heather. Not a good look for the head of the royal inspection team.”
“The trial was conducted in private. No doubt King Humphrey wanted to hide the lack of evidence.” Rowena huffed. “Lucky for him, malicious rumors were beginning to spread about magic and witches anyway, so it wasn’t difficult to condemn Navierre. And subsequently, all of witchkind.”
“As you know, Olderea’s Non-Magic Age meant that magic and all who associated with it were forbidden from freely roaming the lands. Plants with magical properties were uprooted. Witches were forced to leave. Most of us eventually went underground as there was no room for us in other kingdoms and no one wanted to transport witches,” Theodora said. “Still, some stayed above, either to guard our passageways or for personal duties.” She shared a look with Rowena.
“And you just let them push you out?” I said, perplexed. “Don’t you have magic?”
“Magic is not for warfare. And I told you, witches are a passive people,” Miriam said. “Passive to a fault.”
Something akin to injustice swelled in my chest. “Did no one ask King Maximus to change things when he took the throne?”
Miriam laughed heartily. “Now you’re getting some witch pride. Alas, just as magic runs in witch blood, hatred for magic runs in the royals’,” she said. “It is because witches have powers they could never possess. Fear and jealousy are only natural for humans in authority. I am afraid witches will never see the light of day for a long time.”
“But can’t they come aboveground whenever they like?” I asked. “They could disguise themselves like you.”
Miriam shook her head. “Guardians of passageways are very choosy about who they let in or out,” she said. “Letting through one wrong person could lead to chaos.”
“You would know, Miriam,” Rowena grumbled.
The snail seller scowled. “That was a special case,” she said. “And so it seems is this one.”
I waited for her to explain, but she didn’t say anything more. There was still one question that nagged me, though I was afraid to ask it.
“So, who was my mother?”
The silence suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“Her name was Seraphina,” Theodora finally said.
She didn’t continue and though a million more questions followed, I didn’t feel it right to ask.
Seraphina.
At least that much I knew about her.
We walked for some minutes, the path growing increasingly steep as we approached the top of the hill. Miriam finally stopped before a cottage with circular windows on each side of the door. A neat garden lined the perimeter and extended to the back. Miriam stepped aside.
“Here we are. Go ahead and knock,” she said, giving a nod to my nannies.
“Any particular reason you won’t?” Rowena asked.
Miriam frowned. “You know how Lana is with visitors. I have no wish to experience another wart jinx. It was horrible for my business and took months to wear off. People actually thought I was a witch.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake woman, just knock. Everyone knows a wart jinx can easily be fixed with fig root potion...”
Voices faded away as I stared at the door before me. It was emitting a soft aura the color of Papa’s favorite sangria. Almost unconsciously, I stepped forward and touched the brass knob. Hot and cold prickles ran up my arm. The knob turned freely in my hand.
The three women stopped bickering as the door swung open. They looked at me in surprise.
“It was unlocked,” I said.
“Oh.” Miriam pursed her lips. “I could’ve sworn she put some type of nasty enchantment on it this time. Ah well. In we go.”
I cautiously trailed behind her. It didn’t seem wise to enter a witch’s territory without permission. Especially a witch who was expected to put jinxes on her door. I shuddered, wondering who this Lana was and why, out of all the witches in Witch Village, my nannies chose her to help me.
It was considerably darker past the threshold, but bright enough to observe that the interior was circular and filled with strange knickknacks. The smell that lingered in the air was both acrid and sweet. A bubbling noise came from the closed door before us, underneath which a pale purple light shone.
The door burst open and the purple light flooded our surroundings. I staggered into Theodora, blinded.
A woman’s firm voice reverberated through the room. “Intruders! State your business or prepare to be melted.”
“Relax, Lana. So dramatic.”
“Miriam.” The name was spat out in distaste. “I thought you learned your lesson from the warts.”
The snail shop owner sniffed and stepped aside. “I’m here with guests.”
My vision recovered. Before me stood a tall, middle-aged woman, a bucket of something bright and bubbling slung over her shoulder. Her face reminded me somewhat of a strict school teacher, pinched and scowling.
“Who is this?” she asked when her gaze met mine. I froze.
“She’s half witch,” Theodora said. “She wants her magic removed.”
There was a long, drawn out silence that I longed for someone to break. I stole a glance over Miriam’s shoulder. Lana was no longer scowling, but her expression was nowhere near welcoming.
“So it’s you two. Here to cause trouble again, aren’t you? Haven’t you done enough?” the witch said bitterly.
Rowena bristled.
“If you will just listen,” she said, stepping forward. “I know we haven’t been on the best of terms, but—”
Lana barked out a sharp laugh. “That is an understatement,” she said. Swinging the bucket of liquid from her shoulder, she walked back to the room from which she came. My nannies followed, and I with them.
“I’ll wait out here,” Miriam said with a shrug.
If the previous room was odd, this one was even stranger. It was about the size of a large closet, but instead of clothes, it held a red brick oven and a myriad of shelves that spiraled up and up the rounded walls.
A large cauldron filled with something thick and viscous hung above a fire. Lana poured the contents of the bucket inside and to my amazement, the solution turned clear and fluid like water.
“I know you still have your grudges,” Rowena said. “But Amarante needs your help. Just make a potion to remove her magic.”
“And what do I get in return?” Lana said, hardly sparing any of us a glance. She took a pinch of something from a ceramic jar and sprinkled it over the cauldron. Pops of blue smoke erupted from the solution and disappeared in the air.
“Redemption,” Theodora said stiffly.
Lana slammed the ceramic jar on the counter, rattling the shelves above her. “I do not take custom orders,” she said. Her green eyes flicked over me. “Especially not from humans.”
“She is half witch,” Rowena said, scowling. “You know perfectly well that she is.”
“And you are ruining my business,” Lana said. “I sell what I wish to sell at the Witch Market and even there I don’t get enough for my work.”
“Listen—”
“Move,” Lana said. “All of you. Except you, girl. Come here.”
Theodora and Rowena backed away, dissolving my protective wall. I was exposed to Lana’s scrutiny yet again.
I forced my legs to step forward.
“Can you tell me what potion this is?” Lana asked.
I glanced at the contents of the cauldron, noticing that the bubbling had stopped. The liquid was now the color of amber, shimmering and shifting in the firelight.
I shook my head.
“What about this? Do you know what this is?” She held the ceramic jar before me. It looked like tea leaves, but the smell was high and fruity. Blue flashed before my vision. Repair.
I shook my head again, my vision spinning from the scent. My mouth felt glued shut, as if I couldn’t move a muscle under her glare.
Lana sneered. “I see.” She filled a rounded glass jar with the contents of the cauldron. “Any witch would know that this is a basic antidote for mild poisoning. You, however, had no such knowledge.”
I watched the liquid swirl inside the glass, too humiliated to say anything. Rowena wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
Lana corked the bottle. “I’ve seen enough to know that this girl is not a witch,” she said. “Now get out. Do not trespass again unless you have a death wish.”
“How could you?” Rowena said. “You owe it to Sera—”
“Do not speak her name!” Lana shouted. The bottles on her shelves rattled.
Rowena fumed. I cowered behind her.
“Very well, Lana,” Theodora said, frowning. “But I daresay you’ll regret it.”
We found ourselves once again trudging along the dirt path, this time downhill. Miriam gave a loud sigh.
“I told you she was testy,” the snail seller said.
“Typical,” Rowena growled. “I never liked her.”
Theodora shook her head. “Never mind that. What’s important is that Amarante figures out how keep her powers under control.”
“Can’t you three help me?” I asked. “Can’t you teach me how to use magic?”
They all exchanged glances. I was getting tired of not knowing what was going on.
“Are you sure you want to use it?” Rowena said, furrowing her brows. “It could be dangerous.”
“If there’s no other option, yes,” I said. “I only need to know enough to keep it hidden. Like you and Theodora.”
Theodora sighed. “No, I’m afraid we cannot teach you.” She looked to Miriam. “Tell her why.”
Miriam nodded. “Witches are split into two categories, generally speaking. Herbwitches have an affinity to the living world, to animals and plants. Charmwitches specialize in nonorganic magic, like enchantments and jinxes and protective spells,” Miriam said. “You, my girl, are an herbwitch.”
“What kind of witch are you?” I said.
“Me?” She winked. “I’m a businesswoman.”
“What Miriam is trying to say,” Theodora said irritably, “is that each witch specializes in magic from the organic world or the inorganic world. This simulation of outdoors, for example, is a blend of both kinds of magic.”
I shook my head, barely understanding. “What do herbwitches do, exactly?”
“The most common is potions and plant magic,” Rowena said. “Even then, each witch’s magic is unique and works differently. For example, some witches can talk to plants. Some can merely grow them out of thin air.”
“So you can’t tell me what the colors in my vision mean?” I said.
Rowena shook her head. “That’s for you to figure out, dear.”
When we finally reached the field at the base of the village, Miriam summoned the passageway by mumbling a few words. I figured from that she was a charmwitch.
We traversed the tunnel yet again. This time I was too overwhelmed to be afraid of the darkness. I didn’t know what to make of the stillness of Witch Village, Lana’s anger, or Seraphina, the name that seemed to cause so much trouble.
11
The colors were getting difficult to control.
Flashes of chartreuse, yellow, and magenta flickered before my vision. The mount I rode didn’t help my nausea. It was a spirited pony by the name of Thunderstorm, supposedly because her coat was as dark as a stormy sky. But I had been too distracted by the neon green fog on the stableboy’s pants to pay attention to what he was saying.
“Calm down, why don’t you?” I muttered into the beast’s ear as we trotted through the trees. Thunderstorm shook her head, whipping my face with her long mane.
I rubbed my stinging cheek. It was still morning, that much I could tell from the crisp air. Murmurs, giggles, and the tinkling of bells from the other debutantes could be heard amongst the crunching of forest debris underfoot. This was the day of the hunting party, where gold ribboned young men went on murdering sprees of wild animals to win the heart of their favorite debutantes.
“Amarante? Are you alright?” Genevieve’s voice sounded from my left. I didn’t need to see her to know her brows were knit in worry.
“Quite,” I said, keeping my eyes shut. Colors still danced before my lids, but it was better than the chaos I was faced with when my eyes were open.
“You look pale.”
“Thanks, it’s the lavender powder. Have you heard that fair complexions are in again?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. My stomach lurched as Thunderstorm increased her pace. I peeked down at the soldier leading my mount, wondering why in the world he was speeding up, and instantly regretted it when a sharp flash of silver cut through my vision. I flinched.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Genevieve asked. “Is it the pheasant?”
Lord Strongfoot had served his signature, blisteringly spicy pheasant last night. My mouth was still stinging by the time we went to bed. That discomfort, however, was nothing compared to my current dilemma.
“Probably,” I said. I couldn’t very well tell Genevieve about the colors.
“I told you not to eat so much even if you were being polite,” my stepsister said. “I hardly had a full bite.”
“Aren’t you hungry, then?” I asked as a burst of fuchsia bloomed in my vision.
“A bit. Good thing we’ll be picnicking soon.”
I was all too happy when Thunderstorm came to a halt. I opened my eyes gingerly.
“Miss?”
The soldier leading Thunderstorm extended his hand. A blinding, neon yellow dripped from his fingers. I shut my eyes and swung my leg over the saddle, but my foot came into contact with something solid.
“Oof!”
A thump and a clatter of metal sounded as I lurched off my mount, slamming bodily into the soldier who, it seemed, I had also kicked in the face.
Genevieve was the first to rush to my side. “Amarante! Heavens, are you hurt?” she asked. I couldn’t help but look at her. Splashes of peach and rose surrounded her hair like a halo.
“No, I’m fine,” I said. I turned to the soldier. He was now sitting up, a shock of red streaming down his nose into a sea of yellow. He gaped at me. “I’m so sorry,” I said, but he scrambled off before I could say anything more.
“You should have stayed at Tori’s if you weren’t feeling well,” my stepsister said, helping me up to my feet. My skirts were muddied by dirt and debris, and there was a sizable rip where the fabric caught on the soldier’s armor. A few debutantes passed, snickering. My face burned.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, brushing off my gown as best I could. Genevieve continued to say something, but I could only stare.
There were no more colors.
I looked around in wonderment. Why had it stopped?
“Amarante? Are you listening?”
“Huh?”
“You really ought to sit down. They’re building the shelter right now so we’ll have plenty of time to rest. Really, how could you go out in this state?”
The tents and shelter were built in about thirty minutes in the forest clearing. Sheets of canvas were stretched over wooden beams, providing shade from the emerging sun. The debutantes were escorted to one such structure, where stools and tables were set out for our comfort. We spotted Tori and Olivia and joined them.
“What happened to you?” Tori said when we approached.
Olivia made a soft noise at the back of her throat. There was large hole in my riding skirt where my knee had scraped across the road. Luckily, the trousers underneath were still intact.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I said, plopping myself onto a stool.
“Was it Pa’s pheasant?” Tori asked.
“It didn’t really agree with her,” Genevieve said delicately.
Tori shook her head and sighed. “Alas, not everyone can stomach a Strongfoot pheasant,” she said. “Anyway, they say the hunting is going to start soon, though I don’t see the point in telling us—we’ll just be sitting here all day.”
“We’ll be picnicking and mingling,” Olivia piped up.
“Like I said, sitting here all day.”
I smiled at their banter, almost glad to have some semblance of normalcy, though attending the Season wouldn’t have been my idea of normal three weeks ago. Never in a million years had I thought that I’d be seeing strange colors, that there were witches living underground, that they were forced to do so because of a king Olderea knew and loved.
I glanced at the makeshift dais some men had lifted in. Ornate chairs replaced thrones. Queen Cordelia was already seated, leaning on the arm of her chair. Prince Ash was nowhere to be seen.
“Miss Amarante! What happened to you?”
I turned my head and was met with the sight of the missing prince. Murmurs of “Your Highness” sounded from my companions.
“I fell off my horse, Your Highness,” I said.
Prince Ash towered over me, dressed in a royal blue hunting coat and leather boots. His brows raised as he glanced at the hole in my skirts. I tucked my legs under the chair.
