I want to shout at her, to warn her away. But my voice is lost somewhere deep in my chest, buried beneath layers of rot and ruin.
Willa reaches through the death swirling around me to grip my hand in hers. Her touch is the opposite of mine—full and vibrant. Creation instead of death. I let it wash through me, even as a cold sweat breaks out over my skin and my muscles lock. My jaw clacks, as I focus on her palm against mine and slowly draw my death back to me, inch by excruciating inch.
The black haze recedes, clearing my vision well enough for the sight of Willa to burrow beneath my skin, etch irrevocably intomy bones. There will be no unlearning the way she looks bathed in starlight, running toward the worst parts of me, instead of away from them. She is not ruined by my death but comforted by it.
But horror strings alongside my gratitude, as I remember who stands just beyond the fade of Willa’s magic. Dawson. The Aeternalis’ named heir, and the one who orchestrated this fight in order to draw her out. To witness her power for himself and determine how best to break us both with it. To take everything she is and twist it to his.
As a boy, I watched him tear apart so many others, piece by piece until they were nothing more than mutilated husks. It was Dawson who first discovered fear made it easier to siphon a child’s magic; Dawson who’d implemented punishments so depraved, they still stain my dreams.
And now, I’m going to watch him do the same thing to Willa. The light inside her she’s protected so fiercely, snuffed out by his horror.
I shout her name, in warning or prayer, I’m not even sure, but my words are lost in the rush of time around us as she loses its hold. My heart lurches into my throat as the world spins forward, the only anchor Willa’s fingers tangled in mine.
“Don’t worry, Niko,” she says softly, meeting my gaze. Those eyes drive straight into the sludge of my veins, lighting my blood on fire. “I found where my magic was hidden when you broke me open.”
Willa squeezes her eyes shut as the Strayed charge toward us.
And the Grove descends into chaos.
The ground before us gapes open wide like the hungry maw of an animal, swallowing the closest Strayed. The roar is deafening: the deep reverberation of the earth; the rush of flame above; the purepowerradiating from Willa. The sound is a physical force that pummels my chest so hard, I’m flung to the ground. Mypalms scrape over dead moss and ash as I scramble up, readying my death once more as I search for Willa.
Fear has been a constant companion of mine since the moment I was brought to Letum, but the kind that runs through me as I realize Willa has disappeared into the throng of attacking Strayed is a different sort—corrosive. Intimate. Like I knowexactlywhat I’m about to lose and am powerless to stop it.
I pitch sideways as the ground beneath my feet begins to roll like the waves of a great sea, and I'm tossed from my feet once more. My spine slams into a giant trunk, painfully forcing the breath from me. I wheeze, squeezing my eyes shut and willing the pain to pass, as the movement of the earth resounds through my entire body. I feel its power in my lungs, my bones—even my blood vibrates, as the world crashes down.
It's all I can manage to thrust my death up to protect my head, curling into the ball to keep from being crushed by the deluge of debris and branches tumbling around me.
As suddenly as it began, the world stills. Silence presses against my ears, and my heart recedes from my throat, settling back into my chest. I open my eyes expecting to see the Grove reduced to little more than a gaping chasm, but I find only flat, dead earth. Like the ground has sealed itself up.
Chaos reigns as Strayed retreat in every direction, streaming through the woods, melting into the shadows. The Silva Lucai advances with spears drawn, shouts of victory on their lips as they chase the monsters back to their caves in the pits of the island.
And at the center of it all lies Willa, curled up in the freshly churned earth. I surge to my feet, guilt and panic pulsing untethered through my chest, like the fluttering sails of a ship. Willa’s found her magic, but I’ve pushed her too fast, too hard, for her to prepare herself for the cost of its use. What if it demands something she doesn’t have to give?
My ribbons are faster than I am, spearing out toward the remaining Strayed with singular focus. It gores them through the chest, immediately severing their life source from their bodies. Pain lances through me, the intensity of which would normally bring me to my knees. But right now, I move through it with gritted determination to get to Willa.
This island has taken everything from me. I’ll rend the entire kingdom apart before I allow it to take Willa, the one source of beauty in a lifetime of ruin.
My ribbons wind frenetically in the air above her body, searching for a source of injury—for the familiar feel of death.She can’t die,I remind both of us, repeating the words in a rhythmic chant as I kneel beside her.
Marina filters into view at my side, her face spattered with blood and gore, eyes filled with fire as she gazes at Willa. Sam and Tiernan rush up behind me, and I hardly take note of their battle-worn appearance as I frantically search Willa for any sign of ailment.
“Allow me, sir,” Sam says gently, kneeling beside me. His face is smudged with soot a few shades darker than his skin, and a fresh gash mars his temple, but his hand is steady as he reaches toward Willa.
I should allow him to ease whatever ails her, be grateful he’s torn himself away from Adira to be here with me, but I can’t think beyond the panic roaring in my ears.
With a feral snarl, I brush his hand aside, his gloves the only thing preventing my magic from rotting him where he kneels. Sam blinks in surprise, but I have no capacity to feel ashamed for my cruelty. Not when anxiety is barreling through me like a poisonous vine, squeezing my ribs, strangling my skull. I don’t think about what it will mean for the kingdom that I can touch Willa—I just reach for her, because reaching for her feels like the only thing in the world that will allow me to breathe again.
My need for her is instinctive. Feeling the warmth of her skin, the way it lights up my chest like the fucking second star itself is planted behind my lungs—reassuring myself that something as beautiful as her will hasn’t been snuffed out just when I’ve finally gotten the chance to touch it—it’s the only thing that will soothe the fear raging through me.
I stroke her arm and turn her toward me carefully. I don’t know exactly how her immortality works; there hadn’t been time to ask how long it takes to recover from grievous injuries. I hardly hear the hush of whispers that rise from the Grove Dwellers around us; hardly feel the press of my friends’ shock against the back of my neck.
I only feel Willa as she stirs beneath my touch. Eyes closed, long lashes fluttering against her cheek as another wave of power explodes from her skin. Her magic is the opposite of mine—all fractions of light and spills of every color—and I bask in its warmth. It pours from her body like starlight made liquid, splashing onto the dead earth surrounding us like an ethereal wave.
And where it touches, life blooms.
Grass spreads over the barren ground and verdant plants burst upward, spreading their leaves toward the stars above. Flowers like the ones bordering the north beach bloom wildly, their colors a mirror of Willa’s power itself. New trees climb toward the sky, just as large and magnificent as those destroyed, their branches shadowing and protecting the Grove once more.
All around us are gasps of delight, giggles of pleasure, as the Grove Dwellers, the Silva Lucai, and the hidden children of Letum, witness the rebirth of their home.
