The Lord Under smiles at me, his expression one of studiedcarelessness. “There’s no harm done, my Violet. You’re here, and safe, and now you can finish the spell.”
“No harm done?” I whisper harshly. I look to the branches overhead. Somewhere above there’s an open wound in the earth. Rowan, with his blood turned to poison. “Youliedto me. Why didn’t you tell me I’d have to come here to mend the Corruption?”
I try to keep the hurt out of my voice, but it creeps in. Even though I knew how cruel the Lord Under could be, I trusted him to be forthright, thought I’d be exempt from his tricks. Now, the realization that I am no different from anyone else he’s lured into a bargain makes me feel angry—with him, and with myself.
He spreads his hands, as though in surrender. “Would you have agreed to help me if you’d known?”
I wrap my arms around my waist. I can still feel it, the determination that filled me as I made that first, terrible step into the darkness. I’d still have come here. Even if I’d known all along, I’d still have agreed.
I nod, avoiding his gaze, because I don’t want him to see my face, the resignation in my eyes. “Yes, I’d have helped you no matter what. You didn’t have to lie.”
“I didn’t lie.” He is completely unrepentant. “You just didn’t ask the right questions.”
He means to trap me with whatever I’ve said, so what are the right words, the right questions? My thoughts tangle as I search for how to answer him. “Tell me why you need me here. Tell me what I’ll have to do.”
“The Corruption began from my magic, but it’s slipped beyond my control. I can’t call it back, can’t mend it with my power. It needs an alchemist—an alchemist who can work not just in the world Above but here, too.” He looks at me, smiling coldly. “Violeta, you’re the only one who can see me and summon me outside the borders of death. The only one who can walk, alive, in the world Below. You’re the only one who can cast this spell.”
I look all around us: the mist, the trees, the watery, juniper light. Everything here is so quiet and still, so far removed from the torn ground, the blackened mud Above. It’s hard to believe this place is under threat from the Corruption as well. “Where is it wounded?”
“I will show you.” The Lord Under holds out his hand to me, but I don’t move. His voice softens, both threatening and gentle all at once. “The moon is setting, Violeta. Come with me now.”
His claws are smeared with my blood. His palm is crossed with lines, just as mine is. It feels strange to see a heartline on cold, inhuman skin. I don’t want to trust him, but I’ve already wasted so much time. So I step forward and take his hand.
The sigil on my wrist pulses as he laces his fingers through mine.Rowan.The wash of colors is distant now, only the barest, pale echoes. But there. Still there. I think of everyone waiting for me Above. How close they are to safety. I hold the Lord Under’s hand and let him lead me deeper into the world Below.
We walk quickly past rows and rows of trees. They’re endlessly tall, their branches furred with slender leaves. In thelitanies, the world Below is described as a forest where souls sleep. But this is not like any forest I’ve known. There is no sky, only branches and needle-sharp leaves, and crimson-red trunks.
Heartwoods, we call them in the mourning litany. And the deep red color of the bark is just like that. A bloodied, hidden heart.
We go farther and farther, our footsteps swift. The Lord Under grips my hand tightly. His gaze is set on the path ahead, his pale eyes distant and preoccupied. I turn the motions of the spell over in my mind, trying to prepare myself for what I’ll face. Pretend this is no different from what I’ve just done Above at the lake.
Neither of us speaks. The only noise is from our hurried footsteps and the unsteadiness of my breath. The ground is covered with dark green moss, damp and cold beneath my boots. The path slopes down, the trees seeming to stretch taller as we move lower beneath them.
The enormity of it all—skyless, endless—is terrifying. But it’s beautiful, too. An eerie, solemn beauty. And even though I’m wary of being led into this darkness, of where the Lord Under will take me and what I will do once we’re there, I can’t help but look at it with awe. It’s a world. An entire world. Trees and trees and misted dark.
We move into a smaller, narrowed space. Here the lowermost branches are strung with tiny jars. Trapped inside are pale moths that dance and flutter against the glass, their wingbeats giving bright ghostlike flickers. The air is colder now, filledwith dew that beads my skin and the ends of my lashes. Then the wind rustles the leaves with a susurration that—almost—sounds like a voice. As though the trees are whispering to one another.
I tilt my head, trying to listen; if I just concentrated a little harder, I’m sure I could make out words. When the Lord Under notices, an amused light sparks in his eyes. He pulls me to a stop beneath an arched bower of two enormous trees.
“Shouldn’t we go?” It feels wrong to be still when I’m so aware of the moon fading above, of Clover and Arien holding back the darkness, of Rowan so close to being lost to the poison.
“A moment,” the Lord Under says. “You have time for this.”
He guides me to press my palm flat against the roughened bark of the closest tree. I feel a beat, steady and slow, then the sound becomes a voice. Many voices, solemn and musical.
“It’s—” I look around wonderingly. “It’salive.”
“You can hear them, can’t you, Violeta?” He puts his hand beside mine and spreads his fingers. His face turns almost tender. “These are the voices of all my souls. My forest breathes and blinks and feels, just like you.”
I lean closer to the heartwood, entranced by the sound of the interwoven voices. It’s like a chant, a spell, a dream. Countless lives and deaths allherewithin the trees, whispering, whispering. “Why have you shown me this?”
“I wanted you to see my world. To know what it is that you’ll be saving.”
I let the weight of it settle over me. I am alive in a placewhere no one living should be. “I’d never thought about where our souls actuallygo,” I tell him quietly. “The mourning litany sings about the forest, and the trees, but it’s all so different from what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?”
“We burn our dead.” I imagine the scent of ash, the rush of sparks against a darkened sky. An ache fills me, and I know this is an echo of the memories I’ve given him. “The fire turns the body to holy ash. Sparks to the air, coals to the earth. I guess—” I glance at him, strangely embarrassed at how clumsy I sound, trying to explain. “I’d not thought about which part was left for you.”
