His smile was like nothing she’d ever seen before. The way it lit up his harsh, angular features. The way it revealed a set of hidden dimples. The way it turned him from a hardened figure to a dashing young man.

It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, except she had seen it before. It had been a few years, but Amphelise had known Evrart Caffanon for her whole life. He was hardly a stranger, and yet he seemed to become one in her time away from her uncle’s manor. Her breath hitched, her heart raced, and her cheeks flushed as she dropped her gaze to her twiddling hands. “Thank you,” she said, forcing herself to sound calmer than she felt. It was ridiculous, really, to get flustered by him when she had known him for so long.

“You’re quite welcome. Do you need help with anything else?” he asked.

She took a deep breath, summoning her confidence. She brought her eyes back to his. They were brown—a warm, lovely brown that reminded her of the rich soil in the rose garden outside. She had never given much thought to the color brown before, but she was certain she’d be thinking of it now. “No. I should be fine.”

“Alright. Have a good night,” he said. He nodded once, turned on his heel, and disappeared down the hall.

Amphelise was not a young woman prone to dramatics, but she flung herself against the wood of her door and slid down until she was seated upon the floor. When had her uncle agreed to house such a man? All of his previous tenants—the ones she’d grown up with—were kindly grandfather-types. They made for pleasant company, but held no romantic appeal. To have someone so…distracting nearby could prove detrimental to her mission.

After sighing, Amphelise stood and entered her room. It was the same as it always was. The same patterned wallpaper, the same wooden floor, the same large window with a seat on the sill, overlooking the rose garden below. As she shut the door and stepped further into the room, the enchanted candles flickered on, casting the familiar space in a warm glow.

She paced before the window, glancing down at the well-kept bushes covered in big, brilliant blooms. The roses closest to this edge of the garden were red. From this angle, one could admire the overall layout of the garden. The bushes were loosely arranged in a spiraling, maze-like pattern. The colors of the roses created a lovely gradient effect, moving from shades of crimson and vermillion to magentas to light pinks. After the pinks came the orange roses, the yellow roses, and the white roses. At the very center of the garden stood a topiary shaped to resemble Thedena, the goddess of gardens. She held a single, crystalline rose that bloomed first and wilted last every year.

It was a special type of rose known as the Midnight Bloom. Amphelise’s uncle was wealthy and eccentric. He traveled the realms, looking for unique treasures. He came across a Midnight Bloom rather by accident and scooped up a blossoming rose for himself, cultivating it until he was able to plant it at the manor. He gave it a place of honor among his other roses, and raised it up so it might cast it’s glittering light around the garden once a year during the full moon known as the Rose Moon.

Amphelise glanced up into the quickly darkening sky. The moon hadn’t yet broken over the tree line, but she knew where it sat in its cycle. It was a gibbous waxing so large it was almost full. It would be full in two days’ time. Her uncle would host his annual gathering, inviting friends and neighbors to bask in the healing glow of the Midnight Bloom, and Amphelise would begin her long-awaited ritual.

Coming back to this town after she’d been so gracelessly dismissed was a feat in and of itself. Coming back and joining the festivities brought on by her beloved uncle? Unthinkable. Yet she knew she needed to proceed. Were she successful in her mission, she’d be able to restore some semblance of normalcy to her life. She could reclaim the fraying ribbons of friendships long shredded, weave them into something substantial again. She could restore herself in the sight of all who’d grown to hate her. And, were she to catch a few glimpses of Evrart Caffanon along the way, she might feel all the better for it.

~~~

“She certainly doesn’t look like a hag,” Evrart said as he made his way into the kitchen. 

Kian Borthwicke’s niece, Amphelise, was even prettier than he’d remembered, and he’d remembered her fondly. He left town shortly before she did, but he’d heard the stories often enough to wonder if they were true. When he moved back and befriended a few of Kian’s staff, he was surprised to hear their certainty that she’d become a hag. The Amphelise Borthwicke he knew was nothing but bold and kind. Magic had a way of changing people, but he doubted someone like her could be so easily swayed, even by a sudden influx of power.

“Don’t let that pretty face fool you,” Lorin, the cook, said. He chuckled darkly as he stirred the bubbling soup cooking on the stove. “You know she practices earth magic—the only unstable kind. I’m sure she’s skinned a few young maidens here and there to hide her true form.”

Evrart grimaced at the statement. Though he’d certainly never met a hag himself, he couldn’t imagine Amphelise being anything other than the boisterous young woman she had always been. Even if she did partake in earth magic, that didn’t necessarily equate to becoming a hag.

Plenty of magical practitioners were perfectly lovely people. The types of magic they channeled had no bearing on whether they became wizards, warlocks, druids, or hags. It was what they chose to do with it that made the difference. Not all ends could justify all means.

“Have you ever spoken to her?” Evrart asked. He knew he should drop the matter, but Amphelise was far too interesting a subject after such a long, boring spell has passed. It was as if she was the salt he hadn’t realized his bland life needed.

Lorin snorted. “Of course not. What reason would I have to speak to her?”

“Didn’t you know her before? She used to live here, after all,” Evrart said.

“Yes. And I am but a mere cook. I hardly even speak to Master Borthwicke unless we’re discussing meals. I’ve no reason to speak to a hag, pretty or not,” Lorin said.

Annora, one of the maids, entered the kitchen. She stood next to Evrart, sighing as she leaned forward on the counter. “Lorin, do you have any extra pastry lying about? I’m absolutely famished. I haven’t a hope of making it through the evening without a spot of sugar to perk me up.”

“There are some scones over there,” Lorin said, waving to a basket on the end of the counter. “Feel free to help yourself. And while you’re at it, you can tell Evrart here why we don’t speak to Amphelise Borthwicke.”

Annora’s eyebrows rose. She met Evrart’s gaze, her hazel eyes wide. “You mustn’t entangle yourself with that girl. She’s a nightmare in disguise.”

“How do you know?” Evrart said. He didn’t want to openly dismiss two of his friends, but so far no one had provided proof of the danger Amphelise allegedly posed. Kian Borthwicke was by far the best landlord Evrart had ever had. He was certain a kind, generous man such as Kian would take the time to warn his newest tenant were his long-anticipated niece really such a problem.

“Did you not hear the vials of potions and tinctures she had rattling about in her bags?” Annora asked.

Evrart did note a few tinkling sounds as he carried Amphelise’s things to her room, but they did not strike him odd. Plenty of folks carried things in bottles. It proved nothing.

“The use of such a common thing as glass makes her a haggish nightmare?” Evrart asked. He fought to hide the amusement he was feeling, but based on the growing furrow on Annora’s brow, he failed.

Before Annora could issue a response, their conversation was cut short by the entrance of the alleged haggish nightmare herself. It had been all of ten minutes since Evrart left Amphelise by her room and he was still a bit startled to see the lovely young woman, as if he’d forgotten how pretty her light blue eyes and long, black hair were.

He didn’t really forget, of course. He could never really forget. She was the subject of many an adolescent fantasy. Seeing how adulthood had gently caressed her face and sculpted her body was sparking old feelings he hadn’t expected to feel.

Amphelise stood in the doorway of the kitchen, the swinging wooden door caught in her hand. She stared at the three people occupying the room and they stared back, each wearing a guilty expression on their faces.

~~~

“A haggish nightmare,” Amphelise said, her lips quirking up in the faintest ghost of a smile. “That’s a new one.”

“My deepest apolo-”

“Please, Evrart. Save it,” she said, cutting him off.

He looked at her with sheer panic in his eyes. He said nothing but nodded emphatically.

“May I pilfer a few herbs from your stores, Mr. Lorin? It seems I’ve forgotten a few of the ingredients for my sleeping tonic,” Amphelise asked. She turned her gaze on the heavy-set, mustachioed chef.

He nodded far less enthusiastically and far more curtly than Evrart. “Of course, Miss Borthwicke. They’re in the cupboard in the corner.” He motioned toward a small, familiar cupboard.

It was hardly the first time Amphelise had snuck into the kitchen and raided her uncle’s cupboard. And it was hardly the first time she’d failed to sneak because of an unexpected staff member. It was the first time she felt bad because of it, though. There was almost nothing worse than overhearing someone’s true thoughts and finding them sharper than expected. She had no reason to think Evrart would treat her any differently than anyone else. He lived in the same town that ran her out, after all. He was bound to hear the rumors eventually.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to replace what I take before I leave,” Amphelise said.

As she dug around through the cupboard, she heard the trio whispering to each other. Based on the clipped tones, she assumed they were arguing about something. Her, most likely. She couldn’t be sure because she didn’t make out the entire conversation. It was a relief, given what she’d already overheard.

Her uncle’s staff believing her to be a hag based solely on the type of magic she channeled was nothing new. It was a common misconception. Magic from water was generally associated with healing and helpfulness. Magic from fire was big and destructive, often reserved for those who sought power over others. One might assume fire-based magic would be the scariest, but its strong ties to royalty often saved its reputation. Magic from air was a bit of a mystery. Not many people could channel that sort of magic, so not many people had thoughts about it. But earth magic—the kind Amphelise used—was the easiest to pull and the hardest to tame.

That untamable nature was what gave it such a bad reputation. That, and the first few hags who grew to prominence in ancient times. They would flay children for their youth, women for their beauty, men for their strength. They would twist requests into unexpected or overly-literal sorts of things, causing grief and heartache across the realms. They were the stuff of nightmares—the subject of every parent’s cautionary tale and every child’s bedtime ghost story.

Though a difficult force, magic was, by nature, neutral. Any magic could be used for good or bad, for help or harm. Earth magic was not exclusively evil. This was a truth Amphelise often forced herself to recite when others disbelieved her. Were her uncle in residence, he’d help her remember the truth of it. It wasn’t the type of magic that made a hag a hag. It was what one did with it.

“Oh, bother,” Amphelise whispered. There were two necessary herbs she couldn’t find in the cupboard. She sighed as she shut the door. She’d have to venture into town—a most unpleasant prospect.

When she turned back to the kitchen proper, Amphelise was startled to find Evrart leaning against the counter, watching her. The cook and the maid had disappeared.

“Did you find everything?” Evrart asked, standing up straight when their eyes met.

“Not quite. But it’s okay. I know the apothecary is open late. I’ll go and get what I need from there,” Amphelise said.

Evrart frowned. “You’re going out? At this hour?”

Amphelise began to cross the kitchen, ready to be rid of the now icky feelings conjured by the sound of bubbling soup and the smell of baking bread. “I don’t have much choice.”

“You shouldn’t go alone. It’s not safe. I can accompany you,” Evrart said.

Amphelise paused. She turned to look at him, her eyebrow arched in suspicion. “You are not obligated to protect me. And I should hardly think my safety is of real concern to you.”

“You are the niece of my landlord and long-time friend. He matters to me and you matter to him. So, yes, Amphelise, your safety is of concern to me,” Evrart said. He stood a bit taller and seemed to turn his nose up in the air.

Interesting that such a long-time friend should cite her uncle as reason for concern. It was all the proof she needed that the rumors had poisoned him against her just as they had everyone else. A disappointing, if expected, revelation.

“Fine. Meet me by the front door in 5 minutes. I won’t wait for you,” Amphelise said. She slipped out of the kitchen and back through the manor.

After strapping her dagger to her upper thigh and hiding it among her skirt folds, Amphelise donned her cloak and grabbed her coin purse. She made her way to the front door, rushing a bit to try and outpace Evrart. She slowed when she spotted him already waiting by the front door. He’d donned a cloak as well.

They exchanged a glance as Evrart reached for the ornate, gilded knob. He flashed her a faint smile. It wasn’t enough to expose the dimples she’d seen earlier, but it was enough to soften his face again. He was far too handsome for his own good.

They walked to town in silence. As the night grew darker around them, Amphelise spotted fireflies glowing softly in the trees. She smiled at them as sweet memories from her childhood floated back to her. Warm nights when she and her uncle made the same trek to town. Delicious, frozen treats shared by the two of them. Running through the garden as her uncle chased her. It was all rosy colored and drenched in laughter—a happy childhood despite the tragedy that landed her at her uncle’s manor in the first place.

An ache grew in Amphelise’s chest as they neared the center of town. It had been months since she’d last spoken to her uncle, and even longer since she’d last seen him. He was traveling more these days, too afraid that slowing down might make him feel older. Amphelise never pressed the matter, but she often worried her uncle would run himself into the ground were he not careful. Were she to raise her concerns, she was certain he’d simply tell her to make him some potion or other to help him. It was an idea, though not one she liked. She didn’t want anyone to rely too heavily on her magic, herself included.

The apothecary came into view. Amphelise stopped short upon seeing a painfully familiar silhouette darkening the doorway of the shop.

“Are you alright?” Evrart asked. He had taken a few steps before realizing she’d stopped, so he turned back to look at her. Concern filled his features when he saw the tears already brimming in her eyes.

“Uh…yes? Yes. I just, um…” She couldn’t find the right words. Couldn’t bring herself to explain why she couldn’t see the man who’d just entered that shop. “Do you think you could…” She paused, feeling foolish for even thinking of asking.

“Could what?”

She sighed. “Look, this just got complicated. I can’t explain right now, but I need your help. Can you either go into the apothecary for me or come with me and pretend to be my husband?”

Evrart blinked, clearly taken aback by her request. “I, uh…” He shook his head a few times. “How many ingredients do you need?”

A tiny part of Amphelise stung with the feeling of rejection. Obviously pretending to be her spouse was far too big an ask, and yet it hurt that he didn’t want to be seen with her. She stuffed the feeling away and said, “I only need two things.”

He nodded, his eyes drifting toward the apothecary. The other option, which Amphelise was only now considering, was to wait for…him to leave. But she knew he was a talker and there was no telling how long he’d stay inside of that shop.

“They already know I’m not married, but I can pretend to be your lover.”

~~~

Her hand wasn’t that much smaller than his, but it was notably colder. As she clasped his hand, he felt her shaking. He took a deep breath and readjusted so that their fingers were woven together. She looked at their joint hands with wide eyes before glancing up at him. Even in the darkness he could see the blush swirling on her cheeks.

“Do I have your permission to touch you when we go inside? May I touch your hair or your shoulders, or tuck you against my side?” Evrart asked.

Amphelise’s eyes grew even wider. She swallowed before nodding. “Yes. Yes you may. And you should call me a term of endearment if the moment presents itself.”

“What sort of thing qualifies as a term of endearment? Darling? Flower? My sweet, little nightmare?” he asked, smirking.

She flashed him a wry smile. “I think I’d prefer the first two over that last one.”

“Ah, yes, but considering that I am doing you a favor, I think I should get to choose,” he said.

She tried—and failed—to hide her laughter. When they reached the door of the apothecary, her face turned to stone. Evrart watched as she straightened her shoulders and puffed up her chest. It was as if she was donning armor. What could be so dangerous about a simple apothecary?

He gave her hand a light squeeze before opening the door and waving her inside.

As he caught sight of the large, imposing figure of Endellion Talloway, he suddenly understood. Endellion was a few years older than the two of them. He’d grown up in town. He was always on the taller side—lanky as a boy and then suddenly broad and full. His great-grandfather, his grandfather, and his father were all woodsmen by trade. They’d hunt and gather and chop wood. From the exaggerated musculature of his body, Evrart assumed that Endellion had taken the same path.

Amphelise had always loved Endellion. By extension, Evrart always silently resented him. He was a brute of boy and, by the looks of it, a brute of a man as well. She’d won his heart, though, and he pledged to marry her.

That was when Evrart left town. As much as he wished happiness for his friend, he couldn’t help but begrudge the man she’d chosen to see as the source of that happiness. And when he’d chopped his finger clear off, she did everything she could to help him.

That was when her magic kicked in. Evrart had heard the story enough times, though little details often changed depending on who was telling it. The common threads seemed to go: Endellion chopped off a finger because he was distracted by watching his betrothed. His screams of pain sent her into a panic and she tried desperately to hold his hand, to bandage it, even to reattach the severed finger. In her panic, she somehow managed to tap into the earth’s magic. Without realizing it, she had summoned enough magic to heal him.

The townspeople never painted Endellion as a bad guy for what came next, but Evrart saw through their fear and hate. He didn’t thank her for helping him. He didn’t check to see if she was alright. He didn’t show any concern for her at all—he yelled at her. He called her a hag. He threw a long, complicated string of insults at her, perfectly crafted to tear her insides out and dash them on the ground. He turned the entire town (save for her uncle) against her. They had practically chased her out with pitchforks and torches, though most would claim it was calmer than all of that.

There was no longer any doubt in Evrart’s mind. Amphelise’s strong reaction to seeing Endellion confirmed all of his worst suspicions. She wasn’t a hag, she wasn’t trying to be one, and she wasn’t invulnerable. Endellion wounded her, deeply, and there was next to nothing Evrart could do to change that for her. He could, he realized, help her going forward.

When both the shopkeeper and Endellion happened to turn in their direction, Evrart looped his arm around Amphelise’s shoulders and pulled her close. “My sweet flower, the ingredients you seek are back here. Let us fetch them, and as we do, pick up anything else you like. Nothing is too lavish for you.”

Amphelise showed her shock for a fraction of a second before catching on and playing along. “Oh, my love, you do like to spoil me.” She stood up on the tips of her toes and pressed a soft kiss against Evrart’s cheek. It was his turn to swallow his shock.

As they walked further into the shop, he was grateful those at the front would not see his face flushing with heat. He had expected her to tuck nicely against his side. He had expected she might smell pleasant given her regular use of herbs. He hadn’t expected her to permanently alter the feeling of his face by kissing one side and leaving the other side feeling dumb and unbalanced. As much as he wanted her to kiss him again, he knew a second kiss would likely send him floating off into the night, more weightless than a dandelion seed caught by the wind.

“Apologies,” Amphelise whispered once they were far enough away from the others.

Evrart blinked. “For what?”

“For kissing you without asking,” she muttered. Her gaze roamed the shelf before them, taking in the various jars and paper packets with handwritten labels.

“Well, just know that you have my express permission to kiss me anytime you like,” Evrart said.

He felt her stiffen beneath his arm. He saw her eyes widen as they stared, very decidedly, at the shelf. He saw the blush creeping back yet again.

There was a chance—a small but meaningful chance—that she harbored some level of attraction to him. It was unlikely to parallel what he felt for her, but it was possible enough that he felt a familiar, frightening sense of hope creeping up inside his chest. She would never move back to town. The only way they could have a proper relationship would be for him to go with her. He decided, right there in the apothecary, that he would. And then he chastised himself for getting completely carried away.

Amphelise moved closer to the shelf, stepping out of Evrart’s arm. He lowered it and took a step back, watching as she quietly read the labels to herself. Her mouth moved with each word, silently saying the names of each herb and extract lined before them. It was an impressive array. He knew the apothecary’s shopkeeper to be quite the forager, and this shelf alone was proof enough of that. It helped that the woods surrounding the town were rich with herbs and mushrooms and all manner of wild plant perfect for this sort of place.

“I didn’t know you were back in town, Amphelise.”

The deep rumble of Endellion’s voice startled both Evrart and Amphelise. They turned to see the large beast of a man standing beside her, his hand around his neck, almost awkward. Evrart couldn’t think of a time he’d ever seen Endellion looking awkward. He hadn’t even realized the man could look awkward. What a feat he’d accomplished.

“It’s only for a few days,” she said.

“To visit Evrart?” Endellion asked. His gaze shifted, briefly meeting Evrart’s eyes, before he glanced back at Amphelise.

“And Kian,” she said.

Evrart knew their “relationship” was a clever ruse only very recently devised, but he felt a bit of excitement when she didn’t deny coming to see him. The thought that anyone in town might mistake her trip as centering around him gave him a heady sort of rush.

“I am assuming you’re here for the Midnight Bloom as well,” Endellion said.

“It would be rather fortuitous timing were I not,” Amphelise said.

Endellion smirked, clearly amused with her response. Then he grew serious, as if shaking it off. “Whatever you’re planning, I hope it’s not harmful to anyone, including yourself. Once word gets out that you’re here, your uncle’s party is likely to be poorly attended.”

“Attendance is hardly a concern for either myself or my uncle. He will host an event regardless of whether anyone shows up. And I will perform my tasks just the same. It would be a shame for others if they let my mere presence dissuade them from beholding the rare spectacle that is the Midnight Bloom,” Amphelise said.

A small furrow started to form on Endellion’s forehead. “You were always too stubborn for your own good.”

Evrart snorted with laughter. The pair of former lovers turned to him, their expressions implying they’d already forgotten his presence. He met Endellion’s glare with an unbothered smirk. “You’re certainly one to talk about stubbornness. You chased your betrothed out of town because she dared to heal the finger you severed with your own idiocy.”

Anger flashed in Endellion’s eyes. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what it was like.”

“You’re right. I can’t possibly imagine how scared Amphelise must’ve felt—how terrifying it must’ve been to see her lifelong love experiencing such a bloody wound. I could certainly never empathize with something like that,” Evrart said. They all knew the truth of the matter: he, too, had once stood by someone during a traumatic and bloody injury. That particular story had a much sadder ending.

Endellion’s jaw worked. “You choose to empathize with a hag?”

“Amphelise is no more a hag than you are a fluffy bunny. Go on your way, and leave her in peace,” Evrart said. He stepped a bit closer, pulling Amphelise behind him ever so slightly. “I don’t want to make a scene in my friend’s shop. Do you?”

There must’ve been just enough venom lurking behind his words to scare Endellion. Something like fear flashed on his face—faster than the anger, and quickly replaced by it. He huffed out a breath, turning quickly and leaving. Once he was gone, Amphelise tugged on Evrart’s cloak.

He looked back to see her stifling a smile and shaking her head.

~~~

Amphelise spent the next morning preparing for her upcoming ritual. Her uncle wasn’t due back until that evening and she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. She worked steadily until Evrart briefly interrupted her with some breakfast on a tray.

She entertained him as she ate, chatting about how their lives had been since they’d last seen each other. His presence was as familiar a comfort as her old room. It was so familiar, in fact, that it became a point of distraction. The morning slipped into afternoon and Amphelise’s progress had been stalled. She had no choice but to dismiss Evrart so she could complete her preparations.

By evening, her tasks were finished and she ventured into the manor proper. She found Evrart seated in the rose garden, reading.

“Have the staff said anything about Kian’s arrival?” she asked, slowly making her way toward the bench on which he sat.

He looked up at her and smiled. It had the same charming effect as the day before—softening him, highlighting his inherent beauty. She wasn’t sure how long she could stand before such a brilliant expression.

“Hello to you too,” he joked.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. Hello and well met. Have you heard tell of Kian?”

“Not yet. I’m sure he’ll be along any time now,” Evrart said.

Amphelise nodded. She paused to admire the roses. In this section of the garden, they were mostly orange and pink.

“Have you finished your…whatever it was?” Evrart asked.

“Yes. It’s all ready for the full moon.”

His smile faltered. “What are your plans?”

“It’s just a ritual.”

“Yes, but what sort?”

Amphelise sighed. “It’s…it’s a healing sort of ritual. It will only affect me, so don’t worry.”

Evrart’s eyebrows raised. “Healing? Are you unwell?”

Amphelise didn’t really want to explain the ins and outs of the ritual. It had taken her so long to find it—years, really. She knew her uncle would not approve of it. She couldn’t be sure whether Evrart would, but it seemed likely he’d side with Kian. She wasn’t interested in hearing arguments against it. She had long ago determined it was the best path forward.

“I’m fine. Don’t fret,” Amphelise said.

“Is it preventative?” Evrart asked.

“Let’s discuss other matters. Will you join me for dinner?”

“Amphelise, why won’t you answer my questions? Is this ritual of yours truly no concern, or are you actually-”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Amphelise exclaimed, cutting him off. It was devastating enough to hear Endellion call her a hag. To hear Evrart say it would be world-ending. “It’s called the Ritual of the Phoenix. It will reset my body to the state it was in before I could channel magic.”

Evrart stared at her, his expression going neutral. The longer he stared, the more his brow furrowed. “You’re…why? Why would you want to do that?”

“Are you really asking me that?” Amphelise said.

“Yes. Of course I am. That sounds like a waste of time and magic,” Evrart said.

“It’s not. It’s the perfect solution. No one will hate me. No one will fear me. I can return to my life,” Amphelise said. Seeing the anger etched into Evrart’s features drove a stake through Amphelise’s heart. He had always supported her. He had always shown her kindness. To face his ire was far more unpleasant than she feared it would be.

Evrart took a deep breath. He shut the book he was holding and placed it on the bench beside him. He scooted forward, sitting up straight. “You are aware that Endellion has asked someone else to marry him, yes?”

It was a stinging pain, but nowhere near as pronounced as that which Evrart was now capable of inflicting.

“Yes,” Amphelise said. “My uncle told me when it first happened.”

“Then why are you planning to give up your powers?”

“I would like to marry someone, someday. It doesn’t have to be Endellion. I don’t think I’d want it to be anyway, after all the horrible things he said to me. But what man could accept me as I am now?” Amphelise said. “Surely none exist.”

The crease in Evrart’s brow grew. There might’ve even been a vein becoming more pronounced in his forehead. He stood. “Amphelise-”

“Amphelise!” Kian’s baritone rang out through the garden, bouncing off the rose bushes and spinning back to them.

Amphelise turned, too excited by her uncle’s presence to continue her discussion with Evrart. Her uncle was walking toward the garden. He held his arms out as Amphelise sprinted toward him. She crashed into him as he wrapped her in a familiar, comforting embrace.

“Uncle Kian! I’ve missed you so much!” she said. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down the sides of her face.

“I’ve missed you too, my darling! It’s so good to have you back,” he said, burying his face in her dark hair. “You smell like an herb garden.”

“And you smell like a horse!” she said, pushing him away. “Have you bathed at all?”

He laughed, taking her shoulders in his hands and examining her. “It was a long journey. I pushed the cart as fast as the horses could go, and they may have gotten a little stinky as a result. They ran fiercely, though. I think they were as excited to see you as I.”

Amphelise laughed. “That cannot possibly be true, but I’m glad you’re back. I’ll be sure to thank the horses after they’ve had some rest.”

Kian threw his arm around his niece’s shoulders and began to lead her to the manor. “Come along, Evrart. Join us for dinner,” he said, calling over his shoulder. Evrart followed, though his demeanor had significantly changed.

~~~

It came as no surprise to Evrart that Amphelise monopolized her uncle’s time for the entirety of the evening. It came as no surprise that she avoided him at the end of the evening, giving him no opportunity to further protest her upcoming ritual plans. And it came as no surprise that she seemed intent on spending the next day in the same manner—focused on Kian while actively avoiding Evrart.

He needed to speak to her, though, and he needed to speak to Kian. He was certain her uncle would be able to persuade her better than he himself.

About an hour before guests were set to arrive, Evrart found one opening. Kian was sitting in the library, logging something in one of his various travel journals. After a quick scan between the book stacks, Evrart confirmed that they were alone and he shut the heavy library door. He strolled over to Kian’s table, leaning casually against it at his side.

“Why are you lurking, young Caffanon?” Kian asked, not bothering to look up from his notes.

“Are you aware that your niece has come to perform a ritual during the Midnight Bloom’s shining this evening?” Evrart asked.

“I am,” Kian said.

“Are you aware of the details of said ritual?”

“I have some idea,” Kian said. He set down his quill and turned to glance up at Evrart. “Why are you asking?”

“She can’t do it. It’s not right,” Evrart said.

“But she believes it is,” Kian said.

“Because she has been lied to!” Evrart exclaimed. “Her magic is a gift! She can do so much good if she wishes. She can help others and herself. She can move mountains and redirect rivers. She can heal and grow and create a paradise. Why would she give all of that up?!”

Kian folded his hands and set them in his lap. “Surely you know the downsides of channeling such magic.”

“I know what ignorant fools think the downsides are. I do not believe they are truly issues, though,” Evrart said.

“Consider it this way. She lost her mother and her father to the same hag that took Endellion’s sister. You see magic as a way to heal because you were unable to aid your friend the way she aided Endellion. You have every right to feel that way just as they have every right to feel it is a dangerous force. I tend to side more with you. The hag was the problem, not the magic. But knowing something and feeling it are not always the same thing. Amphelise needs to do what she thinks is best. I will support her in whatever ways she needs supporting,” Kian said.

Evrart sighed. This conversation was not going the way he’d hoped it would go.

“As her friend, I think you should do what you think is best,” Kian continued. “Tell her how you feel and let her do with it what she will.”

Evrart nodded. He left the library, determined to do exactly that. He marched all the way to Amphelise’s door, knocked, and almost fell over when she opened it.

She was dressed for the party. Her gown was a gauzy, light blue affair that did wonders for her pretty blue eyes. It hugged her figure in the most flattering of ways and seemed to float about her as if she were an ethereal fairy. All of the burning determination drained out of him at the sight.

“Evrart?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

He scanned her again, still struck by the beauty she displayed so effortlessly. “I…uh… I need to talk to you. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure,” she said, beckoning him into her room with a wave of her hand.

Once they were both in the room and the door was shut, he summoned his courage. “I love you, Amphelise.”

She paused, her hand caught in mid-air as she lowered it from the door, her eyes growing wide. “You…well, okay. I mean, of course you do. We’ve been friends for…” Her voice trailed off as he shook his head.

“No, I mean I love you. I love you the way a man loves a woman. It’s romantic. It’s life-altering. It’s…I’ve always loved you,” Evrart said.

Amphelise stared at him, too shocked for words.

“You should do whatever you think is necessary—whatever makes you feel safe in this world. But I wanted you to know that I love you, magic or no magic. And I’d choose you, magic or no magic. I know you’re not a hag. I know you’d never become one. I knew that even before I knew your plan to rid yourself of your power, but that plan proves that I was right. You…you must have been so scared all of this time. It must have been so strange and hard out there, looking for the ritual, finding all the pieces you’d need.

“I’m not asking you to give it up. I’m not telling you what to do. But please, if any part of you wants to hold on to it, if any part of you wants to explore other possibilities, know that you can. You won’t be alone. I will accept you as you are. I always have. I always will,” Evrart said.

Amphelise’s eyes began to sparkle as tears filled them. Evrart fought the urge to cup her face in his hands and wipe those tears away. He fought the urge to hold her, to kiss her, to whisper the depths of his love directly into her ear. He wanted her to feel safe, so he held himself back.

“I…I don’t know, uh, I don’t know what to say,” Amphelise said. Her voice was shaking.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Evrart said. “You don’t have to accept my feelings. You don’t have to return them. I just wanted you to know. If fear of loneliness is what drove you to this point, I wanted you to know you don’t have to be alone.”

A few tears began to trickle down Amphelise’s face. She sniffled, nodded, and wiped at the tears. “Um…can I, uh, have a little time?”

“Of course,” Evrart said. “Take all the time you need.” He turned and opened the door. Then, he paused and faced her again. “You look lovely, by the way. Really lovely.”

He stepped into the hall, shut the door, and leaned back against the wall, sighing. It wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined the conversation going, but at least he’d said his piece. Maybe it would be enough.

~~~

The party was in full swing. Despite Endellion’s warnings, everyone turned up. No one seemed particularly worried about Amphelise now that Kian was back in town. He was beloved by all, and they seemed to trust his judgment, at least as far as that night was concerned.

Evrart stepped into the garden, straightening his dress shirt. He glanced around, looking for gauzy blue fabric or long, dark hair. There were no signs of Amphelise. He wasn’t exactly sure what her ritual required, but he assumed the light of the Midnight Bloom was somehow involved. If she wasn’t there, perhaps she’d reconsidered things. Perhaps she’d keep her magic after all.

About an hour passed before Evrart saw her. She had done her hair—braided pieces of it and twisted them around her head to create a sort of crown. The rest of her dark locks spilled down her back in gentle waves, cascading like a waterfall. His chest filled with fondness as she turned and he caught sight of her face.

Their eyes met. Amphelise smiled. She crossed the space between them, sparkling in the first hints of the Midnight Bloom’s light. She was resplendent. Evrart’s legs felt shaky, like soft clay. He worried briefly that he might fall before she reached him, but he managed to stay upright.

“Hello,” she said, stopping before him.

“Hello,” he said. His voice sounded thick and odd.

“I have something for you,” she said.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She held out her hand. He looked and saw an old, rusted key resting on her palm.

“A key?”

“Kian once gave me a trunk he found during one of his earlier expeditions. The wood of the trunk preserves whatever is placed inside of it indefinitely. I, um…I put my ritual ingredients inside of it. I’m not saying I want to keep my magic forever, but…” She paused and looked up at him, her hands wrapping around his, pressing the key into his palm. “I want you to hold on to this for me. If I change my mind…if I want to rid myself of the magic, I’ll ask you for it. And in the meantime, maybe you can help me, I don’t know, find a way to utilize its potential.”

Evrart was smiling before his mind could catch up with her words. “You’re not doing the ritual?”

She returned his smile. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever.”

“Amphelise,” he breathed.

“I didn’t know you loved me, Evrart. If I had known, I never would’ve wasted my time with Endellion,” she said. “Kian told me the reason you left—that you didn’t want to see us married. I’m…I’m sorry if I caused you pain.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I love you, too,” she said. “I think some part of me always has.”

Above, the clouds shifted. They slid out of the sky, fully revealing the bright light of the full Rose Moon. The Midnight Bloom began to sparkle as dappled, silver light covered the garden and everyone in it. The mystical, mythical flower of old shone with a crystalline brilliance, healing every wound it touched, binding every broken heart.

Evrart stepped toward Amphelise. Amphelise slid her arms around Evrart’s waist. Their bodies met in a warm, tight embrace as the magic of the Midnight Bloom sparkled around them and the soft music of the band wove their happy chords through the shadows in the air.

It was enough, he decided. What he’d said had been enough for her. And she, magic or no magic, would always be enough for him. It was the love and the light and the warm, summer night that the Midnight Bloom healed something deep in the both of them.