Prologue: Be Good
Until very recently (eight minutes ago, in fact), the blood spattering the outside of Karina's brand-new tunic had pulsed inside the heart of the dark sorcerer known as Shadowfade. Brock, the knight she traveled with who did most of the laundry, would be appalled when he saw it. But Karina the Tempest, Protector of the Queen's Realm of Mereth, chose to think of the stain as a rather dashing and intimidating addition to her look as she strode through the castle grounds, blade in hand.
Karina searched for movement atop the black stone battlements that stood watch like hulking sentinels over the expansive gardens. The carefully groomed paths flanked by topiaries and flower beds were full of poisonous blooms, no doubt, but greener and more cheerful than she would have expected from a villain like Shadowfade.
None of this was as she expected. With as fearsome a reputation as Guy Shadowfade had amassed, vanquishing him should have been much more of a trial. Her lingering concern whispered that this had been some elaborate trick.
But Karina would have time for those thoughts later. One way or another, the sorcerer was finally defeated and his minions scattered, meaning it was up to Karina and her companions to make sure they could cause no further harm to the Merethi people.
"She went into the hedge maze!" Maggie cried, her long legs a blur as she sprinted in the opposite direction, her staff in hand as she chased another foe-hopefully that dreadful alchemist who had burned through Karina's favorite pair of boots with his poisons. "Brock and I will take care of the others!"
Karina nodded curtly, her eyes dragging on her partner's form for only a second longer than necessary before she took off into the hedge maze, sword gripped tightly in her fist. As she navigated the twists and turns of the maze, she kept an eye out for danger. She wouldn't have put it past Shadowfade to fill his grounds with tricks and traps, but the maze was strangely pleasant, its greenery on full display despite the late-winter season, and its corners staged with cheerful pots of colorful flowers. Like everything else about today, it didn't meet her expectations, and it only put Karina further on edge.
At the center of the maze, in a wide, round clearing, she found the one they called the Thornwitch.
To look upon the Thornwitch, it was said, was to look your death in the eye as it reached for you with vines that strangled and flowers that poisoned. The Thornwitch had destroyed the crops of an entire county with a single wave of her hand, dooming them to famine. She had torn buildings from their foundations by roiling the roots beneath them and disrupted trade routes by tearing apart roadways and growing impenetrable forests of the poisonous thorny vines for which she'd been named. She could command anything that grew and twist it to her dark purposes.
She was a monster, or so Karina had always heard. Hideous and deformed, some said, though others swore she was a temptress more beautiful than Evry, fearsome goddess of the second moon. When she'd fought her back at the castle, Karina had gotten only an impression of thorns, spiny like the quills of a porcupine, and eyes glowing like fox fire.
But the woman in front of her was sitting serenely on a garden bench like a young lady enjoying afternoon tea, not like an infamous trafficker of cruel poisons and punishments for the sorcerer's enemies. Gone were the thorns that sprung from her skin like spines and harshened her facial structure. Gone was the unearthly glow from her eyes and the vines that sprouted from her back like wings, slinging clouds of toxic pollen. If not for the iconic purple cloak puddled at her feet, Karina wouldn't have recognized her at all.
She was young, late twenties if Karina had to guess, and without the thorns that she had been named for, her face was soft and round. Pretty, in a homespun sort of way, with pale, freckled skin, thick brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders like vines reaching for a hold, and honey-tinted eyes beneath soft-angled brows. A white scar, perhaps the length of Karina's thumb, tracked down her face just to the right of her nose, slightly puckered where it bisected the edge of her lips and tugged one side of her mouth upward in a permanent smirk.
She would have been popular in a tavern, Karina judged, though of course she had nothing on Maggie's elegant beauty. Still, there was little to liken her to the monster of the stories or the villain she'd seen just minutes ago.
"Hello," the witch said softly, her voice high and clear.
Karina raised Flamebright, putting the sword between her and the witch, though she was realizing now, too late, that she was surrounded by plants. Here, the Thornwitch could incapacitate her with a twitch of her fingers, which were covered in dirt and curled tight around a long, sharp branch, still filthy with blood from the fight. The Thornwitch followed her gaze and allowed the branch to crumble to dust, leaving dark stains on her fingertips that matched the black silk of her tight clothing.
"Why haven't you killed me yet?" Karina asked, her voice like brittle steel.
The witch only blinked her long lashes. "Should I have?"
"We're surrounded by plants."
"Well, yes. This is my garden, after all." The witch paused. "Are you here to kill me now?"
Karina hesitated. If anyone had asked her even twenty minutes ago, her answer would have been a resounding yes. "I don't know. Do you want to die?"
She lowered her gaze. "I don't deserve to live."
"That's not what I asked."
The Thornwitch's chin trembled, though she quickly got herself under control. Karina hid her surprise. The witch in the stories felt no fear, only anger and hatred. But stories-she knew well, being one herself-were just stories in the end. Made of equal parts truth and lies, and it was often impossible to be certain which was which.
There was more to the Thornwitch than Karina could fathom, and more still she didn't understand. She had fled to the hedge maze, but why did she stop here? Why wasn't she fighting back? Her mind snagged on something the witch had said. Karina looked around at the center of the maze-the ivy-covered bench where the Thornwitch sat beneath a large flowering shrub heavy with pink flowers, the koi pond edged with round, smooth stones, the lush flower beds filled with buttery daffodils and the tall jut of foxgloves. "This is your garden?"
The Thornwitch looked around, fondness shining in her eyes. "Yes."
Karina remembered the tidy room she'd found in the castle, with a small bed and potted flowers and leafy vines crowded in the doorway to the balcony.
And a lock-on the outside of the door.
"You made all of this."
The witch did twitch her fingers then, but instead of carnivorous plants or thorny vines, a flower burst from the ground next to Karina. From amidst its splayed, fingerlike leaves sprung several clusters of vibrant purple flowers.
"It's gorgeous," Karina murmured, her fingers stretching toward a flower, half afraid it would sprout teeth and sever her fingers.
The witch tossed her head back and laughed. "It's monkshood. Incredibly toxic."
Karina snatched her hand back.
"All of this is poison." The witch gestured at her garden. Bitterness stained her words. "Nightshade. Foxglove. Oleander. Even the ivy-it might look pretty but all it does is destroy."
"But what else could you do?" A thought bloomed in Karina's mind, tickling her with the gentle press of a hunch. "With Shadowfade gone, you could create something good."
"Good is not in the Thornwitch's nature." The witch's words were scornful, but there was curiosity in her brown eyes.
"And the woman behind the Thornwitch?"
She jerked back as though Karina had drawn her sword, her jaw tight. The hero studied the villain whose name was spoken at a whisper throughout the countryside. There was something in her expression, behind that angry, suspicious mask, that looked a lot like wistfulness. Uncertainty. Hope. Karina thought back to the castle, to Shadowfade's final moments. The words on his lips with his final breaths.
Truth and lies, she thought. Both stand before me, but which is which?
Karina decided. "The Thornwitch dies here today. But you-whoever you are without her-don't have to. You could do so much better. You could be good."
The Thornwitch looked confused as Karina sheathed her weapon. The ivy on the bench detached itself to curl gently around the witch's ankle in what looked like a gesture of comfort.
"Just be good," Karina told her. "And don't make me regret this."
Chapter 1: Welcome to Dragon's Rest
Grimy puddles filled the missing cobblestones in the streets of Dragon's Rest, pockmarks of muck that spoke louder than words of what had become of the town. In the decades since Shadowfade had built his fortress on the craggy peak that towered over the edge of its borders, Dragon's Rest had gone from a prosperous community to a mountainside ghost town full of closed shutters and chipped paint.
The letter Violet had retrieved from the post office said she could meet her new landlord at Wingspan Green, and the postmaster said she'd know the town's largest park when she saw it, but despite the directions she'd scrawled on the back of the parchment, Violet was hopelessly lost.
"How does anyone navigate this place?" she wondered aloud, looking up at the darkening sky. Rava and Evry, two of the three moons, had already come to life for the evening, illuminating the hand-painted street signs on the corner. Evry was nearly full, and Violet was glad-she could use some of the goddess's bold nature now. Dragon's Rest wasn't a large town, but its winding, sloping streets curved and twisted like an errant vine creeping up a stone wall, looking for purchase.
"Are you lost, dear?" A tall elf woman with pale skin and a saffron-colored hair wrap approached Violet, her smile kind.
Violet ducked her head behind the potted plant in her arms. There was no reason for anyone in Dragon's Rest to recognize her, not unless she lost control of her magic, but still, she felt a spike of concern at having to interact with strangers.
No one will recognize you, she convinced herself. Still, Bartleby the pothos, with his broad, heart-shaped leaves, was a good disguise. Sensing her hesitation, the potted plant patted her on the shoulder, his flat leaves either smoothing the wrinkles in her cloak or trying to strangle her. It was often hard to tell with Bartleby. "I'm looking for Wingspan Green?"
The woman pointed back in the direction Violet had just come from. "You just missed the turnoff. Head that way and take a left at the first corner, then keep going straight. You can't miss it."
"Thank you," said Violet, peeking out from behind Bartleby to offer the woman a smile she hoped didn't look threatening. She was leaving that life behind. She was going to be good now, like Karina the Tempest had told her to.
Sure enough, now that she was headed in the right direction, Wingspan Green was easy to spot from several blocks away. The large, circular park was surrounded by battered storefronts with faded awnings. It was carpeted with green grass and lined with trees, which were just beginning to bud in defiance of these last stubborn days of winter, and the very presence of the greenery made Violet breathe a little easier. Paths meandered through the space, dotted with benches and a few small tables as well as what seemed to be a platform near the center, though it was blocked by a huge rock formation that looked as though it had tumbled down from the mountains sometime in the last thousand years and had since been tucked into bed beneath a blanket of moss.
Bartleby shuddered.
"Oh, shush you," Violet scolded him.
Before he had been turned into a plant, Bartleby wouldn't have just argued with her, he'd have towered over her and threatened bodily injury for shushing him like a child. He still managed to find ways to menace Violet on a near-daily basis, but she'd been careful to remove all sharp implements from within reach of his vines before they set off for Dragon's Rest.
"I think it's lovely," she said now, both to herself and to him. "The place has loads of potential." She stepped onto the grass, wishing she were barefoot so she could feel the soil beneath her toes. No flowers anywhere, but then, without magic like hers, it was too early in the season yet. Cesenne, the goddess of the third moon, whose phases heralded the changing of the seasons, would soon wax anew as spring began, and Violet suspected the park would liven up then. Perhaps once she'd settled and opened her shop, she could add a few flower beds to give it some splashes of color. A pang of longing for her gardens struck her, quickly suppressed by complicated relief for her own freedom.
She would plant a new garden here in Dragon's Rest and open a shop where she could sell her flowers. Just the thought of surrounding herself with blooms all day made her feel lighter. No one would have to know who she once was or how she'd once used her magic. She bent to stroke the grass and couldn't resist releasing just a bit of power from the well deep in her core. As easy as exhaling, especially under the moons, her magic spilled into the grass, making it grow tall enough to tickle Violet's wrist and wrap lovingly around her fingers in the one embrace she'd cherished her whole life. It was hard sometimes, when she did little things like this, to remember that her plant magic was evil at heart, but she'd done enough terrible things as the Thornwitch that she couldn't deny it.
Your own mother knew the truth about you, whispered a voice in her head nearly as recognizable as her own. She saw the darkness in your magic and she abandoned you for it. You are so lucky I found you, petal. You will always have a home with me.
But now Shadowfade was dead and that home was gone.
If she could keep that dark part of herself locked away, perhaps Violet could call this place home. Yes, it was dingy and a little weather-beaten, but then, so was she. Here, she could finally start over. Maybe she would learn who she could be without Guy Shadowfade. Without the Thornwitch.
The Violet who opened a flower shop in Dragon's Rest would have no idea what it was like to watch the life leave someone's eyes. She'd never have heard the wails of an entire village as she sank their homes into a bog that hadn't existed before she swept into town. Bartleby was simply a fondly named houseplant, not one of her former adversaries who'd spent the last half decade transformed into a potted pothos.
Copyright © 2025 by Emily Krempholtz. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
