Chapter Twenty-Four

Hunter slammed shut the door of his private quarters with a huff of something like relief, jerking his mask and cloak away and tossing them onto the bed before falling back against the only space of clear wall and sliding down to sit and … brood. It hadn't been a hard day today, but he still felt … drained.

It had been almost two weeks since he'd resumed his full duties as head of the Emperor's Coven, since he'd withdrawn from Hexside … since he and Willow could be together for longer than a handful of minutes. In that time, he'd been working full-time to repair the damage and rot Kikimora had tried to wreck upon his subordinates. Among other things, she'd spread rumors of his desertion, neglect, and incompetence, tried to curry favor with the captains and sow discontent among the scouts and guards, and even had tried to bring Warden Wrath and the Conformitorium into the fold.

Luckily for Hunter, the Golden Guard had roots far deeper than a month-long smear campaign could tear up. Dammit, he missed Willow and her sense of humor. He'd gone on half a dozen flawless missions to bring in powerful wild witches — even if it made his stomach turn now, he still had his duty — had resumed his inspections of coven programs across the Isles, and had gotten back to personally observing and firmly-but-fairly guiding scout training. His efforts had reminded the coven why he had been respected as its leader before and brought that flower from dry wilt to full bloom again. Oh, Willow …!

Captain Gall had been instrumental in reviving the good will of the coven, she and her contingent of scouts spreading rumors that he'd had a hand in recruiting a powerful witchling and squashing an elusive wild witch during his month-long secret mission.

Unfortunately, in that same time he had only been able to see Willow three times. Granted, they messaged on their scrolls every night without fail, but it wasn't quite the same. The first was when he'd made a public appearance at Hexside school — under recommendation to the Emperor from Captain Gall — and had only been able to see her, plus sneak a wave to her and his friends under the guise of a wave at the general crowd of students. Oddly enough, Boscha of all people had been beside herself, proclaiming her love for the Golden Guard. Hilarious irony, at least to him, and Willow had seemed equal parts amused and not.

The second had been on one of his few days off as directed by the code of the Emperor's Coven. And apparently a gifted day off to Willow from Lady Feronia. He'd met her and the group at a Bonesborough diner that had been decided upon as their "usual spot," and decided that he liked it. After a few hours of chatting, Hunter had needed to leave early and Willow had volunteered to escort him out. What had followed was them ducking into an alley that Willow covered up with ivy and they'd kissed each other senseless. Clover had had to sting both of them twice before they separated and bid each other a bittersweet goodnight.

And finally, the third had been during a semi-annual inspection of the major coven headquarters in Bonesborough. Lady Feronia had introduced him to her "mysterious new apprentice" shrouded in a deep-cowled cloak that hid her face and muddled her shape. After touring the premises, Feronia had offered to have her apprentice show him out and answer any further question he had. Said apprentice had quietly led him away before they had enacted the cliche of meeting in an honest-to-the-Titan supply closet.

He blushed and smiled as he recalled that last one more vividly.

Willow drew back her hood and unclasped her cloak to reveal a simply-cut, high-necked and … form-fitting green dress covered by a leather apron. Hunter removed his hood and mask to better marvel at his breathtaking girlfriend before she took his face in her hands and drew him into a fevered kiss. That had lasted for as long as it could before they separated for air and pressed their noses and foreheads together, each breathing heavily.

"I miss you," Willow whispered, her voice raw.

"I miss you," Hunter echoed in reply. He drew her closer, pressing her curves against his chest as they peppered each other with light kisses, his hand roaming to just above her backside while the other carded through her hair and her hands were settled at the back of his neck and splayed across his chest.

"How long until your debut?" Hunter whispered when Willow broke away and lightly kissed his neck.

"Not long," she breathed, moving to kiss his forehead and rub their noses together. "Lady Feronia says I'm almost ready."

"You mean your wild magic is almost under control," Hunter corrected gently, kissing her forehead right back.

Willow hummed in agreement and moved her hands to just hold his face, her finger brushing against his light stubble. Hunter sighed and removed his gloves before doing the same, brushing his fingers over the supple smooth softness of her cheeks. "This can't last all day," he lamented.

"We'll be together soon," she promised, the same words she had said outside the diner and mouthed to him in the Hexside crowd.

"Damn right," he growled before nipping her fingertip. She yelped with a giggle and they separated, straightening out each others' clothes and valiantly resisting the mutual urge to pick up right where they had left off. He slipped his mask back on and donned his hood as she wrapped her cloak around her body and lifted her cowl.

Hunter's memory was interrupted by a brisk knock at his door. "What is it?" he called, consciously moderating his tone and holding back frustration. His duties were done for the day; what could it be?

"Commander," said whom he presumed to be a captain, "Emperor Belos has ordered your presence in the throne room. A coven head has called for a convocation." An assembly of the court.

Hunter carefully bit back a groan and thanked the messenger before he retrieved his gear and left. He checked his scroll before he left and found a message from Willow: Let it begin. He blinked behind his mask and deleted the message before rushing out the door, Lil Rascal tucked into his cowl in his dormant form. As Hunter strode through the corridors, he couldn't help but wonder what head witch would have called for a convocation.

Darius was the most likely candidate; the man was vain in the extreme and liked to flaunt his accomplishments, when they were big enough to risk Belos's displeasure at wasting his time. Cernunnas, the Healing head, was the next likely as she frequently petitioned for cooperation between covens for more effective medical practices. Third might be Pythus Mawe, the head of the Oracle Coven with some shadowy prediction that would certainly come true; he didn't speak often, but it was possible. After that it was something of a guessing game, with each coven largely minding their own business.

Hunter entered the throne room through a hidden door and took his place at his uncle's side, his cape hiding his form. The coven heads were gathered in a loose half-circle before the dias and the throne. Hunter lifted an eyebrow behind his mask at the sight of head witch Ludwig of the Illusionist Coven wheeling a small spell circle between his fingers. He was casting an illusion … but why in the throne room?

"Lady Feronia," Belos called, his voice cold, his back straight, and a hand on his staff, "might I ask why you have called this assemblage?"

"Why, my liege," Lady Feronia said with a soft smile, "I wanted to make an introduction. As many of you know, I have served for many a year-"

"No, it's not as if you ever bring it up," Darius sniped, only to be elbowed by Heph Starlett of the Construction Coven.

"My point exactly," Feronia said. "And in light of the fact, as many have heard rumors, I have appointed an apprentice and eventual successor to my position." Her smile turned mischievous. "I thought you all would like to meet her; particularly you, Emperor Belos. She is, after all, inspired by your own right hand."

As the other coven heads were glancing at each other in confusion, Feronia stepped forward and Ludwig dropped his illusion of camouflage to reveal a teenage girl. She was dressed in a form-fitting, invariably emerald dress augmented with pieces of armor. A leather apron across her front and leather elbow-length gloves brought to mind a gardener, while a black choker concealed her neck and long boots reached past her shins and under the narrow, pleated skirt. Her hair was bound in a net of pearls that concealed the length and color … and her face was hidden behind an elaborate, silver mask decorated with vine motifs along the sides and the eye slits shaped like canted teardrop leaves.

Willow.

"If it pleases his Highness," Lady Feronia said, "I present to you all, my future successor … the Silver Belle."

Belos was quiet for a moment. Then, "And what convinced you that this child would make an adequate replacement?"

"She is strong, canny, and has a natural bond with the flora of the Isles," Lady Feronia replied promptly, as if she had rehearsed the speech. Which she probably had.

Belos hummed in thought. "Your opinion on such matters is not without merit, Feronia," he conceded. "But I feel that a more … nuanced appraisal is in order." He snapped his fingers. "Golden Guard."

Hunter armed himself, bracing his nerves for what was to come. He only hoped Willow would understand.

Hunter teleported behind Willow in a streak of red, rearing for a double-handed strike with his staff. A strike that met a curtain of stiff vines that broke under the force, and then lashed out with wicked thorns. Hunter teleported back out of range before they could ensnare him … and realized that he had never actually fought Willow before.

Willow turned to face him and flung a handful of seeds in an arc between them, like a farmer sowing a field, then used both hands to trace a spell circle as wide as her shoulders. The seeds swelled and grew into spindly trees encrusted with warty knots, the branches ending with large yellow leaves … a plant that Hunter recognized! Globule tree … So named because-!

The knots covering the trunks and branches swelled and burst like pustules, spraying thick black sludge in wide arcs. Hunter erected a shielding spell that the sap splattered against — and promptly hardened to the consistency of stone. Hunter refracted the magic of his shield, twisting it into a swirling vortex that he sent hurtling at Willow. In response, another circle conjured a thick spine tree that exploded into splinters under the force of his spell.

Hunter teleported to the other side of the ruined tree, half for an advantage and half to see if Willow was alright. The ground where she had stood was cracked … and empty. Then a clutch of crawlway vines rose up some distance away and unfurled to reveal Willow in perfect health. Another spell circle conjured a length of thorny vines that she lashed at him like a whip and that he cut off with a swipe of his staff.

But it seemed that Willow was far from done. She traced a spell and clapped her open hand to the throne room floor, a short trail of ruined stone heralding a four-eyed predator flower. The plant hissed and lunged at him, trying to clamp down with its massive petals to swallow him up. He flashed out of its path and then whirled into a forward backflip, the magic around his staff beheading the massive flower with a screech of pain.

Hunter had barely landed when more crawlway vines arose and unfurled to reveal Willow rearing back with the spine of a sabrethorn shrub — a passable imitation of a sword — that lashed out at him. He blocked with his staff and grabbed her wrist before spinning them around to plant Willow's head against the ground and her arm behind her back.

"Surrender?" he asked, keeping up his usual cocky Golden Guard persona.

"Why?" Willow asked quietly. Hunter raised an eyebrow behind his mask, then felt something like a steel vise clamp onto his shoulder with nearly-crushing force. He looked back to find a pummel trunk — a tree with golden-brown wood and clutches of red leaves, two much larger branches ending in thick fists — holding him in place and ready to shatter his shoulder. Hunter moved his arm a bit and Willow hissed in discomfort.

"Enough," Belos said, his voice not all that loud even as it carried across the throne room. "Stand down."

The plants that littered the throne room shriveled and crumbled to dust, releasing Hunter's arm so that he could release Willow and help her to her feet. He tried to seem cold and efficient, but he couldn't help the tenderness he put into the motions.

"Impressive, I must admit," Belos said, his fingers steepled, "to pressure the Golden Guard so." He was silent, as were the coven heads, for several beats of the Titan's bile sac. "Very well, Lady Feronia. Your successor seems up to the task. For now." He snapped his fingers again. "Golden Guard, give this … Silver Belle a tour of the castle."

Once upon a time, Hunter would have been concerned at his uncle dismissing him from coven matters, scrambling to determine where he had failed and how he could be deemed useful again. Now, he just wanted to get Willow alone … and away from here.

So dismissed, the Golden Guard and the Silver Belle bowed to Lady Feronia and the coven heads, and then more deeply to Emperor Belos before making their departure. Those who watched them leave — and didn't know them — saw little more than a pair of teenaged, powerful, disciplined witchlings marching side-by-side with perfect posture.

It was only after the doors to the throne room closed with a resounding boom, and several minutes of following meandering corridors to an out-of-the-way and unused portion of the castle, that the mask of discipline dropped and both masked witchlings began panting with nerves. The Silver Belle covered the mouth of her mask in an unconscious gesture to hold back nausea while the Golden Guard leaned against his arm pressed against a wall.

Then both of them looked at one another. They didn't plan it; it just happened. They tore off their masks and lunged, their lips crashing into each other with reckless, desperate abandon. Seeking warmth and affection and comfort.

The contact was searing; tongues lashing, hands roaming, breathing heavy. They held each other as close as they possibly could, Willow melting into the firm planes of Hunter's chest while he savored the soft curves of her body. Moans and groans and hisses of breath filled the air, unheard by anyone else. Close and quiet and intimate.

Slowly, so slowly, the passion eased from a roaring flame to simmering coals. The frenzied kisses settled into light or lingering pecks on lips and cheeks and jawlines. Soon enough, that too faded into simple comfort as their shared embrace loosened just a little, their foreheads rested against one another and the bridges of their noses fitted like pieces of a puzzle.

They simply held each other, both trembling with lingering fear from the presence of Belos. Of the duel they had been forced to play out. Of the ever eminent danger that Willow's choices would bring upon her. And, further, upon Hunter should his complacency be uncovered.

"You're here," Hunter whispered.

"I'm here," she agreed.

"Why?" Hunter asked.

"Lady Feronia thinks I'm ready to join her," Willow said, running her nails lightly over his jaw. "She warned me that Belos might do that, too. I'm fine."

"This is madness," Hunter whispered. Not a flicker of fear traced his words. They were fact, and nothing more.

"But we're together," Willow said back. "And that means we can make it happen." She stepped out of his tight embrace, though her hands remained on his arms just as his remained on her waist. "As long as we have each other, and everyone else, we can do what needs to be done."

"Together," he agreed, the single word ringing with unshakable will.

And acting as one, they collected their masks and placed them upon each other's faces, hiding their true selves. Gone were the endearing nerd and the warm florist. Gone were the young lovers. Gone were the wild witch and the scholar.

In their place were a pair of cold, ruthless, young warriors. The right hands of two of the most powerful and deadly witches on the Boiling Isles. Warriors playing out a precarious and unimaginably dangerous balancing act.

As they turned away into side-by-side formation, their hands at their sides twitched to feel the hold of the other. In their hearts, their very souls, they were holding each other tightly. But on the outside they were distant strangers. Evermore masks. They began their way to return to the castle proper.

The Day of Unity was fast approaching — and there was much work to be done.

Emperor Belos paced the length and width of the portal room, as he sometimes did when he was in deep thought. His mask was on a workbench, leaving his visage bare to any who would see if he were not alone. His wrinkled lips were pressed in a thin line, and he ran a hand through his long, grey hair as he resisted the urge to scratch at the bores in his flesh along the cursed discoloration that streaked his face and neck.

Belos faced a conundrum with the reveal of Feronia's new apprentice.

Belos was no fool. He'd seen the subtle tells in the girl's body language, not to mention his nephew's. They knew each other. They were close, perhaps even intimate with each other. But where could Hunter have developed such a bond with anyone his own age? When?

Why, at Hexside, of course.

And with that, it was simple to unravel everything else. A female, teenaged prodigy with plant magic that Feronia had shown interest in. This "Silver Belle" was the witchling Hunter had gone to that school to find. The nascent wild witch who had been bound to the Plant Coven. The child who had spurred a crowd to free the Owl Lady.

Willow Park.

She had to go, at least as far as Hunter was concerned. Belos couldn't have her eliminated; that would alienate Feronia and drive a wedge into the coven system — and he could not afford that now, not when the Day of Unity was so close.

He was turning over in his mind how to enact this separation when … he felt it. It started a ringing in his ears, like the tone of a tuning fork but deeper. Then came the pressure against the inside of his head that made him feel as if he were flying and falling. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he felt it rise to its zenith …

The Titan's Touch.

Every vision he had received from the Titan had been the most critical of its revelations, when simple whispered words were not enough. And every vision showed the same backdrop, the visage of the Titan's Skull in the distance as its empty, cavernous eyes stared into his soul.

This time, the Titan's eyes glowed with orange light, as if great fires burned in their depths. A streak of light like a meteor fell to a hilltop in front of his view of the Titan, but close enough for him to see the smallest details. The flames parted like a curtain to reveal the battered and smoke-stained form of Hunter's staff, the one Belos had built for him, standing in the blackened ground.

Rain fell and doused the fires, but left the staff blackened. And from the damp earth, vines began to slowly emerge to coil gently, almost lovingly, around the silvery-white rod. They wrapped the staff in their embrace from the ground to the tip, leaving only the wing and the focus gem completely uncovered.

And as if in reply, the focus gem glowed and then flared with light, there was a blinding flash — and when the flash dispersed, the staff was shining, and the vines had bloomed with beautiful golden flowers …

Marigolds, if Belos was not mistaken.

Then the vision ended and Belos collapsed to the ground as tremors wracked his frame. He hacked and retched and clenched his fingers against the stone floor of the chamber until it passed and he let himself fall to the cool stone. His breaths were hard and ragged as he slowly calmed down and processed what he had been shown.

And then he felt a difference. The incessant pressure of his curse had … lessened. The beast inside had been quelled, put to sleep. The Titan had given him a reprieve from the working of wild magic. A gift, no doubt, to further show him the truth.

No matter what else, the Titan's will on this matter was clear:

The Golden Guard and the Silver Belle were to remain together.

Belos pushed himself from the ground and straightened himself into perfect posture, taking up his mask to replace it as he began to rethink, plan, and calculate. The Titan's will could not be denied, so what would he do to keep up his own plans?

Well, what was life without challenge? The Day of Unity would come to pass. And what a glorious ending — and beginning — it would be. That vaunted Day was fast approaching.

And there was still much work to do.

And here we have it - it last full chapter of When Marigolds Bloom! It's been a crazy, thrilling, ever-enjoyable ride that will be capped off by a quick epilogue soon enough.

*I couldn't help but put that "supply closet" scene in. I'm a sucker for that cliche.

*Behold, the culmination of this arc: the Silver Belle. She may be inspired by the "Belleflower" AU from Screwlooselefty and EldrichRaven, though I'm honestly not entirely sure. But it stuck me one day after weeks of realizing that Willow would become Feronia's apprentice and I absolutely adore it! Shout out to my Discord friends who either inspired or influenced the turn!

*I've been rearing for a Hunter/Willow duel for ages now! it was so much fun to write! ^The Pummel Trunks are the trees Willow created with the Green-Thumb Gauntlet in "Agony of a Witch". The name is a pun on the word "trunk" meaning the body of a tree and the human torso, since these trees have abs!

*Hunter "refract-and-toss-the-shield" spell was influenced by a move of Thanos during his duel with Doctor Strange in "Avengers: Infinity War."

*And there's Belos's nature. He has had contact with the Titan, but his role may not be what it seems. Hmmm...

As I said, there will be a short epilogue to finish off this story. But worry not! A sequel is in the making: "Masks of Love and War". I'll be taking some time to get a solid lead on it before I start posting. Hope you guys are more patient than I am about s2B!

Thank you all for supporting this work, it has been heartwarming and inspiring in the extreme to recieve such consistent and positive feedback on this work of my own heart! Carry on you wonderful consumers! And may your inspirations ever flow freely!