How to Poison Your Husband [COMPLETE! Cozy Romantasy With A Dash Of Murder]

Step 9c: ...preferably one that doesn't involve your dead mother

Ivelle gaped at her mother through the prison bars, convinced she was still dreaming.

A loud clang! split the night. Her padlock, its metal frame sheared in two, tumbled to the ground, smoking pieces scattering across the hard dirt floor. For a moment, she was nine years old again, trying to pick the lock to the Wellbegone Bank, only to have her mother swoop in and melt it with a well-placed curse.

The crackle of flames roused Ivelle from her stupor. She stared down at her pallet—the edge nearest where the padlock had landed was already blazing briskly—then pinched her arm, hard.

It hurt.

It hurt, and her small cell was starting to smell like scorched hay.

This wasn't a dream.

Her mother was here.

"I thought you'd died!" With a burst of energy, Ivelle scrambled to her feet and tried, self-consciously, to straighten her rumpled jester's uniform as she stomped on the flames now threatening to consume her pallet.

Ascoria rolled her eyes. "I didn't die, Ivelle."

Of course her mum hadn't died. Ascoria was an unstoppable force of nature. She'd probably stored pieces of her soul in a diary or a locket or some poor sod's forehead scar. Silly of Ivelle to think she could be offed so easily.

"If you weren't dead," said Ivelle, abandoning the mess that was her jester's uniform to give the pallet-fire a few more solid stomps. "where have you been for the past three years?"

Ascoria sighed. "After the nonsense with Lord Saffron, I did some soul searching. I started wondering if I only brought you misery. If you might be happier without me in your life, dragging you from crime to crime in pursuit of wealth and power. When I saw Saffron's arrow coming at me, I made a split-second decision—to let myself be hit by the arrow, magically fake my own death, and take myself out of your life forever. To let you go your own way, even if it meant trying that silly... woodworking business you'd always wanted."

Ivelle's lips parted in shock. Had her mum finally gained some maturity in the years she'd been gone?

"HOW WRONG I WAS!"

...Apparently not.

"Your shop is practically bankrupt. And this nonsense with Lillian and the fliers just proves you're useless without me! I can't believe you managed to fall for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Lillian used you from the moment she walked in your shop, and you were blithely oblivious!"

"You've been spying on me?"

"You're lucky I was." Her mum tapped her fingers against the wall. "I didn't raise my daughter to be a naïve twit. If you're going to be evil, at least fully commit to it. None of this wishy-washy will-I-won't-I-kill-him bullshit. This is why you need me, Ivelle. This whole nonsense just goes to show it."

She waved an impatient hand. The cell door flew open, as though caught in an invisible wind (her mum had always had a flair for the dramatic). Ascoria seized Ivelle's wrist in an iron grip that was all-too-familiar and started for the doorway. "We're going."

"Hold on a minute!" Ivelle stumbled after her, almost skinning her knuckles against the frame of her cell. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe. Far from this cursed kingdom, where your idiocy won't get you killed."

"Can we at least talk about this?" Ivelle dug her heels in harder, wincing as her mother's fake nails bit into her wrists. "Also, what about Princess Mariel? Shouldn't we help her escape too?"