Briony nodded, hope swelling in her. “Right.”
But when she turned to grab the Sword, the ceiling rumbled again. Something silver clattered onto the ground at her feet. She scrambled away from it, gaping at a Sword identical to the one lying nearby.
Briony tipped her head back, dread coursing through her. Where there had once been a cluster of stalactites glittered dozens of copycat Swords. She lunged for the real one, but Finley pushed her out of the way. The two of them toppled back into the dirt as a shower of blades fell where her body had been a moment ago.
“Shit!” Briony clambered up. “Maybe if we use the water as cover—”
“Briony.” Finley’s voice was raw with horror. “Look.”
Briony turned, confused, to realize that Finley had dipped a finger in the lake. When he drew it out, it was coated in crimson. The smell of copper wafted from the trail of red that spread through the water—red that was not only high magick, but—
“Blood,” she croaked. Tendrils of crimson reached out and spun through the lake, a sharp, metallic smell rising around them. She clambered backward, struggling not to vomit.
“We have to stop this.” Her voice came out strangled. “We have to destroy that pillar.”
Above them, another blade fell from the ceiling, the point aimed directly at Finley’s skull.
This time it was Briony’s turn to lunge for him. She slammed into his side, sending them both toppling into the lake of blood. The copycat Sword clattered onto the island behind them.
The sensation of sinking was the most horrifying thing Briony had ever experienced, a dozen times more gruesome than the illusion curse Alistair had cast on them at the quarry. The blood was warm and viscous, clotting around her flailing hands and sucking her down into it. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but her mouth had opened during the fall. She clamped it shut—too late. The taste of metal flooded her nostrils and her throat, and the sticky texture coated her tongue. She clawed upward, desperate for air, until at last she broke the surface.
When she opened her eyes, blood smeared her vision. It was in her nostrils, her ears, matted in her hair. She tried to breathe, but coughed up crimson instead. Just like Carbry had—
“Briony.” Finley’s voice rang out beside her, hoarse with panic. A moment later, his arm gripped her waist beneath the surface, pulling her toward him. She sagged with relief—he was okay. Red stained his face and hair, pooled in the hollows of his throat. “You’re alive.”
Behind him, Swords were still raining down from the ceiling, some splashing into the lake beside them, others piling around the pillar. There was no way to tell which one was the real Relic.
Briony nodded and wrapped an arm around his neck. There was so much blood, too much, and for a moment she was back in the forest, staring at Carbry’s body. She saw the arrows protruding from his eyes, heard the rasp of his final words, and then she was clutching Innes’s finger, that sliver of bone still protruding from the end.
“No,” she choked, her guilt as strong and viscous in her throat as the taste of copper. Her free hand clawed desperately at the blood, trying to keep them both afloat. “This lake … I…”
“It’s an illusion,” Finley whispered. “It’s not real, Bri. It’s not actually blood.”
Above them, the ceiling rumbled again, a fresh round of Swords falling into the lake. Panic surged through her, but she remembered what Finley had said. If you really wanted to make things right, then you wouldn’t surrender.
She could use this guilt, this fear, as fuel to do better instead of sinking even lower.
She took a deep breath, trembling, then let go of Finley and swam closer to the pillar. Red light flared inside, the outer stone going translucent. The Landmark wasn’t casting this enchantment—the pillar was. Which gave her hope that destroying it with the Relic would theoretically stop the spell.
“You’re right,” she breathed. They were treading blood side by side now. “We need to focus on finding the real Sword and stabbing it into the pillar. Do you have any spellwork that could do that?”
“The Blade of Truth should dispel illusions.”
“Then I’ll cover you with Mirror Image,” Briony said, a plan crystallizing in her mind. “That should give you enough time to destroy it.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Perfect. Let’s go fuck this curse up.”
Finley chuckled in response. Briony was surprised to find that he could still be amused by her bravado. She knew he hadn’t forgiven her yet—but someday, maybe, he could.