“QUINN!” Her name ripped from me. I didn’t remember crossing the camp, only the sudden crash of my body against the tent flap.
She lay inside, asleep on the bedroll we’d shared, sunlight from the gap in the canvas revealing the gray pallor of her skin.
“Quinn, wake up,” I begged, hauling her into my arms. Her head lolled against my shoulder. “Please, Saints, no—wake up!” My voice cracked, splintering like glass.
Nothing.
I pressed my ear to her chest, frantic for the sound of her heart. It was there, slow but steady. Relief and terror collided so hard I nearly vomited. I reached for the tether I knew was no longer there, desperate to feel her, to pull her back from the brink.
“She’s breathing,” I gasped, looking back at Branrir and Thistle now peering into the tent. My own breath came ragged, uneven. “But she won’t—shewon’topen her eyes.”
Branrir frowned, tears spilling behind his spectacles. His silence was worse than if he’d screamed. Vesper’s ears drooped as he hung his head. Thistle dropped to her knees beside me, hovering her hands above Quinn. Her Hedge magic glowed green in a flash and then dissipated.
Thistle’s chin began to quiver. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”
“No!” I clutched Quinn tighter, curling my body around hers like I could shield her from this. My tears hit her skin, hot and frantic.
Branrir’s voice cut through, attempting to be the voice of reason. “Mav?—”
“Don’t say it,” I snarled without looking up. “Don’t you dare tell me she’s gone. We’ll take her to her tower. There has to be something there. There must be a book, a relic, a spell—something,anything.”
Thistle placed a hand on my back. I shook it off.
The others stepped away, giving me space. But I didn’t want space, I wanted Quinn. I needed her. I rocked her in my arms, whispering her name in both prayer and defiance. I tucked my face against her neck.
“I’m here, Quinn. I love you. I love you so much. Please…pleasewake up.”
It took us two days of riding to arrive at the location Quinn had marked on the map. During the day, we strapped her to me atop my horse with strips of torn cloth. Her head lolled gently against my chest, dark lashes resting on pale cheeks. As we rode, I murmured to her, little things: You’re going to be all right. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. During the restless nights, we laid her down next to me. I hardly slept, too worried that if I did, I’d wake to find her gone.
Branrir lifted a hand and slowed his horse. “We’re close.”
I stared ahead.
There was nothing but more trees.
Branrir frowned. “That doesn’t make sense?—”
Then, we passed through an invisible barrier, as if we were breaching the surface of water. One breath, we were surrounded by foliage, the next, we stood at the base of a tower, eyes widening as we stared up at it. The stone was cracked and split. Ivy covered most of its surface.
Stranger than the structure was the complete and utter quiet. No rustle of leaves. No birdsong. Even the breeze stopped. The magic cloaking this place swallowed every sound. The silence made my ears ring.
Branrir and Thistle dismounted first, helping me to lower Quinn to them before I jumped off my horse and cradled her in my arms.
Thistle rested a hand on my shoulder. “Mav, we don’t know that bringing her here will change anything. She still might not?—”
“She might,” I snapped, needing to hold onto any glimmer of hope I had.
Looking apologetic, Branrir added, “There’s no evidence that?—”
“I don’t care what’s in all your Saints-damned books and scrolls! We are going to fix this!”
A loaded silence followed my outburst.
Vesper rubbed up against my legs. “Come on, Mav. Let’s take a look at the tower.”
Branrir squinted up at the leaning spire. “Looks like it’s been standing a few centuries past when it should’ve fallen.”
“Or something’s keeping it up,” Thistle added.
