My magic still feels too small and too faint. But it’s enough. I can help him do this.
Clover murmurs encouragement to us both as she sends light into the spell. “Cast it farther. Tighten it more, over there. Keep going.”
The shadows lattice across the ground. Together, Arien and I weave them into a taut, controlled net. It spreads farther and farther, until it covers the entire shore. Clover’s magic twines through it, and the spell gleams like sunsparks across shallow water. Beneath it, the Corruption begins to glow and waver. Tremors undulate across the ground, from the lake to the edge of the trees. We can do this.
Our hands dig deeper into the mud. It’s so cold. The Corruption shudders against my palms. It feels the same as it did the night Rowan paid the tithe: dark and endless and hungry. So empty of the light that runs through the world—the golden warmth of the Lady’s magic.
I clench my teeth. Think of sun and seeds and flowers. Beside me, Arien is tensed. His muscles are drawn tight. But his magic holds. He keeps control. It doesn’t falter.
We push and coax and force our magic into the earth. The ground moves in waves, like a tide pulled by the moon. The spell is working. Clover and Arien and I, with all of our magic laced together, are mending the Corruption.
The blackened ground begins to change. It softens, the mud turned back to sand. Strands of sedge grass push up from the earth. At our feet, the water ripples, the inky darkness now becoming clear.
For a breath, everything stills. Slowly, Arien draws the shadows back, and Clover lifts her hands from the ground. We sit, encircled by the still-glowing sigil and look around.
It’s mended. It’s all mended.
Then blotches of darkness start to spread across the shore. Arien and I look at each other nervously, then turn to Clover. She holds out a hand, magic sparking across her palm, brow furrowed.
“I don’t understand.” She takes a tentative step toward the water, toward the changing earth. “It shouldn’t be doing this.”
I look down to see the ground tear open. Clover cries out. We fall back heavily as the darkening shore splits into a deep wound. Arien’s elbow strikes my cheek, and all I can see is stars. From far off, I hear Florence calling out, urgent, “Rowan! Get them back. This isn’t—”
Rowan is beside us instantly. He grabs my arm, trying to drag me away.
“Leta—” His voice is choked.
The rift tears wider and wider. Then a shape rises up from the mud. One, then another, then another. They’re tall. Too tall. Oily dark that seeps and drips. They have limbs without hands. Grotesque, faceless heads. They slither forward, and my breath comes out in a desperate gasp.
“No!” I look to Arien, who is wide eyed with shock. “What are they? What’s happening?”
“Get back, both of you!” Clover cries. Her hands are blazing with light, which she casts at the creatures in a brutal slash. They flinch back and melt into the ground. But then the rift opens farther, and more of the creatures rise up.
They have claws. Sharp slices of stone, hooked and brutal. They have mouths. Round, studded with shards of broken shells. They surge from the earth in a torrent. I reach for Arien, but they’re so fast—I have no time to move before they’ve washed over him.
His arm thrashes out, caught by coils of mud. His face is pale, terrified.
“Arien, hold on!” I lunge toward him as he vanishes beneath the creatures.
Rowan wrenches at my arm. “Leta, get back.”
“No! Arien—”
I twist free of his grasp. But before I can do anything, Rowan shoves his hands into the writhing mass of earth. He doesn’t even flinch. The way he moves—it’s practiced. Like he’s done this before, faced the Corruption, pulled someone free. Or tried.
I crush in close beside him, my shoulder hard against his. I plunge my hands into the mud, desperate and frightened as the creatures rush over me, as I feel the scrape of claws and teeth. I reach farther into the icy darkness, searching desperately, but Arien is gone. There’s only mud and cold and the hungry creatures.
I could have stopped this. If I’d accepted the Lord Under’s help, then none of this would have happened. I grasp for the strength he showed me, a force far beyond my magic. But there’s only the faintest throb. A burn at my wrist, an ache in my chest.
I can’t do this. Not alone.
“Please!” I call out to the shadows. To the monster who was kind, once. Who held my hand and led me through the woods. Who saved my brother. “Please, you said you would help me—”