But better, but worse, because now it is mine.
Light blooms at my palms, and the room is illuminated in crystalline brilliance. Power. My power. The power I’ll have on the next full moon. The Lord Under watches me, and the flare of magic dances in his pale eyes. For just one, ruinous moment, I wish he could touch me. I want to feel his cold, clawed hand on my cheek, on my hair.
I let the power burn through me. Let it burn away all the helplessness and uncertainty in one last brilliant flare before it dims, settling back into the barest glimmer. I want to be safe at Lakesedge. I refuse to let the life I’ve found here be destroyed, not now. I won’t let it be taken from me. With this bargain I can finally protect everyone—and everything—that I care about.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.” His mouth curves into a hard, pleased smile. I’m not sure what pleases him most. My awe over the power or the hurt I’ve paid to gain it. I push away the thought. Stare at the light until my vision blurs and refuse to think of what it’s cost me.
“Now.” I shiver as aftershocks of the power flicker through my body. “Tell me what I need to do to save Rowan.”
“You will need a spell. Listen carefully. Blood. Salt. Iron. Silt. Mud.” He looks at my wrist, where the sigils are drawn. “Mark it on both of you. The same sigil. That will hold him until the full moon.”
“And the rest…？”
“Come to the lake for the ritual, as you did before. Your power will be enough to cast the spell.” He flexes his fingers open and closed, mimicking the gestures that I’ve seen Clover make when she draws out her magic.
“You will give me enough power to mend it. Alone.”
“Alone,” he confirms. Then he looks to my hands. “Shall I heal your cuts?”
I scramble to my feet and scrub my bloodied palms against my skirts. “No. Rowan needs me. And I can’t afford any more of your help.”
He smiles coldly. “Best of luck with your monster and your ritual, my Violet in the woods.”
The shadows thin, and the light comes back into the room. This is the last time I’ll see him. I’ll have no need to summon him again. The realization comes with a tiny pang of sadness that I try very hard to ignore.
As soon as he fades, I run through the kitchen into the stillroom. On a shelf beneath the jars of tea and garlands of dried flowers is a stack of notebooks. I grab the one I’ve used in lessons and flip through quickly, searching for the right symbols. But as I rifle through the pages, I realize I have no idea how to combine the symbols into a spell.
I hurriedly shove the notebook into my pocket and rush back outside to Arien and Clover. After the darkened house, the sunlight is disorienting. I blink and blink until my vision comes clear. Rowan is still trapped beneath the shadows. He’s awake again, now, fighting against the magic as it cuts into his skin. The ground has torn open all around them.
Arien holds the shadows taut, his teeth set, his eyes closed in a grimace. When he hears me coming, he looks up. At first, the magic holds, and holds, but then it snaps. Rowan tears loose, reaching his hand out swiftly to grab Arien’s throat. They fall down together into a tangle of magic and shadows.
“No!” I rush across the ruined lawn. “Rowan, don’t hurt him!”
My boots sink into the churned mud. The blackened earth seethes and boils around us. It’s angry. It’s hungry. Clover casts a burst of light as Arien struggles against Rowan. Darkness spills from his palms, and they’re lost in a cloud of uncontrolled magic.
I fall to my knees and grab for Arien’s wrist. Send my power into him. The strands weave tight, and Rowan is caught again, writhing furiously beneath the snare of shadows. Roughly, I reach into my pocket, then shove the crumpled notebook into Clover’s hands.
“Blood. Salt. Iron. Silt. Mud,” I tell her. She looks at me, confused, but I keep repeating over and over the spell the Lord Under gave me, until the words lose meaning. “Show me how to mark it.”
I bare my arm, but she shakes her head. “This isn’t even a spell. These symbols don’t mean anything. It makes no sense.”
“You have no idea how little sense this makes. Please. It will work, I promise. Do it, Clover, or he’ll be lost.”
She sets her pen to the page and quickly sketches the spell. I copy it onto my wrist, the lines hurried and unsteady, then grasp Rowan’s arm. He’s caught so tightly in the magic that he can’t move, but he glares at me, feral and vicious, when I shove back his sleeve. Tendrils of Corruption drip between his clenched fingers.