“It’s not so easy to explain.”
“You’re complicit in helping someone who murdered hisfamily. You forced my brother to work dark magic. Is that a good start?”
Arien glares at me. “Leta. It’s not her fault.”
I kick at the ground, annoyed, knowing I should apologize. But even though Arien is right, and what just happened wasn’t truly Clover’s fault, I’m still angry. With her, with everyone. “Can you at leasttryto tell me what you’re doing here?”
“You’re right, Violeta. You deserve to know. You’ve seen a blighted tree, haven’t you?” Clover asks. “Rowan told me about what happened in the woods on your way here.”
“Yes. And the almond grove near our village was blighted one Harvestfall. But the Corruption—you can’t tell me that’s the same as a poisonedtree.”
“It is, and it isn’t.” She holds out both her hands and motions like she’s weighing something in her cupped palms. “There’s light, there’s dark, and usually they balance. And when they falloutof balance, it’s like a wound. The magic in this part of the world—in the ground near the lake—is poisoned. Rowan told me he sent Florence to burn the trees at the wayside. What did they do with the orchard near your village? The same?”
“Yes. The keeper ordered it burned.”
“The Corruption isn’t like that. There’s no one piece to cut or raze. But in the Maylands, I studied blight and I made a spell that can mend it, so it doesn’t need to be burned.”
Thoughts close in—distant things that I have tried to forget. Midwinter. My parents laid out on the ground beside ourcottage. A torch set to the walls. Firelight streaked in orange sparks against the cold night sky.
I shake my head, push the memory away.
“So you plan to get the Corruption out of Lakesedge with this spell of yours? And what about the blood?” I rub my wrist, thinking of how Rowan took out the knife. The hideous, resolute way he cut himself, like it didn’t even hurt. “Isthatpart of your spell, too?”
“Yes. It responds to his blood, and I use his blood in my spell.” Clover meets my gaze evenly as I swallow, feeling sick.His blood.“Every full moon, Rowan and I have tried to mend the Corruption. But so far it’s never worked.”
Arien steps forward and spreads out his hands. “Because there was something missing. Clover’s magic is light, and mine is… dark. We balance each other.”
Clover gives him a faint smile. “No other alchemist can work the kind of magic you have. This really is our only chance to mend it.” She tilts her head back until it rests against the wall, and sighs a hot, tired breath into the hot, tired night. “I’m certain we can do this if we work together.”
I remember how she looked during the ritual: teeth set, fingers tight around Arien’s wrist. Then I’d thought her ruthless—but now she just looks worn out and small.
I think again of the blighted orchard in Greymere, how after the trees were burned and the ashes cooled, everyone gathered around the field. We lit candles. We put our hands into the charred ground and mixed the ashes into the earth as we chanted the autumn litany. Then, the next year, we plantedmore trees. They grew, and soon it was like there had never been any difference.
Could Arien do the same? Use his shadows to mend the Corruption, to turn the blackened shore and the ink-dark lake back to sand and clear water?
I turn to him and put my hand on his arm. “Arien. Please.”
“I want to do this, Leta. I want to help.” He softens his voice and looks at me solemnly. “Rowan saved you in the woods. He didn’t have to go back for you, but he did.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “He only saved me because he wanted you to help him.”
“Is that really what you think?”
I close my eyes against the thought of Rowan, how he spoke to me at the edge of the trees. The way his thumb brushed over the bruises on my wrist. “He wanted us to feel indebted.”
Arien sighs. “Or maybe he wasworriedabout you.”
“If we stay…” I pause, let the feel of the words settle in my mouth. “It will be foryou, Arien. Because you want to be here, not because we owe him anything.”
Arien lifts his chin. “I want to be here, Leta.”
Clover’s eyes are all hope. “Then you will come back into the house?”
I can’t trust my voice. I swallow, hard. Taste salt and ash. “Yes.”
We go toward the front door. Before we step inside, I look up at the house. It’s all dark, except for one of the topmost windows, which is filled with diffuse light. The type of light that would come from an altar candle, almost burned down. Ipicture Rowan hidden away in his room. His arm torn open. Streaks of darkness fading from his skin.
The entrance hall is still and silent. It feels wrong that we’re back here instead of on the road, going far away from the Monster of Lakesedge and his horrible, cursed estate.
