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Leora pulled back and flashed a smile, swiping it from him.
Emiel eyed Soren—who was holding two glasses of mead—and jerked his head towards Thessa. She went to take one, but Soren’s grip was too strong. It splashed over the rim at her attempt.
“Are you sure you didn’t want both?” She asked, brows scrunching.
“You don’t need any mead, you’re?—"
Thessa rebutted, “It was one potion. And we earned this. Hand it over.” She really wanted to taste it after all the jabber about wildflowers and honey.
Soren spoke through his teeth. “Vulture.”
“Enough.” Emiel eyed Soren, shushing him.
Soren—now sour-faced—gave her the mead. “Fine.”
Thessa retrieved it with a spiteful smile.
“Well, we must say a toast,” Leora said. Nothing would break her spirit.
“That we must,” Emiel countered, tipping his glass to meet Leora’s.
Thessa’s glass followed next, and Soren’s last—as if he was forced against his will.
Leora laced her voice with elegance. “A wise witch once said, leave strife for yesterday and bestow what’s ahead; forever we are blessed, so let’s raise a glass instead.”
After their rims clinked, Thessa took abigsip.
Delectable wasn’t the word, it was realm-shattering good.As mead fell down her parted lips, she wondered how long Soren had watched her. Long enough to see her wipe it away, she supposed.
Soren snapped his focus to Emiel. “We need to get back.”
Leora pressed Soren. “But Emiel just told me all the mead’s gone, what for? Can’t we dance?”
“The hosts would like us toclean,” Soren pressed back, flashing his teeth. There was something different about them, or maybe Thessa was envisioning sharp things. Years of forging would do that to a smith.
Emiel shook his head. “We canclean itlater, let’s enjoy the music first. Come on we never get to?—”
Soren ignored him and walked away.
Thessa didn’t care, she was back to dancing.
“He’s not always this angry.” Emiel spoke over the music. “Well, that’s not entirely true, but he doesn’t mean any harm.”
Leora shook her head, sipping her mead and dancing too.
“Emiel, he can call me whatever he wants, your mead is amazing,” Thessa slurred.
Leora cackled and Emiel joined their dance, joined Leora really. It wasn’t long until Ivy and Beatrix found them, squealing over Thessa’s change of heart.
Soon, the greens turned into a blur of lamplight and music. Ivy and Beatrix were nose-to-nose, Emiel and Leora too. Thessa danced and danced, letting the bright sounds of flutes and fiddles consume her thoughts—other than wishing that warm-eyed fiddler would come twirl his fingers through her hair instead of that instrument.
That was until her euphoria was overshadowed by screams of terror. Witches were running about. Some were fleeing, others poised their daggers, but many were jumping as hundreds of juvenile serpents coiled through the field. Thegrass did nothing to mask their black and blue iridescent scales.
Many scurried between limbs and wrapped around ankles. Thessa saw a cook take a butcher knife to one, only for it to grow a new body from pure remnants. There were daggers swinging all around her now, and the serpents kept multiplying. Some witches must’ve thought continuous chops would yield less serpents. That it did not. Slice after slice; more and more. The field was consumed in minutes.
Thessa stood frozen as Emiel mouthed an apology to Leora before running back toward the tents. Ivy and Beatrix must’ve run for the streets. The crowd moved around her, Leora too.
She’d not purposely stood still. She’d never witnessed a Multiplicity Spell. They were forbidden. It didn’t change the fact that the serpents seemed harmless. There’d been enough to overrun a town in hours—with the wrong kind of retaliation.