Slowly, slowly, I lift my hand and trace across his lips with the edge of my thumb. Sparks light from my fingers, and the lines of poison spread farther, covering his throat and creeping up over his cheeks.
Rowan catches hold of my wrist. “Stop.” His voice sounds like the wash of lake water. “Please, stop.”
“I’m sorry.” I pull away from him, and we both stand up quickly. I brush down my skirts until the gossamer layers of fabric cover my legs again.
“Don’t be sorry.” He’s so quiet. I can barely hear him. “I can’t, Leta. I just can’t.”
I nod, but I’m embarrassed. What right do I have to wantthis? What right do I have to ask anything from him, when he has already given and lost so much?
I reach for the ribbon around my neck and slip the silken loop over my head. I draw out the key and offer it to him on the flat of my palm. “Thank you for showing me the garden, Rowan.”
He doesn’t move for a long time, only stares down at my outstretched hand. His fingers are pressed against his throat where the darkness is still fading back under his skin.
Then he says a single word. “Anything.”
I look at him, confused, as I realize what he means. “That was your trade? You offered the Lord Under anything in exchange for your life?”
“Yes.”
The enormity of it sends a cold, terrible shiver through me. An offer like that would have meant the Lord Under could set his own terms. He could take whatever he wanted. “Oh, Rowan. I’m—”
“No.” He stops me before I can finish what I meant to say.I’m sorry.Roughly, he folds my fingers closed around the key. “I want to give this to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This.” He gestures to the trees, the brambles, the tangled beds.
“You want to give the whole garden to me?”
I look all around us, at this beautiful, forgotten place. The trees and the brambles, the crooked orchard and the wildflower lawn. The plants are half-dead and gone to seed, butit’s so much grander and larger andmorethan anything I’ve ever had.Mine.
“Yes. It’s yours.”
It hangs between us, unspoken, that there might be a time beyond the mud and poison and darkness. That on the next full moon the Corruption could be mended. And after that, I’ll have this piece of earth as my own. I’ll plant seeds and pick flowers. Bring this whole locked-up, too-long-asleep place back to life.
My throat still burns with salt and tears. I close my eyes and feel the faint spark of my magic.Traces. Leftover.
For just this moment, I let myself believe that it will be enough.
Chapter Fifteen
The night of the second ritual arrives in a heat wave. The midsummer sunset turns the sky to blood. The air is so heavy I can hardly breathe; sweat beads my face and trickles down the back of my neck. We stand beside the lake, at the edge of the forest. Shadows stripe between the pale trees. Arien and Clover are on either side of me. Our skin is marked with spells. The sigil is carved into the shore. We are almost ready.
The past weeks have been a blur of lessons. Days spent in the library, the table cluttered with papers and pens and ink, as I’ve practiced drawing the symbols for the spell to focus my magic. Days spent outside, the three of us circled around the jars of inky water, the sigil on the lawn now permanent: a sooty, charred mark. We’ve worked the spell so much that each night I’ve dreamed of it. My hands, their hands. The draw ofpower, the weave of shadows. The Corrupted water cleared and mended.
And all the while, outside, beneath the growing moon, the lake has waited for us to cast our magic. I’ve not heard or seen the Lord Under since he offered his help, but part of me is still afraid that using my magic will call him back to me. But there’s no other choice. It will work. It has to work.
Rowan comes down the path and through the garden archway. He has his cloak tucked over his arm. Florence walks behind him, carrying a lantern and a basket packed with bandages and folded cloths. When she puts the basket down beside our feet, I try not to look at it. Try to ignore the reminder that if the ritual fails, Rowan will have to cut himself and bleed into the ground, to let that angry darkness overtake him.
Florence gives us all a steady, flinty look. “You’ll be safe.” There’s no lilt of a question in her voice.
“Of course we will,” Clover says. She smiles, but the brightness doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, we’ll try our best.”
Rowan puts his hand on Arien’s arm. There’s a brief tenderness in his eyes as he looks at my brother. Then he steps back, his face as set and unreadable as a mask. “Are you all ready?”
Arien draws up his shoulders. “We’re ready.”
“Good.” Clover and Arien start to walk toward the water, but when I move to follow them, Rowan touches my arm. “Wait. Violeta, I…”
