I let myself shatter. For just this moment, I forget it all.
Afterward, we’re both breathless, perspiration like dew on our heated skin. I sit up and draw the curtains closed. They fall heavily across the window, and we’re muffled in dark, with only an almost burned-down candle to light the room.
We curl up together. Rowan winds my hair into his hands, places a row of kisses against my neck. His breath is warm on my bare skin. “It was brave, what you did. Very, very foolish. But also brave.”
I want to tell him I’m not afraid of the ritual. But I can’t. It isn’t the truth, and I’ve already told too many lies.
For a moment I let myself picture the shape of our lives, in the blurred space of after. We’ll eat dinner together. Tell stories in the firelight. At the lake the water will be clear. The shore will be a harmless stretch of sand. There will be no more blood, no more payments. No more dangerous attempts at the rituals.
And Rowan—and I—
My future with him is such a dangerous hope. I can only allow myself the barest taste. Like picking up a final crumb. I turn over to put my arms around him, resting my head against his shoulder as I fold myself against him. He trails his fingers through my hair. Combs gently at the tangles, picks loose the scraps of leaves and tiny flowers still woven there.
I run my fingers lightly over the inside of his arm. He shivers when I touch the sigil. I feel the spell that’s woven between us. A slender thread, delicate as filigree, but strong as steel.
“I’m so afraid,” I tell him. “But I’m going to do this anyway.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The moon grows through the week until, on the night of the ritual, it’s round and brilliant, crimson as a pomegranate.
As I walk down to the lake, the wind catches my skirts, and they drift out behind me. I’m all in black, a dress I found folded at the very depths of my trunk. It’s dark and severe, cut low at the neck and high at the waist, unadorned except for a wide ribboned sash, embroidered all over in a pattern of thorn-sharp vines. The sleeves are sheer, folded back to bare my sigil-marked forearms.
Rowan and Florence are ahead on the path. Arien and Clover are by my side. We move in silence through the ruined grounds, past my locked-up garden. We pass beneath the arched gateway that opens to the shore, and pause at the fringes of the pale-trunked trees. The Corruption hasn’t reached here—the grass still grows, and the branches still have leaves.
This is the last untouched place on the estate.
Beyond the blackened shore, the lake is eerily beautiful. There’s a trace of haze in the air, the last heat of the day gathered above the water. A twinned moon is reflected, blurred by faint ripples. When I look out over the Corruption, something inside me gives a soft stir. I put my hand to my chest and swallow down the taste of blood that clings to the back of my throat. Soon all of this will be mended.
Arien and Clover pace back and forth with their eyes on the ground as they measure out the space for the sigil. We’ve agreed to perform the ritual as we did before, the same sigil on the ground, the same sigils on our wrists. But it will be me, alone, who touches the earth and casts magic. I curl my hands closed and run my fingers against the marks on my palms. Already I can feel the power awakening beneath my skin, like banked embers ready to flare alight.
“Here we are.” I steady my voice. “I guess it’s time.”
Florence squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “Good luck. Try not to do anything completely reckless.”
I laugh. “I’ll do my best.”
She sits beneath the trees with her basket filled with blankets and bandages and a jar of Clover’s bitter tea, waiting. I look at Rowan, who stands beside me. I want to say something to him before I go, but nothing fits. I take his hand, lean my head on his shoulder.
He twists his fingers against mine restlessly. “This is a terrible idea, you know. Of all the dangers you’ve gotten yourself into, this is by far the worst.”
I cup my hands around his face and draw him down to me. I kiss him; his protests murmur to silence against my mouth.
“I can do this,” I tell him. I try to smile, but I can’t quite manage. “I will do this.”
“What if your magic hurts you the way it did last time?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “What if it hurts you worse?”
I want to reassure him that all will be well, but I can’t. My being hurt is the least of my fears. I’ll only have this power for tonight; there won’t be another chance to attempt this again. And if I fail, then Rowan will have to quiet it.