MythTaken

The bell above Flora’s door chimed, admitting a person who radiated the particular urgency of someone about to make terrible decisions.

She didn’t look up from grinding valerian root—whatever fool had wandered into her shop could wait until she finished measuring the precise amount needed for Mrs. Hartwell’s sleeping draught. Too little and the woman would spend another night staring at the ceiling thinking about her dead husband. Too much and she’d spend the next day drooling on herself.

The footsteps paced. Back and forth, back and forth, like a nervous horse before thunder.

“I need a love potion,” the voice finally blurted.

Flora’s pestle stopped mid-grind. She closed her eyes, counted to three, and wondered if it was too early in the day to start drinking.

“No.” She didn’t turn around.

“But I haven’t even—”

“No.” Flora set down her pestle and finally faced her customer: a young man with the soft hands of someone who’d never worked a day in his life and the desperate eyes of someone about to ruin several lives at once. “Love potions don’t work the way you think they do.”

The young man’s face lit up with hope. “But they do work? I heard—”

“They work.” She resumed pummeling her valerian. “They create obsession. Dependency. The magical equivalent of a slow-acting poison that makes someone incapable of thinking about anything but you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Is that what you want? Someone who can’t choose to leave?”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

“Love potions wear off.” Flora measured valerian into small paper packets. “Usually at the worst possible moment. Like when you’re standing at an altar, or when they’re meeting your parents, or when you’ve already gotten them pregnant thinking you’ve found your soulmate.”

She yanked a herb pouch closed. “Then you’re left with someone who realizes they’ve been magically violated for months, and they tend to react poorly to that revelation.”

“I just thought—”

“You thought magic could solve a problem you’re too cowardly to handle yourself.” Flora finally turned to face him fully, and he took a step back. Good. “What’s her name?”

“Sarah. Sarah Millfield. She’s... she’s going to marry Thomas Brennan next month and I—”

“She’s engaged to someone else.”

“Yes, but—”

“No.” Flora crossed her arms. “Absolutely not.”

“But I love her.” He whined. “I’ve loved her since we were children. Thomas only noticed her when her father inherited the mill. This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” She barked a laugh. “You want to talk about fair? Fair would be telling Sarah how you feel, like an adult—instead of trying to drug her with magic. Fair would be accepting that she made a choice—even if you don’t like it.” She stepped closer, and he backed toward the door. “What you want is to steal her ability to choose at all.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that. You want me to help you commit a crime that will destroy her life, ruin her engagement, probably get her disowned by her family, and leave her magically dependent on someone who thinks love is something you can buy in a bottle.”

Flora heard herself getting louder. “And when it wears off and she realizes what you’ve done, she’ll spend the rest of her life unable to trust her own feelings about anyone.”

The bell chimed again, and this time it practically sang.

She entered with the kind of sparkle usually reserved for divine apparitions and highly flammable parade floats. Kavira the Bold—hero, heartthrob, the kingdom’s most famous dragon-slayer. Flora had met her once, maybe twice, but even if she hadn’t, she’d have known that face from every tapestry, statue, and ridiculous festival banner in Widdershollow.

She swept into the shop like she was making an entrance at a royal ball. Polished mail gleamed under her traveling cloak. Her braids shone. The air around her seemed to shimmer faintly, as if the shop itself was trying to impress her. Her smile was the practiced, brilliant thing she used on crowds during parades.

“Flora, darling! Have you seen my prophecy scroll? I swore I left it around here—unless it wandered off again, cheeky thing.” She laughed like this was charming, rather than deeply irresponsible.

Flora felt her eye twitch. Of course Kavira would waltz in during the middle of this disaster, treating prophecies like misplaced jewelry and expecting Flora to drop everything to help her find them.

The woman was juggling what looked like half the market—silk-wrapped packages balanced precariously in her arms, a wicker basket hooked over one elbow that clinked with bottles, and at least three different bouquets of flowers.

Flora pressed her lips together so hard they nearly vanished.

“I’m with a customer.” She gestured toward the heart-eyed idiot, who was gaping at Kavira like she’d descended from the heavens wreathed in starlight. Which, Flora had to admit grudgingly, wasn’t entirely inaccurate—the woman did have that annoying habit of making everything around her look shabby by comparison.

“Oh!” Kavira’s gaze flicked to the young man with the kind of polite interest she might show a moderately interesting insect. “How lovely. Don’t mind me, I’ll just have a quick look around.”

She began examining Flora’s shelves with the confidence of someone who’d never been told ‘no’ in her life, somehow managing to poke at jars and bottles despite her armload of purchases. Flora watched in growing horror as the basket swayed dangerously near her more expensive ingredients.

“Actually,” the young man said, his voice suddenly stronger, “maybe you could help me? You’re Kavira the Bold, aren’t you? The one who slayed the Bellmare Dragon?”

Kavira preened, nearly dropping a package in the process. “Guilty as charged! Though between you and me, ‘slayed’ is such an ugly word. I prefer ‘elegantly dispatched.’”

Flora made a sound somewhere between a snort and a retch.

“Love troubles, is it?” Kavira set her packages down on Flora’s counter—right next to the carefully measured valerian packets, Flora noted with gritted teeth—and began rummaging through her basket. “Oh, I completely understand. The heart wants what the heart wants, doesn’t it?”

She emerged with a small bunch of grapes, popping one into her mouth with the casual grace of someone who made even eating look elegant.

“Now,” Kavira continued around the grape, “I’ve found that grand gestures are usually the answer. Something bold, something that shows your devotion. Have you considered slaying a monster for her? Women love that sort of thing.”

Flora stared at her. “He wants to drug her with a love potion.”

“Oh.” Kavira paused, another grape halfway to her mouth. “Well, that’s... less romantic than monster-slaying, certainly.” She bit into the grape thoughtfully. “Though I suppose if you can’t manage a proper quest, magic is the next best thing? I mean, destiny brought her to you somehow, didn’t it?”

“Destiny did not bring an engaged woman to a man who wants to magically assault her.”

“Magically assault?” Kavira laughed, bright and tinkling. “Oh Flora, you’re so dramatic! It’s just a little love potion. What’s the worst that could happen?”

She reached for another grape.

“The worst that could happen?” Flora felt her voice rising. “She could spend months believing she’s in love with someone who violated her mind. She could break off her engagement, destroy her reputation, maybe even—”

“Oh, but think of the romance!” Kavira interrupted, gesturing with a grape. “True love conquering all obstacles! It’s practically a ballad waiting to happen.” She turned to the young man with sparkling eyes. “What’s your name, brave suitor?”

“Er... Marcus.” He looked increasingly uncertain as Flora’s glare intensified.

“Marcus! Such a strong name. Very heroic.” Kavira bit into another grape. “Now, Marcus, have you considered that perhaps the universe is testing your devotion? Maybe this Sarah needs to see how far you’re willing to go for love.”

“The universe is not in the business of encouraging crime.” Flora spat.

“You’re so pessimistic, Flora. Really, where’s your sense of romance?” Kavira waved airily, nearly knocking over a bottle of sleep draught. “Sometimes love requires a little... creative intervention.”

Flora wondered if it would be considered murder or a public service to strangle the local hero with her own golden braids.

“Besides,” Kavira reached for yet another grape, “it’s not like love potions are permanent. What’s a few months of magical infatuation in the grand scheme of true love?”

Flora turned back to the hero, who was examining the grapes in her basket with the intensity of someone selecting the perfect jewel. “Why are you encouraging him? What if someone slipped you a potion that made you think you were madly in love with, say, the village idiot?”

“Oh please.” Kavira laughed, selecting a particularly plump grape. “As if anyone would dare! I’m the Chosen One, Flora. Didn’t you hear? I’m protected by destiny itself.” She held up the grape like she was making a toast. “Besides, I can sense magical tampering from miles away. It’s one of my gifts.”

She popped the grape into her mouth.

For a moment, nothing happened. Kavira chewed thoughtfully, probably composing another speech about the power of true love and grand gestures.

Then her eyes went wide.

“That’s...” she started to say, but the words came out as a strangled wheeze. Her hand flew to her throat.

Flora’s annoyed expression shifted to professional alarm. “Kavira?”

The Chosen One’s face was turning an alarming shade of red.

Kavira made a sound like a strangled cat and stumbled backward, knocking over Marcus in her panic. The basket fell from her arm, spilling grapes and market goods across Flora’s floor. Her hands clawed at her throat as she tried to dislodge whatever was blocking her airway.

“Shit,” Flora breathed, abandoning her valerian packets and rushing around the counter. “Marcus, get out of the way!”

“Is she—what’s happening?” Marcus scrambled backward until he hit the door, staring in horror as the Kingdom’s favorite hero made increasingly desperate choking sounds.

Flora grabbed Kavira’s shoulders and spun her around, delivering a sharp blow between her shoulder blades. Nothing. She tried again, harder. Kavira’s face was going from red to purple now, her eyes wide with terror and the dawning realization that destiny apparently didn’t protect against basic human stupidity.

“Come on.” Flora breathed, positioning herself behind Kavira and wrapping her arms around the woman’s torso. She’d done this before—people choked on things, it was a fact of life. Usually it was children with buttons or drunk men with poorly chewed meat, but the principle was the same.

She pulled up and in, hard. Kavira’s feet left the ground, but the obstruction didn’t budge.

“Please,” Marcus muttered from somewhere behind them. “Please don’t let her die in here. I can’t afford to be involved in—”

“Shut up and make yourself useful. Go get the healer.”

“But you’re the—”

“I’m an apothecary, not a miracle worker! Go!”

Flora tried again, lifting Kavira clean off her feet with the force of it. The Chosen One’s boots knocked over a jar of dried mint, sending the contents scattering across the floor in a fragrant cloud, but still nothing dislodged.

“Come on, come on.” Flora whispered, sweat beading on her forehead. Kavira’s struggles were getting weaker, the clawing at her throat more desperate and uncoordinated.

“Shouldn’t we—maybe if we turn her upside down?” Marcus asked from somewhere behind her.

“That’s not how throats work! Go get the Healer. Now!”

She heard the bell chime as the door opened and closed, then focused entirely on Kavira. “Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.”

A weak nod. Her eyes were starting to roll back.

Flora pulled again, harder than before, putting all her strength into it. She felt something shift—for a moment she thought she’d done it—but then Kavira went completely limp in her arms.

“No, no, no.” Flora lowered her to the floor, tilting her head back and checking her throat. The grape was still there, visible but just out of reach. She tried to hook it out with her finger, but it was lodged too firmly.

Flora pressed her fingers to Kavira’s throat, searching for a pulse.

Nothing.

The Chosen One was dead. Dead in Flora’s shop, surrounded by scattered grapes and the lingering scent of mint, because she’d choked on a piece of fruit while dispensing terrible romantic advice.

Flora sat back on her heels and stared at the body of the kingdom’s greatest hero.

“Gods damn it,” she whispered.

The next few hours passed in a blur of officials, questions, and barely controlled chaos. The healer arrived and confirmed what Flora already knew. The town guard came next, then someone who claimed to represent the Crown, then what felt like half the village crowding outside her shop trying to catch a glimpse.

Questions were asked. Forms were filled out. Statements were taken. The official cause of death was recorded as “misadventure,” which seemed like a polite way of saying “spectacularly stupid accident.” Kavira’s body was removed with all the ceremony due a fallen hero, even if that hero had fallen to a grape.

Marcus, when they finally found him cowering in the tavern, confirmed Flora’s version of events between bouts of hysterical sobbing.

Eventually, impossibly, they all left.

Flora sat alone in her shop as the sun set outside her windows. The mint had been swept up, the scattered goods collected, but the scent of disaster still hung in the air. Her carefully organized shelves looked disheveled, her workspace violated by strangers who’d poked through her things asking endless questions.

She should probably close the shop. Lock the door. Go upstairs and try to forget this day had ever happened.

Instead, she just sat there in the growing darkness, staring at the spot where the kingdom’s newest divinely appointed Chosen One had died eating a grape.

Flora rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the familiar ache that came from years of hunching over her workbench.

Then the magic hit.

It started as a tingling in her fingertips, like she’d touched something that held too much lightning. Flora looked down at her hands, frowning, and watched as thin lines of golden light began to trace across her palms.

“What—”

The light spread up her arms like liquid fire, and suddenly Flora couldn’t breathe. Power flooded through her, rewriting something fundamental without asking permission. She tried to stand and immediately collapsed as something magical settled onto her like a weight.

Then, just as abruptly, it was gone.

Flora was sprawled on her shop floor, gasping and shaking. Golden light flickered weakly around her fingers before fading completely.

In the sudden silence, she could feel her own heartbeat. And underneath it, something else. A sense of... incompleteness. Like part of her was missing.

She stared at her hands. They looked exactly the same as they had five minutes ago.

“What in all the hells just happened?”

The empty shop offered no answers.