“Go ahead,” he says when I look at him. “Cast the spell like you did on the shore.”
There’s a desperate hunger in his face that reminds me so much of Rowan, that first day I saw him in the village. I dig my fingers into the crescent scar on my palm, trying to push down my wariness.
“That’s all I need to do? Just cast the spell, and it will be mended?”
“Yes.” The Lord Under smiles, and even his smile is hungry. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll be right here.”
I remind myself that he has no reason to trick me again. All he’s done—even the deception—has been for my benefit. I asked for his help, and so he’s helped me. He’s brought me here because this is where I need to mend the Corruption. And he wants it mended, too. The evidence of how much he has at stake is all around us in this ruined grove.
I force down the doubt that rises through me even as I ready the spell. Arien and Clover can’t fight forever. I have to do this, and I have to do it now.
My magic has already started to build, rising in response to the churn of the Corruption. I feel the heat, the same heat that burned through me so fiercely before in the world Above. I flex my fingers open and closed, and light flares eagerly at my palm like a handful of bright petals.
Then I look at the Lord Under. His cold, cruel face and his sharp, pleased smile. I stretch out my hand to him, my palm upturned, the same way I did long ago in the midwinter forest.
“When I was on the shore, I wasn’t alone.” I reach toward him. “I want you to cast the spell with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Lord Under looks at me so sharply that I’m certain he can see right down to my bones, my blood, my frantic heart. It takes everything within me to hold my face calm, keep my voice steady.
I don’t move, and neither does he. I wait, daring him to call my challenge. If he means to harm me, if there is danger in this spell, then he won’t step forward.
My hand, outstretched, begins to tremble. “I want you beside me. I’ve given up so much to be here. Surely you can grant me this. You need me, and I need you. We’re connected.”
At this, the hunger in his gaze intensifies, and he smiles, baring his too-sharp teeth. He crosses the stones easily and enters the circle. His cloak sweeps across the ground, stirring the dust as he steps carefully over the lines of the sigils.
He looks at my outstretched hand, then at me, and I can see myself reflected in his eyes. The pale smear of my face, my bright hair like a captured flame.
“You know,” he says, “you may not like the taste of my magic.”
“I’ve cast with Arien before. I’m not afraid of shadows.”
He laughs. “We’ll see.”
The Lord Under reaches to me, darkness already drifting from his hands. The frost of his skin is a shock against the heat of my magic, but I force myself to weave my fingers through his until our palms are pressed tightly together. We stand facing each other, his hands clasped around mine, his fingers over my fingers.
I take a deep breath. I thought I’d feel reassured with him close to me like this, but I’m still as uncertain as ever. A nervous laugh catches in my throat. “Aren’t you going to wish me luck?”
He leans down until his mouth almost brushes my cheek. “Good luck, my Violet.”
I close my eyes and think of gold and heat and sun. When I call on my power, the ache of absence quickly follows, the vision of myself bereft and alone in a blackened field. I push it away, pretend I am in the garden with my hands around the bramble vines. I see the thread of my magic strung loosely around me, feel the petals of heat bloom at my palms.
I reach for the spell, and the Lord Under’s power is there alongside my own, another thread, one of sharp, spun steel. I clench my fingers closed, and his claws pierce my palms. I suck in a breath at the bright, sudden pain. The twinned threads of our magic snap tight, light pours through me, and our power ignites in a swift rush.
Shadows unfurl from his palms like silken ribbons. They weave around my wrists. His power is pale fire and new-moon shadows. It burns in me with a frostbitten ache. Apprehension rises through me but I force it down. I won’t flinch from this. I’ve touched shadows and darkness before. I’m not afraid.
Instead, I let my own power—unsparing, brutal, granted for a single moon—blossom in my chest. I feed more of my magic into the spell, sparks blistering at my fingertips. The ground trembles as the lines of the sigil ignite.
And then, a sound starts up above.