Lay bare the wound that bleeds the loudest?—
surrender the memory that chains your soul.
One truth for one truth.
One loss for one flower.”
The words shivered through her bones, and her pulse slammed.
It wanted a tithe. A memory—a memory so raw it ached in the moment of offering. And once given, it would be gone. Forever.
The specter turned toward her, its shape wavering like water disturbed by a breath.“What do you offer, child of the Wilds?”
Her stomach clenched. Bailey’s face rose in her mind, silver hair falling loose as he bent over parchment, his muttering voice in her ear, his warm hand steadying hers when she fumbled a sigil.
She couldn’t—not him. Not even a piece.
“No,” she whispered. Louder, she said, “I won’t.”
The guardian tilted its head, formless face unreadable. The air thickened, pressing like stone against her lungs.
Beside her, Wesley dismounted slowly. His boots whispered against the cracked stones as he stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”
Maude spun toward him, heat spiking through her chest. “What?”
He didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the guardian. “Take mine.”
The guardian’s voice pressed harder.“Truth for truth. What memory do you yield?”
Wesley’s jaw flexed. His hand closed at his side, knuckles whitening, but his voice stayed even. “My mother…she used to sing while she worked. Nothing grand—just simple things. Humming under her breath while she mixed salves. When I was a boy, I thought it was the sound of safety. The sound of home.”
Maude’s breath caught as the air stilled. The guardian drifted forward, and for a moment the ruins filled with the scent of rosemary and smoke. Then it surged, rushing through Wesley as if his body were nothing but a doorway.
He convulsed, breath tearing from him. The guardian’s quivering outline shuddered once, then dissolved into the stones, gone as though it had never been.
The ground trembled.
Between the cracked bones of the altar, buds unfurled, pushing up through dust and ruin. Dusky blossoms curled open, their petals dark as twilight, their shimmer tinged with sorrow. Shadowbell.
A sour twist knotted Maude’s gut. “What is wrong with you?” she said, fury spilling from every word. “Why would you—why would you give that up? Something thatprecious?”
Wesley turned, his face pale but composed. His eyes, when they met hers, were unflinching. “What’s the point of holding it,” he said quietly, “if it doesn’t help someone else?”
The words punched through her anger, striking deep. She opened her mouth, but nothing came. She wanted to scream at him.She wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled. Instead, she stood frozen, breath ragged, staring at him as the shadowbell shimmered in the ruin’s gloom. For the first time, Maude didn’t see a rival, a thorn in her side, the bakery idiot who ruined everything. She saw a man who gave of himself freely. Who lost and still chose to offer what remained.
And it shook her more than any curse.
Her knees went soft, her breath hitching sharp and shallow. Fury surged hot under her skin, tangled with devastation so serrated she thought it would split her open. She shook—hands, chest, every bone trembling as though her body couldn’t decide whether to collapse or combust. Her throat burned, bile rising. She pressed a hand to her mouth, convinced she was going to throw up.
And then, in two quick strides, Wesley was in front of her. Pulling her into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her face pressed hard against the solid breadth of his chest. Heat radiated through his shirt, carrying the faint, grounding scents of flour and smoke, yeast and spice, a touch of pine from the woods still clinging to him.
It was jarring. Lovely. Warm.
She hated it.
Saints, shehated it.
Him.
