The sprig of jasmine glowed in its new glass vase, petals softly illuminating the moonlight.
Ember stared at it, struggling to cross the intangible line between consciousness and unconsciousness, pushing against whatever held her back from slumber but failing to reach its depths.
As of tonight, I am no longer a witch.
The church bell tolled, two forlorn strikes echoing into the air. Her eyes flickered to the illuminated clock face, the ornate black hands swiveling round and round.
Who am I? What's going on?
As expected, her mind drifted towards Ronan, and she forced it away from him. If there was anybody she needed to think about, it was him. And if there was anybody she didn't want to think about, it was him.
But at the same time...a sigh escaped her lips. Ronan. The name had always been important to her. After all, wasn't he the one who overlooked her status as a witch? And now...now he loved her. The thought burned the edges of her mind, searing away at head like a flame at the corners of a paper.
Do you love me?
Her breaths came in painful jerks as her fingers clenched around the sheets.
Do you love me?
His hazel eyes swam before her, glimmering with amusement. His one eyebrow raised the way it always was when she became flustered.
But now, more recently, he'd begun displaying a more vulnerable side. A side which blushed instead of making her blush.
Don't think about him.
But lying up until two in the morning...what had she done but think about him? She'd evaded his name, his face, his voice, every type it'd poked the edges of her mind. She shook her head, closing her eyes, though her mind pulsed with action.
Don't. Think. About—
A creaking downstairs startled her from her thoughts.
Ember shot upright, heart hammering as blood roared in her ears.
Who in their right minds would be up at this time of the night?
Immediately, her covers came off, hurled to the side as her feet struck the floor. Her fingers closed around a hair ribbon on her desk, and, without knowing why, the fragile sprig of jasmine.
The coldness of the floor crept into the soles of her feet as she stole down the hallway. The moon painted unearthly shadows over the walls, silver burning against the floors.
Ember took a deep breath, shivering as she tiptoed towards the stairs. Her eyes flickered to the room on her left—Ronan's room.
No sound came from it. Slowly, she padded towards the door.
What are you going to do, open it? Watch him sleep?
She slapped herself mentally, eyes rolling in annoyance, and stepped away from the door.
And then another creak cut through the night, this time accompanied with the sound of...wind chimes.
Coldness shot through her.
Someone opened the door.
Ember's breath seized in her throat as she stepped back from the banisters, ducking into the shadows as she stared at the door.
Moonlight thundered in over the threshold, a torrent of silver glittering over the floorboards. A single figure stood in the doorway, slender shape curving against the shadows.
A woman.
Elizabeth? No, that wasn't she; Elizabeth's hips were fuller, and she never favored form-fitting gowns.
Then...who can it be?
Betty. Ember shrank back, pressing against the wall.
But that can't be her either; Betty's shorter, rounder.
This figure was both slender and curved, toned and flattering.
Yvonne? But she and Lord Tivas...they weren't staying at the Parris household, were they?
At least she hoped they weren't.
The figure glanced around furtively, one hand around the bronze knob of the doorway, the other clutching something cloaked in shadows. One foot pointed out the threshold, the other soon to follow suit.
And then the figure's eyes met Ember's, blue flashing under the moon's silver light.
They widened, then narrowed in hatred.
"Yvonne!"
Ember's voice cracked as the shout tore from her throat. In the room behind her, Ronan stirred, groaning unintelligibly.
Yvonne shot one more look at Ember, whipped around, and sprinted away, slamming the door behind her.
Ronan grunted as Ember shot down the stairs, feet pounding against the wood as she hurtled towards the threshold and shot into the garden.
The cold night air burnt her skin, a million icy daggers sinking into her flesh, as her breath escaped in a cloud of white.
"Yvonne!" Ember skidded down the street, unable to prevent her teeth from chattering as her flimsy nightgown swirled in a white cloud around her legs.
The young woman sprinted over the cobblestone, tearing through the darkened streets of the town as she turned to the right. Ember could make out what she held in her hand right as she vanished—a sheaf of papers.
Ember sprinted after Yvonne, gasping for breath as she slipped against the frosted ground. Frosted. Frosted.
Yvonne glanced over her shoulder, eyes flooded with panic as Ember bore down upon her. She bared her teeth at her, then veered to her left, towards the marketplace.
"Come back!" ordered Ember, voice pinging off the walls. "Yvonne, wait! I don't want to hurt you!" I just want to find out what you were doing, bring you back to the Parris household, and have you arrested for breaking in and robbery.
"No!" came the scream of a response. Yvonne barreled into the marketplace, brown hair aglow under the flames of the moon as she tore past the fountain, blue dress fanning around her like a tail.
Ember gritted her teeth, forcing herself forwards. The effects of lying awake for three hours and the drug Ronan had given her, and, no doubt, the removal of her magic, bore down upon her body as she skidded over the ground.
Yvonne increased the distance between them, halfway across the square. Ember shot forwards, feet pounding over the cobblestone as her breaths came in gasps.
Yvonne spun around again, eyes wide.
Ember had no time to warn her as she barreled straight into a wooden stall, crumpling to the ground as surprise flickered across her expression, soon superseded by agony.
"Yvonne!" Ember neared the young woman as she struggled to regain her footing. "Yvonne—"
"All right!" she said. "All right, I didn't mean it—I just didn't want the ball to—"
"What? No, Yvonne—"
"Yes, turn me in!" Yvonne's left hand cradled the base of her rib cage as she hurled her right into the air, sending her papers soaring into the night sky. "Arrest me, whatever! Jail will be better than what I'll receive in marriage."
"What?" Stooping down, Ember grabbed one of the documents.
Refreshment Order, read the top.
Ember's eyes darted down the creamy sheet of paper, taking in the names of countless hors oeuvres, drinks, salads, finger sandwiches, cakes, and tarts to be served.
"What is this?"
"For the ball," spat Yvonne, shoving the papers away from her. "My accursed father moved the damn event to tomorrow night. Tomorrow night. And nobody complained—nobody ever dares to, in front of him."
Ember stared at her. "I don't understand."
"Yes, you do!" Yvonne lurched to her feet, grimacing. "Even you do, you little brainless whelp. I don't want the ball to happen. Who wants to get married to their step-brother? Who wants to spend the rest of their life in a loveless marriage, trapped in a foreign land? I had a life back at home! I had friends, if not lovers. And I don't need, nor want one—"
"All right!" Ember held up her hands. "I get it. You don't want the ball to happen."
"And do you?" countered Yvonne. "Do you want me to marry him? According to his father, he loves you."
"I...no, of course not." Ember stared at Yvonne, who towered over her, strong and lithe like a willow tree.
"And that's because you love him back?"
"No," she said. "Because...because if he loves me...I don't want him to go into a loveless marriage."
Yvonne paused. Silence ensued in the marketplace. And then she frowned. "But do you love him?"
Ember swallowed. Her eyes flickered to Yvonne's cobalt gaze. "I...don't know."
"No, you know. I want an answer. I swear I won't tell anyone." A grin flickered across her lips, as though they were two girls exchanging gossip.
"I can't tell you."
"Tell me. This matters, Ember. I don't want to wed him. I need you to tell me."
She took a deep breath. Closed her mouth. Opened it. And then shook her head.
"I can't tell you."
Yvonne hissed in frustration. "If his life were in danger, would you save it?"
"Of course."
"At the cost of your own?"
"Yes."
Yvonne blinked. Ember paused. The gravity of the former's question seemed to crash down on the latter, the implications of it pressing against her mind.
"I mean..." she said, "I—"
"No, that's fine," Yvonne said, waving aside Ember's response. "That was all I needed." She sighed, gesturing at the papers. "Will you help me pick those up? It hurts to bend over."
Ember nodded, then dropped to her knees, shivering as she gathered up the papers. Refreshment orders, dress measurements, music and decoration...this really was the planning for the ball.
She counted ninety-eight in total, though the number could've been more than a hundred and fifty. She stood up, meeting Yvonne's piercing gaze.
"So," said the young woman, "you're cold. Walk with me; I need to talk to you."
Ember paused, but relented. "All right."
They strode down the marketplace, steering out of the square as they headed into an unknown part of town. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trilled, singing to the moon.
"I am currently seventeen years old," said Yvonne. "My mother became impregnated with me right after she gave birth to my step-brother. Unfortunately, two births in that short of a time, and especially in the unsanitary conditions of Barbados, proved too much for her to bear. She died three weeks after my birth."
Ember's eyes flickered to Yvonne's features. She had none of the dark olive features of her father, what she would've expected from a Barbadian. Instead, with her mousy brown hair and blue eyes, she resembled a native Englishwoman.
"My mother was Irish," came Yvonne's response, as Ember's eyes searched over her face. "With English blood. She gave me all my features. Everyone says they're beautiful."
Ember frowned. "...they are," she said, unsure of how else to respond.
Yvonne scoffed. "I don't see beauty when I look at the mirror. I see a traitor. One who betrayed her husband, one who traded purity for passion."
Ember didn't speak.
"I hate my mother," said Yvonne. "I hate her with all my heart." Her eyes burned, glistening under the moon as she spoke to the heavens. "And I would hate my father, too, except I know he's just trying to fix a mistake. I just wish he wouldn't use me in his plans."
She sighed, hands clasped together as she strode forwards, Ember running to keep up.
"He does love you," she said softly. "My step-brother. He loves you more than his father, more than the rest of his unforgiving family."
They pressed onward, traveling towards the unknown.
"Most of the time," said Yvonne, "when someone says your name, you hear just that: your name. But sometimes, you don't just hear your name. You hear your identity, your joy, your pain."
Ember stared at Yvonne. "What do you mean?"
"He says your name as though it's a goddess'. How many times have people said your name, Ember? There, see, I just did it. When someone calls Ember, you'll turn your head to look at him or her."
Ember blinked. Memories blurred through her mind, memories of Ronan.
"Am I a witch? A human?"
"No," said Ronan. "You're neither. You're Ember."
"And that's supposed to mean...?"
She inhaled sharply, the cold air puncturing her lungs.
"Do you get what I mean?"
Ember nodded, staring wide-eyed at the young woman. "How do you...how do you know all this?"
Yvonne smiled, regarding the palms of her hands. "I...I once felt what you did, too."
"From...from whom?"
Yvonne's eyes flickered to Ember. "Nobody," she responded simply. "I don't want to talk about it."
Ember blinked in surprise, but let the matter drop.
"Anyways," said Yvonne, clearing her throat, "you and Ronan want to marry each other. I, meanwhile, will be making my escape tomorrow night."
"Your escape?"
"Yes. No more about that." Yvonne stared at Ember. "You're going to crash the ball, naturally. Dance around, do something, just make sure you and Ronan are wedded at the end of the night."
"And Lord Tivas?"
Yvonne grinned. "I'll keep him at the inn, don't worry."
Ember decided not to press the subject. "All right. So how am I supposed to go to a ball? I have no dress, no powder, no sense of courtesy—"
"Simple," said Yvonne. "I'll send you a dress tomorrow night. I never go with trends; my dress from two years ago should suit you." Ember flushed as she realized that a girl several months younger than she had longer legs and a curvier bosom than she did. "As for powder, just wash your face, pinch your cheeks, and nibble your lips."
"Sorry, what?"
Yvonne waved that aside. "You would do fine without makeup. As for hair, I'll send you a lace cap, too. A simple one. You should be able to figure that out."
Ember nodded. "And shoes..."
"...the skirt on my gown is long. I'll send you a pair of matching shoes."
"How are you going to get my shoe and dress size?"
"Excellent question. I'll figure something out."
Ember swallowed. "Yvonne, this plan doesn't seem quite—"
The young woman rolled her eyes. "—good? Reliable? Please, enlighten me with a better one. I'm all ears."
She sighed. "Can't you just announce at the ball that you're not going to wed Ronan?"
"No, I cannot do that. Because then my father will kill me right on the spot."
Ember could not decide whether or not she was joking. "And...what about the people at the ball? They all think I'm a witch."
"Do you have a birthmark? Unsightly blemishes? I've never believed in witchcraft. My father always told me that that was what controlled my mother; I've always thought that it was her own lust. Do not show signs of being a witch. In fact, just change your name. Actually, I'll send powder and lip color up to you, too."
Ember took a deep breath. "This isn't going to work, Yvonne."
"It will."
"How are you going to keep your father at the inn?"
"I'll figure something out. My father will never want anything bad to happen to me. Perhaps I'll write a fake letter and tell him the ball has been moved to tomorrow."
Ember's eyes widened. "He'll never buy it. Yvonne—"
"—I don't have a better plan, all right?"
Ember fell silent. Yvonne reminded her so much of Ronan, when he was planning for her to marry him. They were so identical, with their temperament and rash decisions....
"All right," said Yvonne. "Any questions?"
"Yes," said Ember. "You and your father...how did you two arrive so quickly?"
Yvonne shrugged. "We...left early. Three months ago, in fact. My father didn't tell me his plans until we were halfway across the seas. I remember throwing up my dinner into the waves."
A twisted smile crossed Ember's lips. "I'm sorry for you."
"No," said Yvonne. "Don't be sorry for me. Be sorry for yourself. You're the one with a death sentence above your head."
"Sorry, what?"
"The whole time you were out with my step-brother, my father and his were discussing the subject of your execution. It is to take place the day after tomorrow."
Ember's eyebrows shot up her forehead. "What? You didn't tell me this."
"I forgot. But this raises the stakes, doesn't it?" Yvonne crossed her arms. "And it's going to be death by burning, too. I don't think Ronan knows, either."
Ronan. The first time Yvonne had used his name in the entire night.
"You need to prove at the ball that you aren't a witch," said Yvonne. "All the high ladies and lords will be attending. You need to persuade them that you're a courteous young lady—"
"But I'm not!"
"Then pretend! Do something! Dance with Ronan and swoon! Help the elderly into the halls, and sing."
"Sing?"
"Do you sing? Singing enchants everyone."
"I'm sorry, but I don't sing. I've never tried it in my life."
Yvonne's eyes widened. "All right. Remind me after this mess is over to teach you how to sing. I can't believe you don't know!"
Ember blushed. "Forgive me, Yvonne, but I was locked up with my Coven until a few weeks ago."
"Coven?"
Ember froze. Nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Coven as in...witch Coven?"
"Yes."
"So you are a witch."
"Yes...I was, I mean. I'm not a witch anymore."
Yvonne raised an eyebrow, eyes cold. "And that means...?"
"I got rid of my powers earlier today. Actually, Ronan got rid of them for me. He took me to another Coven."
"And what happened to your old Coven?"
"They...died. Were killed."
"Ah." Yvonne ran a hand through her long brown hair. "That...complicates things. You see, I don't believe in witchcraft."
"You told me."
"Yes, I did."
Silence.
"Well," said Yvonne, "I trust you. I think...being a witch doesn't automatically mean you're evil."
"Oh." Ember did not know how to respond.
"Is there a surefire way to find out whether or not a witch is a witch?"
"Yes," responded Ember. "Silver steel—silver mixed with steel—that burns a witch. Silver burns all other magical beings, and steel cuts humans."
"Ah. I thought it was iron?"
"Most people do, yes."
Yvonne smiled. "Then make sure to have some silver steel present to burn yourself with."
"That sounded very cynical."
"I hope it did. There's nothing joyous about this, Ember."
They turned right, and, all of a sudden, the Parris household loomed up before their eyes. Ember blinked. "We're back."
"Indeed we are." Yvonne's eyes flickered to the papers in Ember's left hand, the jasmine in her right. "Did...did he give you that? Ronan?"
Ember started, staring down at the small white bloom. "I...yes."
She smiled. "Have a good night, Ember. The papers go on the dining table."
And then she disappeared, winding away through the darkness as though she'd never come.
Was this the Yvonne you expected, and do you think her plan will work?
Thank you again for reading, and don't forget to vote, comment, and share if you liked this chapter!