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Choosing my own path.
Choosing life.
Because isn’t that what the Viretree is? Life. Renewal. Growth.
Everything I already embody as a witch blessed by Death, just in a different form.
The truth settles in my chest, steady and certain.
I lift my chin and hold her gaze. “I claim it, Aislinn. I’m ready to make my vow to you and the Viretree.”
She hands me a dagger—ancient, ceremonial—its blade carved from moonstone.
“I, Gwyn Halethorne, vow to protect the Fae Isles, to bring forth Faerie the Free once more, and to love our king, Riven Thaelon, until my very last breath,” I whisper, swiping the stone across my palm. “Ground my roots, Aislinn. I am yours to guide.”
“I, Aislinn, accept you as mine.” She takes the dagger from me and repeats the motion. “Mine to bless, mine to guide.”
We clasp our hands together, blood slick and warm.
“Welcome home, Gwyn,” Aislinn says, releasing my hand. “Listen for my words on the breeze or a gentle tap on your shoulder, as I am always here to guide you.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
But I am not alone.
The roots stir.
They twist through the walls, curling like ink on parchment, slithering toward me.
One slips through the cell’s lock and splinters it.
The door creaks open.
Escape is right there, and yet, I cannot leave.
Not without first parting from my former life for good.
When I turn toward the matron, her face is ashen, her eyes full of fear.
“Most nights in exile, I didn’t think about you at all,” I say, voice strong and even. “But sometimes, I couldn’t help it. I’d lie awake, imagining what it would feel like to kill you.” I hold her burning gaze. “It never felt good or like something I could ever do, even when given the perfect opportunity.” I gesture all around us. “Sort of like right now.”
She’s babbling into nature’s gag, tears streaking down her face.
“You are a monster, and you deserve to suffer,” I say softly, waving my hand and commanding the roots to wrap around her completely, not to crush, but to contain her. “I will not allow your death to turn me into someone I do not recognize in the mirror. I was done with you then, and I’m done with you now. For the last time, I’m choosing me. I’m choosing Riven, my mate, and these Isles that feel like home.” I turn, leaving her in the dark. “The lands can decide what to do with you.”
Her muffled screams are silenced by the roaring in my ears, the pounding of my heart, and the sound of Lyrielle’s cell door creaking open as I push my way inside. The siren is trembling as I help her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her frail body for extra support.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, clutching her against me.
Roots coil around our ankles, lifting us skyward. Stone gives way like melted clay as the ground above us parts, and we’re thrust into the warm embrace of fading daylight. We’re carried to a stream, deposited into the water with a soft splash. It’s waist-deep and freezing, but I’ve never felt so happy to be above ground.
Drink from the stream, and you shall be healed, says Aislinn, voice carried softly on the breeze.
I don’t even hesitate, trusting fully in her guidance, as I scoop water into my hands and take a sip.
Magic, curious and bright, rushes through me.
It tingles all the way down, prickling me from the inside out as cuts and bumps heal.
