I see the next moments unfold before me, like a series of blinks. He’ll close the distance between us. Wrap his hand over my mouth. He’ll smear the poison across my skin. I’ll swallow it down, and then he’ll do the same to Arien and Clover. He’ll take us all to the lake. And meanwhile the wound will open beneath us, spreading to the garden, the house, the village, beyond.
I run forward and throw myself against him with the full force of my desperate strength. He falls; we crash together onto the mud, he on his back and me sprawled over his chest. I hold him down, putting all of my weight onto him: my knees on his shoulders, my hands at his throat. His fingers grip into my thighs, sharp and relentless. He glares up at me. Dark and cold and not him, not him at all anymore.
“Keep him still!” Clover shouts. She and Arien kneel down swiftly beside us. Shadows fill the air, illuminated by bursts of golden light. Arien tries to steady his magic, but it spills loose, uncontrolled, stinging against my skin. But we’ve done this; we’ve done this before. We’ve faced the Corruption. Never mind that we haven’t stopped it. Never mind that this is no poisoned ground but Rowan. This has to work, it has to—because if it doesn’t, there’s only one other choice.
I slip my hand free and wrap it around Arien’s wrist. My power is faint and small and hard to grasp. It’s not enough. It’s never been enough. I bite my lip and suck in a pained breath. Finally, I manage to catch hold of my magic. It sparks, and Arien pulls the shadows taut. The cloud narrows into thread-fine strands lit by Clover’s power. Together, we weave the spell into a latticework that unfolds around us.
Rowan snarls as the magic binds him. He fights me. I feel the grind of bone and muscle and tendon in his shoulders as I struggle to keep him still.
“Violeta.” He hisses through clenched teeth. His mouth is black. Ink stained. “The lake will claim you. It will claim everyone.”
“No,” Arien snaps. He curls his fingers, and more strands of shadows draw across Rowan’s throat. “It won’t.”
We fight him. Arien and Clover and me. Their power. My power. Light and dark and the scraps of my magic. Rowan is snared. The threads of shadow tighten and cut into his skin. He cries out, hurt and furious. And I realize, horrified, that maybe he’s so far gone that destroying the Corruption will destroy him, too.
“You can’t stop this,” he snarls, as if he senses my thoughts. “It’s too late.”
Clover shoves her palms flat against his chest and unleashes a flare of light against him. He jolts, then his grip on my thighs slackens. He sinks back against the ground. His eyes close. Everything goes hauntingly still.
I shout in panic. “Is he—？”
“Of course not.” Clover puts her fingers against his throat and checks his pulse. “He’s not dead. Just unconscious.”
I take hold of his hand, trembling. His fingers are blackened, the skin slick. At his wrist, the scars still bleed dark. I lower his arm against the ground, so the wound is on the earth. I wait for the Corruption to take its tithe from him, the same way it has, all the times before.
But it doesn’t.
There’s no movement. Everything is silent. Then the ground gives an abrupt, remorseless heave. From the gate of the garden, the ground splits open. It tears and tears, spreading across the lawn toward the tree. The Corruption reaches the altar, slithering over the candles and around the edges of the frame. The Lady is framed in poison, her golden brilliance hung at the center of the dark.
“He has no blood to pay it,” I say numbly. “We can’t make it stop.”
I know now that the ritual will fail. There’s only ever been one way to fix this. There’s only ever been one choice.
“Can you hold him on your own?” I look at Arien. “Keep him bound?”
He shakes his head, his teeth dug hard into his lip as he struggles to keep Rowan subdued. “I can’t, not without your help. Leta, I need you. You know I can’t do it alone.”
“You have to.” I squeeze his wrist. “You can do this; I know you can.”
I slip my hand free, slowly, one finger at a time. When there’s space between us, I feel my power unfasten from the strands of his magic. His brows knit and his teeth clench. The tightly woven strands begin to waver. Clover puts her hands down onto the ground. She sends a new wash of light beneath the shadows. They shiver, then tighten. “That’s right, Arien. Hold it steady.”
Arien nods, but all his effort is tensed toward the magic as he fights for control. It blurs and trembles for a moment, but then it holds.