Page 56 of The Tanglewood Witches (The Three Sisters 1)
Epilogue
Six months later…
The day Tavyss had brought her to the world of Ouros, the land of the five kingdoms, Medea had believed the trip was temporary. After all, he’d explained to her that he’d abdicated the throne and that his siblings would murder him if he ever set foot in Paragon again. But Tavyss rightly warned that they could not return to the garden. Hera would likely be watching. And while they’d managed to get a message back to her parents using magic—they were well, thank the stars—she had no desire to call unnecessary attention to them living right under Hera’s nose.
Fortunately, the kingdom of Paragon was only one of the five kingdoms of Ouros. Although Paragonians were the only ones to worship the Goddess of the Mountain, all five fell under the protection of the goddess Aitna, the daughter of a titan whose affair with Zeus had bound her to this island realm. Once Isis, Circe, Tavyss, and she had discussed their options and the most likely places to take them in, they settled on Darnuith, the kingdom of the witches. Notoriously isolated, it was the perfect place for Tavyss to avoid detection by his siblings.
Darnuith was a mountainous territory, and Medea and her sisters had made a perilous journey to the capital city of Mistcraven. There they beseeched the leader of the coven, Queen Ferula, an ancient but powerful presence dressed in purple robes, fur, and bones, for a home among the witches. Queen Ferula’s advisor, Zelaria, insisted she and her sisters perform a display of strength to prove their magic was strong enough to warrant a home among the witches. Together, the three sisters stopped the snow from falling, caused the sun to shine on the people of Mistcraven, and enchanted the clouds to perform a short, silent play in the sky above about a turtle who fell in love with a fish.
“And what of you, dragon,” the queen had asked Tavyss. “Can you serve your kingdom and Darnuith?”
“I have no intention to serve Paragon, my queen. I am mated to Medea. My service and protection belong to her and her people.”
“Hmm.” Queen Ferula tapped her chin. “A dragon is a powerful gift indeed.”
“My queen, we do not know—” Zelaria began, but Ferula cut her off with a dismissive wave.
“You are welcome to stay. You will take over the Fatsed Orchard. The wizard has passed away, and we’ve had no fruit since his death. Make the trees grow and you’ll be welcome here always.”
“It would be our pleasure,” Medea said.
“There is only one thing. It is our custom, for our citizens to have a surname. I am Ferula Northstar. What name shall you take as your second?”
Medea thought for a moment, her gaze drifting to her sisters. “Tanglewood, my queen.”
Ferula gave a crooked grin. “Hmm. Fitting. Welcome Medea Tanglewood.”
They’d moved into a simple cottage, and through the steady use of magic brought to life peaches, apples, bon bon fruit, and the most delicious figs Medea had ever tasted. And then, in a feat of magic she wasn’t at all sure would work, each of the three sisters clipped a segment off the end of their wands and planted the pieces in a common hole. Watered with blessed rain and fed with their own blood, the pieces rooted and grew into a new tanglewood tree.
At night she’d lay next to Tavyss and drift to sleep, blissfully tired from a day of meaningful farming.
“Do you regret becoming my mate?” he asked her one night. The solemnness in his tone made her lift her head from his chest to look him in the eye.
“Not for a moment. I think my life began the day you flew over that pool in the garden.”
“I know mine did.”
“There is one thing that could make me happier.” She smiled at him in the darkness. They’d made love then, both opening themselves to the potential for a baby.
As the days rolled by, even her sisters seemed happy. Circe was dating a man from a nearby village who tended creatures raised for meat, and Isis had found a deep friendship with a team of hunters who frequented the ice forest of the west coast of Darnuith.
All was well for a time.
But then one day everything changed.
“Medea? Medea, come quickly.” Circe ran through the orchard toward her, waving her hands. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying.
“What’s wrong, sister?”
“It’s Queen Ferula. She’s passing into the next world. She’s called all witches to her side. There’s a ceremony—some ancient ritual they perform to pick her successor before she dies.”
As if he sensed her distress, Tavyss flew to Medea’s side from where he’d been harvesting fruit. “What is happening?”
Circe brought him up to speed.
Tavyss took on a far-off look. Medea had seen that expression before when he was thinking about the past or his childhood. “It’s called the Sacred Lots. The witches of Darnuith ask the Fates to bless the next queen. It is a solemn ritual. It would be rude not to attend.”
Medea tucked her wand into her sleeve and helped him ready the horses. Together with Circe, they journeyed to the temple at the heart of Mistcraven, called Maelhaven.
