But as my wide, aching eyes take in the shriveled stalks of my sisters’ arms and legs and their drawn, skeletal faces—frozen in masks of eternal anguish—I know that’s what happened.
I can practically hear them screaming.
And then I see the torn nails at the tips of clawed fingers, realize how tortured they must have been to try to rip themselves away from the life-sustaining soil, and my legs give out.
I fall to my knees by what’s left of my childhood bed, a wail rising in my throat. But when my lips part and sobs begin to bellow in and out of my lungs, I don’t make a sound. I rock back and forth, silently keening as tears flow down my cheeks, the pain so intense I’m aware of nothing but the black hole opening in my heart, sucking every sweet, hopeful thing deep into its merciless void.
When I find Mother, I will kill her.
I will kill her or die trying.
“Now, you see.”
I flinch at the barely whispered words as if she shouted them into my tear-streaked face.
Mother.
Here. Now. Close enough to catch the scent of burnt sage clinging to her robes.
I scramble backward, putting distance between me and the witch on the other side of my sisters’ death bed before I dare come to my feet. When I do, I brace one foot behind me and curl my hands into fists, lifting them between us.
Mother arches a brow in response, a weary brow that would make me feel silly and small if I weren’t so rageful, so overflowing with hot fury that I could rip her to pieces with my bare hands.
“Yes, I see,” I rasp, my throat raw with grief. “I see what a monster you are. How could you? How could you do this to them? It’s worse than murder, it’s—”
“A betrayal,” she finishes, lacing her long fingers together in front of her. The sleeves of her robe settle around them, concealing all but her knuckles. It’s a blue-green robe familiar from my girlhood, the one with vines embroidered in gold around the hem that feels so soft and safe pressed against my cheek.
Memories of being held in her arms, wrapped in the folds of that robe while she sang bedtime stories to me and my sisters bring their own fresh sting of agony to join the rest.
I was so young and small and new. I knew nothing but love and then she ripped it away.
But it looks like I was the lucky one. I was cast out and forced to do terrible things, but at least I was allowed to live.
“How could you?” I croak again, more hot tears spilling from my eyes.
“It was the only way for you to understand,” she says, her blue eyes steady and remorseless, even as she steps over the bodies of her daughters to get closer to me.
From her sapphire eyes to the smooth oval of her face to the wild spill of lavender hair cascading around her shoulders, she looks exactly as I remember, but it feels like I’m seeing her for the first time. My child’s eyes were too naïve to perceive what I do now. How much I resemble her, for instance. Or how she’s more than cold or cruel—she’s mad. Completely out of her right mind, which makes her more dangerous.
There will be no reasoning with her. Even if she hadn’t murdered my sisters, that was a fool’s errand from the start.
“Understand what?” I take a step back and then another and another, only stopping when she stops, too.
She sighs, frustration tightening the skin between her brows before the flesh smooths again. “Why you must continue your work. For now, and for always. Men betray and destroy, Foxglove. It’s what they do. They are a plague upon the earth, and, if left unchecked, they will destroy the planet and themselves in the process. The women and innocent creatures of the world won’t survive without you.”
“You’re wrong.” I swipe the backs of my fists across my cheeks, smearing away the tears. “Not all men are wicked and not all women are innocent. I know better now, and so do you. This has never been about saving women or the world. It’s about you. About getting revenge on the man who hurt you and making sure every human is as miserable as you are.”
The last part bursts from my lips unexpectedly, but the words are the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
This has never been about protecting humans. The only justice my mother cares about is ensuring every human woman suffers as she’s suffered. If Mother can’t have love without betrayal, then she’ll make sure no one else has it, either.
Her lips turn down slightly, but her steady gaze doesn’t waiver. “You’ve acquired just enough humanity to be dangerous, Foxglove. Give yourself another decade or two, my dear. You’ll see. A man’s love and devotion never last. Sooner or later, they all break their promises, betray their vows, and rain down pain upon women and children they’re no longer interested in loving. Then their broken, betrayed sons grow up angry and cruel and the cycle of suffering continues. You are the only way to break that cycle.”