The Flowercrown of Poison

Chapter Four: Turbela Insectum

Janette followed the golden smoke.

She held a lock of Prince Leonore's hair, the whisper of Finders enchantment keeping the green flame dancing on the fine hairs. The smoke snaked through the air, its tail steadily leading her across a shallow, dark-green river and into the copse of pines. She allowed herself a moment of weakness, inhaling a full chest of the spicy scent of pine needles, washing away the moldy air of the dungeons. Her body, gaunt and frail from the lack of sunlight and nourishment, was only functioning thanks to the borderline deadly amounts of alchemy they pumped her full of back at the castle.

"A part long lost, return to your host," she sang softly to the lock of hair, keeping the smoke alive. The lock was halfway burned by then. It was almost dawn; she needed to be quicker.

Sounds of clumsy feet breaking through the undergrowth startled her out of her concentration. Bad timing. She ducked, disappearing into the bushes, her dagger defensive in front of her. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for any sign of movement. The forest was ripe with sounds of crickets and running, crimson light filtering through the trees and pooling in blood splatters on the ground.

Finally, the foliage danced with dark movement. From the shadows, a panting man stumbled into the small clearing. A simple, but clearly costly cloak swathed his slender figure, strands of ash brown hair sticking out of the hood. No weapon in sight.

The lock of hair in her fingers was almost gone, pointing in the direction from which he came from. She had no choice but to reveal herself.

Noticing her, the man flinched away. "Wha- Who are you?"

Janette was already striding past him, following the golden smoke, when fingers wrapped around her arm. "Wait but a moment-"

Pain shot through her knuckles as they connected with the man's jawline, sending him sprawling on his arse. He groaned, cradling his cheek. She stepped over his long legs, headed deep inside the forest, but her smoke was almost out, a thin thread coiling in on itself and refusing to show her the right path.

"No-no-no," she muttered, whispering the enchantment over and over, but it was no use-the golden lock of hair was utterly spent.

"Lady," The man cautiously approached, hands up in surrender, "my apologies for grabbing you, but you ha-have to run!"

It was his fault she lost the princeling's trail. Now her job was going to be much harder, her freedom slipping out of her grasp.

Janette whipped around and snarled, causing him to almost trip again. His thin face had a nervous edge to it, and a pair of clearly costly glasses rested atop his delicate nose.

"We have to get out of here," he muttered, turning away from her to nervously study the forest's darkness.

The moment he did Janette's dagger struck, aiming for the heart, but the blade bounced off seemingly nothing. She squinted; a translucent film shimmered in the air around the man. Shield artifact. The most annoying and expensive protection against assassins.

He spun around, mouth half-open in alarm, but it was too late-she tripped him to the ground, his hair spilling out in a flurry, and pinned him firmly across the chest. Shield artifacts had one weakness-they protected from intent to kill, not from physical contact.

The man bucked beneath her, almost throwing her off. His magic flared up, thrashing against her, pulsing bright gold, soft and panicked. Just the sort of untrained magic she'd expect from a blue-blood-no match for hers. Her aura, reacting to the thought, hissed smugly and rushed, hungry, to strangle the man's golden glow. Like a pixie crushed in the rings of a serpent, his magic choked and cried, spitting glittering droplets everywhere. He cried, too, arching wide-eyed off the cold ground, his fingers clawing at the earth. She knew that pain all too well, when someone took hold of your magic. The feeling was wrong, as if your very beating heart was exposed in their squeezing hand.