Mari had caravanned the desert with strangers, crossed over a sea and spent weeks in a forest to reach a house she had never seen. She carried her mother's letter in the pocket of her coat, the folds worn soft. Isla, her beloved mother, had died two years ago and left her this mysterious family manor in Verdant, deep in trees Mari didn't grow up with. She had left her father and brother behind in the deserts of Solmar, to chase this one dream. She would learn the family secrets her mother didn’t have time to teach her, and turn this ancient place into an inn travelers crossed the continent to find. She just had to get there first. The trees finally broke, and the manor rose out of the ivy. It was huge and weathered, half-swallowed in green vines, with lamps already lit in the windows. Mari climbed the stone steps with her heart pounding. Before she could knock, the door opened. A tall old woman stood there in a yellow dress with brown cuffs. Her grey hair sat in a tight bun. She looked Mari up and down, then nodded once, as if ending an argument with herself. "Marigold Bellamy," the woman said. "You have your mother's eyes. Took you long enough." Mari blinked. "You knew I was coming?" "The trees told me days ago." The woman stepped aside. "I'm Olga. Your great aunt. Come, come, before you let the cold in." Mari's mother had mentioned Olga in the letter. Her grandfathers youngest sister, she kept the manor her whole life. Olga was exactly as stern as the letter promised, but she poured tea without being asked. They spent the day walking the halls. Olga showed her the library, two long rooms stacked floor to ceiling with books. She showed her the wide kitchen and the living rooms with their sagging couches. She pointed out a small bedroom downstairs. "You sleep here until you pick a proper room," Olga said. "There are many. Take your time, Marigold” By evening Mari felt lighter than she had in weeks. "Please," she said, "call me Mari. Family has never called me Marigold." Olga's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Mari, then." They sat down to dinner. Steam rose off the stew. Mari was lifting her spoon when the kitchen door swung open hard. A man walked in. He was tall, well over six feet, with ginger hair and pale skin. His ears came to sharp points. Elvish fae, probably from the north, her parents made sure she had a good education, and she knew the clear signs of most non human species. He wore a navy and white coat with silver trim, the kind of clothes no traveler wore. His cold blue eyes landed on Mari. "Another one," he said flatly. "Wonderful. I was beginning to hope Olga was the last Bellamy woman I’d ever have to see.” Mari's spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. No one had told her anyone else lived here. Olga sighed. "Mari, this is Theodore." "Prince Theodore," he corrected. He looked at Mari like she was a stain on the floor. "Before you ask, I can't leave. Believe me, I've tried." Mari set down her spoon. Her inn, she realized, came with a resident she had never agreed to.

She spent two days learning the inn though she still hadn’t picked out a room. The place was certainly old, but it was clear her ancestors had put care into it. Stained glass, pure cedar doors, and rugs from all over the continent were her favorite features. That morning she sat at the kitchen table with every coin she had sat in front of her. She counted them twice. The number did not change. There was enough for food and little else. A roof needed mending. The porch steps sagged. The inn she dreamed of could not open without money. Determining the best way to get it was a temporary job, she gathered her bag and walked into the smaller sunroom to the back. It seemed to be Olga’s favorite place. Thankfully she was able to learn a bit about her these last few days. Theodore seemed to be avoiding her. Which was fine, he was quite rude. "I'm going into town," Mari was excited. "Someone there must have a job, I know you mentioned the gardens provide a lot but I wanna get this place up and running. I’ll need some lumbar, tools, and a lot of help.” Olga set down her cup. Frown lines appearing on her forehead showing a level of worry. "The people in Lyle may not greet you kindly," she stated. Turning her head to the side as if signaling she wouldn’t elaborate. "Well, I have to try, besides, no one knows me personally.” Olga pressed her lips thin and nodded. Mari followed the cobblestone road past the ivy wall that marked the end of the estate. After walking an hour through the trees, a worn stone sign welcomed her to Lyle, the friendliest town in all of Verdant. It read. She smiled at that. Perhaps this will be a great place to live. It didn’t take long to find the market, a tall wooden hall, trimmed in deep red. Stalls crowded the floor. Voices rose and fell. It was lively. Almost the entire population was human, though she noticed a half pixie woman. Human ears, but the typical pretty white wings. Halfway through the market a smell hit her nose. Cumin and dried pepper. It smelled like Solmar. She followed it to a stall where a man in a red cloak poured a dark spice into a sack. He was in his fifties, olive-skinned, with a trimmed grey beard. His dark eyes appeared friendly. "That smell is from home," Mari smiled at him. "Solmar." The man looked up. "It was my mother's home. I'm Garris." He pinched a little spice and held it out. "The southern coast. Red Salt, close to the sea." Mari breathed it in. "I grew up in the dry inland. We used this in everything." For a moment she wasn't a stranger with empty pockets. She was just a girl who knew the taste of home. Garris studied her. "You came a long way. I don't know your face." "I inherited a manor less than half a days walk from here. I mean to make it an inn." She hesitated, then offered her hand. "Marigold Bellamy." Garris's hand paused in the air. His easy warmth did not leave his face, but it tightened. People at the next stall turned their heads. A woman gathered her basket and stepped back. "Bellamy," Garris said. He took her hand anyway, firm. "I'm glad to meet you. That's the truth." He lowered his voice. "You must understand that after Irene, not everyone here will be." "Irene?" Mari had never heard the name. "Who is that?" Garris let go. "Not my story to tell." He wrapped a small sack of spice and pressed it into her hands. "No charge and welcome. Truly.” Mari walked home with no coin and a name she couldn't shake. Someone named Irene. Whatever Irene had done, the town still remembered. She couldn’t let it get to her though. She still had no job and would have to come back to town tomorrow.

Mari lay awake past midnight. Tomorrow she had to walk back to Lyle and beg for work. She needed coin to fix the roof and open the inn. Trying to convince herself she would be fine to sleep was futile, every time she closed her eyes, one word returned. Irene. The merchant wouldn’t elaborate and she couldn’t ignore the multiple people that flinched at her family name. The manor library sat behind a cedar door off the main hall. Mari ran her hand along the shelves until she found it. An old leather book, cracked at the spine, with Bellamy written across the front in green cursive. She carried it to the table and opened it. The first page had a simple statement written. ‘The names of Bellamy witches will follow the mother, as they have for a millennia.’ The following pages listed names and dates. Births. Deaths. Marriages. Each with brief descriptions of the day, or details of the person. Towards the end of the written pages she found her grandmother Claude and her marriage to Stefan. Finally the last written lines ‘Early winter, full moon, snow falling, twins are born. Isla Bellamy, green eyes, golden hair, born with the magic. The elder twin. Irene Bellamy, green eyes, orange hair, born with the magic. The younger twin by seven minutes.’ Her mother never told her about her twin. She was always secretive of her home, but to leave out a whole sister? A loud stomp turned her attention away. "Shouldn’t be looking for thing’s you don’t wanna know." She turned. That tall fae stood at the foot of the stairs. His suit was navy and white, pressed even at this hour. Theodore. He had dodged her for days. Now he watched her with cold blue eyes. "You knew her," Mari said. "Irene." "I knew all of them." He crossed the room. “Tell me what happened. Why would my mother never mention her?” “Trust me, little witch, you don’t want to know” Crossing her arms she stood firm. Staring him down. Green eyes blazing with yellow, a look he was familiar with. Sighing. “I suppose I can indulge you. It’s not a pretty story.” He sat. “The Bellamy’s have lived here for a little over half a century. The town used to love them, they really loved Claude. I thought she was a bit overzealous and annoying myself” A grin filled his pale face. He continued. “To understand Irene you need to understand the power of twins. Twin witches hold a power that when used together can make dreams come true. Or nightmares. As they got older Irene became interested in these wild ideas. She started studying the great witches of old. That conquered Kings and ruled with fire and vengeance. She craved that power. Isla was entirely different than Irene though, and was happy with the power she had. She loved the gardens. Her ability to grow things. Every time her twin asked about spells to merge the power, or stories about twin witches ruling continents, she would brush her off. When Irene was thirteen she learned blood magic. She began draining the life and power from animals. It wasn’t noticeable at first until her sixteenth birthday when she drained her first human. Her power grew tremendously and her raid didn’t stop. Two more townsfolk had passed when her parents stepped in to stop her. She killed them.” Mari gasped “How did my mom survive?” “She barely did. When it began her parents sent her with Olga to a town three days ride away. They returned after your grandparents death. They didn’t come alone though. It took five witches and me to take her down. Your mother was injured badly. The total death for the town of Lyle was eight people at the end.” Mari's stomach dropped. "Did you guys kill Irene?" "We believe so, when the ritual was done all that was left was ash. Dione believes Irene may have escaped though. Last I heard she was still out looking for her." He looked at Mari plainly. Mari gripped the table. "My mother ran from this? Left her home to heal alone?” "Your mother survived it." Theodore shrugged. "I don’t blame her for running to Solmar. Olga shouldn’t either, and certainly not you.” He turned toward the stairs. "The townspeople won’t ever trust you, not fully, at least now you know why” He climbed the steps and was gone. Mari sat alone with the open book, her eyes empty. Perhaps Theodore was right, she didn’t want to know.

Mari had tea with Olga that morning before walking back into Lyle. Olga had set down her cup hard when Mari said she needed work. "Find it somewhere else," Olga had muttered, but she would not say what she meant. Mari left it alone. She still needed coin for the supplies, after all the manor would not fix itself and her magic surely wouldn’t do it. She’d been practicing as much as she could, for little progress. Later she could ask Olga about training though given she hadn’t offered yet, Mari wondered if she was born with the gift at all. She thought of checking the book on the walk to town, but it felt like an invasion of her great-aunts privacy. Garris found her near the market, arms full of red cloth. He set it down to talk. "There's a blacksmith just a few roads north of here," he said. "Poor man has been looking for help a long while." He paused. "Folks won't take the job. He's half giant see. They're afraid of him. I had an idea you wouldn’t be.” He looked at her with a soft smile. "Besides they shouldn’t be afraid either, but people will do as they do" Mari thanked him and walked north till the cobblestone turned into a dirt path. The forge sat low and heavy, timber-framed on a stone base. Fire glowed in the open hearth. A large shepherd dog lay by the door, light brown with fluffy ears. He lifted his head and thumped his tail when she came close. "Toby. Leave her be." The voice came from inside. Deep but surprisingly soft. A man ducked under the doorframe and stood. Looked to be in his late thirties. He was taller than any man she had ever seen, broad across the shoulders, blonde beard streaked with soot. His light brown eyes met hers and waited for her to flinch. She didn't. He seemed surprised. "My names Mairgold. Garris said you may need a hand around here. I’m looking for a job.” Mari stated offering a small smile. Tormund studied her a moment. "Three days a week. Hauling, cleaning the shop, and keeping track of the orders I get. Birdies come every day” He paused. "It’s hard work and most people don’t want to work long with how hot it gets in here." "I'm not most people. I grew up in a desert in Solmar.” She knelt and scratched Toby's ears. "Now I’m here, I'm fixing my late mother's estate into an inn. I need the coin to start." He watched her hand on the dog's head. “Which estate? There aren’t many around here.” Mari sucked in a breath. “The Bellamy estate, my mother was Isla.” “Ah, understood." He said it slow, like he was testing the shape of it. "Well fixing that place into an inn will take more than coin. Takes tools. Hinges, latches, nails." He wiped his hands on his apron. "I can help with those. For the inn." Mari looked up. "You'd do that?" "I said it." He did not soften it. Then, after a moment, “Sharing blood doesn’t define who anyone is, but you’ll have a hard time finding help around here. You show up, work, help me, I’ll help you. I expect to see you in the morning.” Mari stood and shook his hand. Her fingers vanished in his grip, but he was careful with it. "I’ll see you then," she said. “Wait before you go, I know these sisters. Identical twins, they’re unique and don’t say have much to say. They love to build though, paint too, might be willing to help. If you’d like me to ask.” “That’d be lovely. Thank you.” She nodded at him and petted Toby one last time before going through the old door. She walked home with the work in hand and a path forward. A steady wage. Tools for the repairs. Builders who could turn the broken manor into something travelers would seek. It was feeling like the inn could truly happen, a new start, and her small dreams coming true. The next few weeks would be busy but things were coming together.