“Truly what I’ve always dreamed of—a boy who blushes as he insults me.”
“I’m glad you didn’t run away that night after the first ritual.” Clover puts her arm around my waist as her face settles into seriousness. “I’m glad you and Arien decided to stay here.”
“I am, too.”
“Despite the fact that there’s a death god lurking around?”
“Despite everything,” I say, smiling. She rests her chin against my shoulder for a breath. Then she reaches into her pocket, her face suddenly turned shy, and draws out a small, wrapped parcel. “Here. I made this for you.”
I unfold the paper carefully. It’s a ribboned bracelet, embroidered with leaves and tiny violet flowers. I run my fingers over the intricate pattern of her clever stitches. “Oh, Clover, it’s beautiful.”
“Don’t cry,” she says quickly. “Or I’ll cry, too.”
I hold out my wrist so she can tie it for me. “Thank you.”
She picks up a lantern and lights it with a flare of magic, then takes my hand. Together, we go out of my room and down the stairs.
My skirts spill around me, a cascade of lace. My white dress is made of translucent layers that shift color in the light: cream, silver, pearl. We cross the entrance hall, then step out onto the drive. Arien is already outside. He wears a new shirt, the white linen decorated with a pattern of branches that curve sharply over his shoulders. He has a wreath set lopsidedly over his curls. He steps back to let us pass but avoids my eyes. He doesn’t smile.
We’ve hardly spoken since the day I told him about my connection to the Lord Under. He and Clover have worked endlessly over the past few weeks, while Rowan has been in the village to prepare for the fire. They’ve filled countless notebooks with sigils and walked back and forth along the shore of the lake. Tried and failed and tried again to find another way—any way—that they can cast a different spell that will mend the Corruption at the next ritual.
I’ve helped by adding my own, faint magic to Arien’s shadows when he practices one of the new spells. I’ve watched them grow tired and cross and more hopeless. And all the time, I’ve silently weighed and measured everything I have, wondering what I might offer to the Lord Under in exchange for his help.
Now, beside Arien in the drive with the ivy-wrapped house behind us, my chest aches with a heavy, uneasy feeling. The space between us feels like a wound that can’t heal over.
“You both look perfect,” Clover says. She smiles at me, then turns to adjust Arien’s collar. “Look at you. You’re like a prince from one of Violeta’s stories.”
She sets her lantern carefully onto the seat of the wagon that waits in the drive. Florence and Rowan already walked to the village earlier, to help with the preparations. Clover climbs into the wagon and takes the reins. The wagon bed is piled with branches and tangles of greenery that I’ve cut from the garden: our contribution for the bonfire. The horses—the same ones we rode here, from our cottage—have more of the starry flowers braided into their manes.
I step toward the wagon. Arien catches hold of my arm and looks up at Clover. “You go ahead,” he tells her. “Leta and I will walk.”
She raises a brow. “Really?” Realization crosses her face as she looks between us. “Oh. Yes, of course.”
She hums to the horses, and they start to trot. Arien and I watch the wagon grow smaller as it follows the drive away from the house. Once it is out of sight, we set off.
The now-empty house behind us feels hollowed out, with only a single lantern lit in the frontmost window. All around us, the tall, pale trees hush and whisper as the hot evening air stirs their leaves.
With all that’s happened since our arrival, this will be the first time we’ve left the estate. We walk through the front garden, past where I took Arien after the first ritual. When I wanted to leave, and Arien insisted we stay. So much has changed since that night, and yet so much is the same. I’m still fighting to keep him safe.
We pass beneath the iron gateway, and the drive gives way to a path that widens slowly to a well-worn road. The land slopes upward, and the forest that surrounds the estate thins to fields: almond groves and apple orchards. We walk through stripes of faded shadow and pastel sunset, and I think of how beautiful it will look in Harvestfall, when the leaves turn to crimson.
Arien walks beside me. Neither of us speaks for a long time. Everything between us feels so tangled, but I don’t know how to unknot it.