Page 55 of Homegrown Magic

“Well, that really depends upon you, Margot.” Menorath’s shrewd gaze finds Margot’s again. “Which brings us to the next piece of business: Yael seems to adore you.”

Here, Margot swallows hard.

“Or at least that’s what my spies in the city report,” Menorath continues. “And I—we—need Yael here in Ashaway, not running around the countryside playing at being a farmer.”

“A gardener. They’ve been working in my greenhouses.”

Menorath’s lip curls ever so slightly. “Yes, of course. But whatever it is, it must stop. The family needs their heir, and for that, I need you. If you can convince Yael to stay in Ashaway, then I will give you as much time as you need to perfect the potion. Because it must be perfect.”

“And what if they don’t want to stay?” A vision of Yael standing up to Menorath flickers in Margot’s mind, but quickly disappears as Menorath scoffs.

“Don’t want to stay here? What a ridiculous thought. I’ve known my child far longer than you have, my dear. They are a creature of parties and whims, of comfort and excess. Even if they claim to be done with Ashaway, they never will be.”

“If you’re so sure, why don’t you tell them so?”

Menorath laughs. “Because I’m not sleeping with them.”

Margot flinches, speechless.

“Oh, don’t look so alarmed. Yael has always been susceptible to suggestion, especially when trying to please their amorous partners. You have more influence than you think—at least, as long as your dalliance lasts.”

Margot wants to be brave enough to tell Menorath that this is more than a dalliance—that she and Yael could make a life together—but she’s not even sure that’s true.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Convince Yael to reconcile with their father and me. They must be ready to play their part in the Clauneck empire. We cannot afford to have people speak of this family as though it can’t control its own scions.”

“What happens if I can’t do it?”

“Then the Claunecks will finish what we started—potion or no potion.”

Menorath walks out the door without a look back, leaving Margot standing in front of the mirror, desperately holding back tears.

Menorath is as monstrous as Yael and Araphi had said, but even with the awfulness of this bargain, Margot feels horribly torn.

She exhales slowly, trying to work her way through her snarled thoughts. Yes, Menorath is offering Margot her only chance to save her parents and their legacy, as well as the community that saved her, which she loves. And would she and Yael really have a future in Bloomfield? Maybe Menorath is right, and Yael would inevitably have left her to come back to Ashaway, deciding that Margot simply wasn’t enough to hold their interest. Maybe this way, if she takes Menorath’s offer, Margot’s just helping them both become the people they were always supposed to be.

But if that’s the case, why does it feel so treacherous?

Margot swipes at her eyes as Araphi and the dress shop attendants come back into the room, ready to help Margot out of her costume for the ball and back into her normal clothes, which no longer feel like they fit her at all.

21

Yael

After months of living in linen shirts and work boots that never wash clean (soil is practically baked into the scratched leather by now), Yael doesn’t expect to recognize themself in their masquerade finery. But the version of themself in the mirror looks terribly familiar. It’s the outfit. Yael’s mother has consistent tastes, and much like their graduation party, Menorath arranged this ensemble without so much as a fitting or a single opinion required from Yael. She might have had it sewn for them weeks ago, for all they know, anticipating their return.

The suit itself is crisply understated: a shirt, vest, and trousers all in varying shades of black silk. The jacket is glossy, closer to a deep plum in color. The vest is darker, embroidered with black roses, reflecting just enough light to contrast with the shirt—black as the water at the bottom of a well on a moonless night. Over it all, there’s a heavy, gold-trimmed black tailcoat that seems mercilessly warm for a summer night in the city, with thickly embroidered gold roses adorning the shoulders like pauldrons and thorny golden vines twining like chains around the buttoned cuffs. Polished, thin-soled black boots complete the outfit, and of course, there’s the mask: a golden half mask that covers their cheekbones and the bridge of their nose, with a long ram’s horn curling backward from each temple. It’s heavy when Yael slips it on; their neck will ache by the end of the night from holding up the horns, they can already tell.

They pluck the last item from the satin-wrapped package a courier delivered to their room—a tiny stone pot of liquid gold lip paint. Yael hates that they don’t hate the aesthetic. They’ve just finished brushing it on with one finger when they hear Margot behind them.

Her sharp intake of breath sets Yael on fire before they even turn around.

Margot stands in the doorway of the bathing chamber in her slip, revealing acres of soft curves and smooth skin. Gods, she’d look good with golden lip prints stamped all across her; Yael intends to make that a reality as soon as the night’s done. She takes in Yael’s outfit with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, her gaze tracing a slow path from the gleaming horns to their painted lips, down the small buttons of their vest and the sharp lines of their slim-legged black, ankle-length breeches, all the way to their boot buckles. Margot licks her lips. “You look…”

“Worthy of escorting you?”

“More than.”