The soul fragment flashed as I touched it, running down my arm like quicksilver and leaping into my heart. I barely had time to recoil in shock before the world blurred and a memory engulfed me—

And suddenly, I was not Cienne, student of the Silent Academy, witch of self-hatred.

I was Quianna, cook for the village of Sorrowfell, and today was the day King Vanwen's army came to visit.

###

"My most sincere apologies, King Vanwen, the deathblossom was from last year's harvest," I said, bowing my head demurely and performing the polite little curtsy all the women of my village were taught to do in the presence of visiting royalty. "I do hope, at least, that the antidote soufflé was to your satisfaction?"

"Deathblossom and bloodwine make as good a pairing as you and my ninth nephew would," King Vanwen chortled. I kept the sudden grimace off of my face—King Vanwen's ninth nephew was a notoriously irritable man who the king had been trying to marry off to an irrelevant commoner as an insult for years. "The dish was fine, woman. It was its executor that was the problem."

The problem was that King Vanwen had parked his army in the tiny village of Sorrowfell and expected the same treatment as he got in his castle in the heart of the Redlands. He'd ordered the traditional Redlands meal of a poison and an antidote: a statement of bravery by the king, that he would undergo such a risk to himself, and of trust in his citizens, that the antidote would keep him in good health. It wasn't as if a tiny, out-of-the-way village had the kind of potent poisons and substances that the Redlands King himself would expect, though. Our deathblossom was so old it had become more like mildly-sleepy-blossom, and I wouldn't be surprise if our bloodwine was actually just dyed juice.

Aloud, however, I simply said: "Your loyal citizens are at your service, my lord."

"Well, at least she's polite. Get me a real meal next time. Alright, lads, stock up," he said, raising his voice to his army. His soldiers cheered as they cut into our grain supplies, which we'd "generously" opened to the king as he passed. I fumed to myself as I turned away, stalking back into the tent that served as the impromptu kitchen. The King had no idea what he was talking about. He wanted poison? I'd show him poison.

Because I was a witch, and King Vanwen had just pissed off the wrong cooking girl.

I tied the tent flap shut, wrapped my apron around my waist, and reached for the magic within me. Pointing my hand at the pot of stew, I tugged at the power within my soul, and a stream of spiteful spiders poured into the brew, becoming drops of acid-green toxin where they met the liquid. I hadn't exercised my powers since I was a much younger, hot-headed girl, but seeing the king's army stomp up and down my home, taking our supplies to fuel yet another territorial feud, filled me with venom that I poured into the cauldron—

"Mommy!" My little boy, Cienne, burst into the tent. He still had the feminine features of his youth, but he'd cut his hair short, and his new boy's robes fit him well. His eyes lit up as he spied the stew. "Ooh! Can I have some of the—"

"No!" Before I even realized I'd consciously moved, Cienne was cradling a slapped hand, giving me a hurt look. "It's... it's not ready yet. I..." I looked at the poisoned stew, then sighed. "I need to add one last ingredient."

I'd made the stew with one part passion and one part spite, but now I closed my eyes and felt for the trickiest school of magic to master, one that I'd barely touched even as my powers grew. Slowly, reluctantly, I dredged one last emotion from my soul.

Forgiveness.

Delicate, newborn vines snaked out from my soul, popping into bright, glowing sparks where they touched the cauldron. The essence of regrowth would counteract the venom, and all who ate of it could leave unharmed.

"Is it ready now?" my son asked, quivering with excitement.

I smiled and ruffled his hair. "Yes, Cienne. Now run along to the dining hall. We're all eating together, after all."

###

"I must compliment you on your cooking," King Vanwen said between heaping bites. "I've never had a meal quite like it. What's the secret?"

I winked at the king, magic still swirling in my soul. "A little bit of kindness," I said.

The king gave me a blank stare, then guffawed. "You villagefolk really are a riot! No, really. Was it salted beef? I bet it was salted beef."

I hummed to myself quietly, content that I'd done the right thing.

###

The memory ended as abruptly as it had began, and I jerked back, snapping back to my body. I was still in the eerie hallways of the plane of falsehoods, still rattled from my near-tumble into the clockworks below.

But now I was certain of it. That memory was my mother's, and I was one step closer to answering the terrible question that pulled me forwards.

Odin was good for their word.

"I got the soul fragment," I said, and my voice echoed in the empty halls. "You can take me back now."

Take me back now... take me back now... take me back now... take me back now...

The only answer was my echo.

I blinked. "Uh. Odin? You there?"

You there? You there? You there? You there?

I scowled. "You promised you'd get me to the soul fragment, so hurry up and—"

Abruptly, my mind caught up to my words, and my stomach dropped.

Odin had promised to get me to the soul fragment.

They'd never promised anything about getting me back.

"Oh, no," I whispered, and the echoes of the clockworks agreed.