here is increasing by the year, and I don’t have a princess’ means to fund my indulgences.” Ophelia shrugged, lifting the glass to her lips and smacking them in satisfaction. The liquid glimmered in the firelight. “It’s a wormwood spirit—a specialty of the Low Forest. I prefer to save it for special occasions, and what better way to celebrate servicing the princess? Bottoms up.”
Lilac took a hesitant sip while Ophelia did the same. It was delicious. Before she knew it, she’d finished the entire thing in four gulps. Her stomach tingled hot, then cold. She slapped her palms over her eyebrows in panic, ready to smother any sudden flames.
But nothing happened. Nothing at all.
Ophelia’s lips spread into a grin. “Intriguing.”
“How long should it take?” Lilac demanded. Sick dread filled her stomach. “It’s delayed.”
“Its effects are immediate, You Highness.”
Ophelia studied her, tapping a single black fingernail against the side of her nose. “It’s likely one of those anomalies of nature. Like blond parents producing a dark-haired child.” She shrugged. “Nothing too unusual.”
“So, my Darkling Tongue… isn’t a curse?”
“No,” Ophelia answered, sounding mildly shocked herself. “Apparently not. You came out… not wrong, for that isn’t the word. Different.”
“No.” Lilac gripped the chair arms, unable to process the implications of what any of it meant. “I am not like you,” she spat harshly, unable to swallow the nauseating disbelief. “In any way. I’m human.”
“I never said you weren’t,” the witch replied dismissively. “As I said, an anomaly.” She leaned back once more to rummage in the cabinet behind her. The doors creaked wide open, and Lilac caught a glimpse of dozens of misshapen bottles filled with potions and powders.
Reeling, Lilac sat back and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Don’t go pouting now, princess,” Ophelia said, her voice echoing slightly into the bowels of the cabinet. “There’s still a cure. The tonic you require is actually much simpler than anything designed to remove another practitioner’s magic. Ah, there we go.” She turned back to Lilac, something tiny concealed in her palm. “Magic removal usually requires a disenchantment ritual—which, you were correct upon requesting, because, let’s face it, we’d believed you were cursed. But now we know, all you’ll need is this; easier for me, and quicker for you, I might add.”
Ophelia unfurled her fingers to reveal a thumb-sized vial of swirling gold liquid, extending her arm across the table so Lilac could see. “In fact, I made a small batch recently. They’re handy to have in stock.”
“A batch?” Lilac inspected the vial. Although the witch held it perfectly still, the shimmering gold inside thrashed and swam, as if waiting to be released.
The witch nudged the cabinet doors open further to reveal a row of four identical vials suspended by a rack. “It’s probably my third or fourth most-requested tonic. It’s on the pricier end, sure. But you’d be surprised what folks are willing to part with when matters are desperate.”
Rage suddenly consumed Lilac. She hadn’t gone through everything—encountered ogres, korrigans, faced Sinclair, been drowned by Morgen, captured by vampires, and nearly imprisoned by the Fair Folk—all for some commoner’s cure.
“So, you mean to tell me,” she fired, palms prickling, her voice even raising, “that someone’s previously consulted you to remedy a Darkling Tongue?”
The witch blinked. “Not at all. You’re my only. But my customers come in all the time requesting to change certain traits. Traits they were born with. Things they dislike of themselves and wish to modify. For example, if a brown-haired lass fancied a man with an affinity for blondes. Very easy solution.” Ophelia tapped the side of the vial.
Born with?
“Yes, but that isn’t… I mean, I was expecting some sort of, I don’t know. Incantation. A ritual. An offering to the moon or something.” Something more solidifying, putting an end to her near-lifelong heartache. It couldn’t—shouldn’t— have been that easy.
Irritation flashed briefly across Ophelia’s moon-shaped face. “You’re upset because you feel I have contorted, reduced your circumstances to something trivial. But this is precisely what you’re looking for, is it not? A cure, a quick one, and by any means?”
“I—”
“You and I both were under the impression that your unwanted ability was the result of a third party’s sinister magic. Through my tried-and-true trial, this was proved wrong and thus, it is not so. Contrary to what you believe, you have not been duped. Princess Lilac,” Ophelia said dispassionately, clasping her fingers, “the Darkling language is etched in your blood through some peculiarity—a random deviation in nature’s usual course. It happens