Emory let out a long exhale, glancing at the window. From the looks of it, the witches had returned from the forest: the gardens around Amberyl House were all alight, and music drifted toward them.
“We’ll have a hard time convincing Aspen and Bryony of anything, with how deep Mrs. Amberyl has her claws in them,” Emory said.
Romie raised a brow. “With that rebellious streak in Aspen? Please. The girl is begging to be let free from her mother’s rigid rules.” That bright fervor reignited in Romie’s eyes. “Let’s go do some sleuthing, shall we?”
If the ascension festivities were meant to befestive, the reality sorely fell short of expectations.
The gardens surrounding Amberyl House had been transformed for the night, full of ribbons that fluttered in the breeze and glass jars alight with the glow of fireflies trapped within. It should have been enchanting, but the scene was underscored with an eerie quality. The music was erratic and haunting, and the movements of those dancing were twisted, as if they were trying to conjure the Sculptress herself or summon more witches from their graves.
The clattering of bones from the witches’ necklaces made a shiver run up Emory’s spine. Everyone who looked her way feltlike someone out to get her. But no one said a word to her and Romie. They pretended the two of them didn’t exist, as if they weren’t complicit in Mrs. Amberyl’s plan to purge them on the black moon—whatever that might entail.
At least for tonight, they were safe. Though judging by the thinness of the waning moon, they would have no more than two days before that changed.
Romie actually lookedthrilledby it all, which should have come as no surprise given her nature, but still felt unwarranted under the circumstances. She picked up two intricately carved goblets that contained a deep purple drink from a table laden with fruits and meats, sipping on hers as she handed the other to Emory.
“What are you doing?” Emory asked in a horrified whisper, trying to stop Romie from drinking. “We don’t know what’s in these.”
“Oh, relax, will you?”
“Relax?They want us gone, Ro.”
“And we’re not going to get answers from them if they know we know that.” Romie swayed to the music, smiling at the witches around her. “So start acting like you’re having fun.”
Emory sniffed at her drink—it smelleddivine, like mulled wine—but resisted the urge to try it. She did attempt to loosen up as Romie grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd, but all she wanted to do was run off into the woods away from these people and never look back. Romie had other plans. She coaxed Emory onto the dance floor, laughing as she twirled her around. Something loosened in Emory’s chest at the sound of Romie’s laugh, at the sight of her dancing. She was suddenly reminded of a younger Romie, running barefoot in the sand with her arms spread out as she pretended to be one of the gulls. So free and full of life.
Life—Romie wasalive, something Emory had yet to fully wrap her mind around. For so long she’d thought Romie was dead, thenlost to the magic of Dovermere. But she was alive, and here with her. And for a tiny moment as they laughed and danced, it felt like nothing had ever changed, like they were still the same two girls they were before Aldryn College, before the Selenic Order, before Dovermere and the epilogue and the doors.
They weren’t. She knew that. They were different girls in a different world, playacting at who they’d once been, at least on her part. But Emory clung to the feeling nonetheless.
Romie suddenly pulled Emory through the crowd to where the High Matriarch and her two daughters stood beneath a flowery arch on a dais that overlooked the festivities.
Mrs. Amberyl was all polite smiles, but Emory could tell it was a mask. There was worry hidden in those sharp eyes, a protective grip to the hand resting on her younger daughter’s shoulder. And with good reason, given the anxious looks and whispers the witches kept throwing Bryony. A mother shielded her small children as they passed by the dais, as if afraid Bryony might grow fangs and eat them.
Emory had to give Bryony credit. The young witch’s smile never slipped, even as her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. Aspen, on the other hand, didn’t bother with feigned niceties; she looked fiercely territorial standing on the other side of her sister, fingers laced through hers as if ready to whisk her away at the first sign of trouble.
“Mrs. Amberyl, thank you so much for inviting us,” Romie said with a winning smile. “What a fabulous event!”
As if they hadn’t just overheard the witches talking about the evil they’d brought upon their land.
Romie did a double take of Bryony. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure yet.”
Emory bit on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling; Romie was a natural at this.
“This is Bryony,” Mrs. Amberyl said in a tight voice, her fingersdigging deeper into her daughter’s shoulder. “My youngest.”
“Hello,” Bryony said in a sweet voice so unlike the guttural one that had overtaken her in the woods. She had apparently bathed and changed since being dug up from her grave, a vision in a rich cream-and-emerald dress. Her dark hair had been styled up and adorned with pale green jewels.
Bryony leaned into Aspen. “Are those the ones you were telling me about? From the other world?”
Aspen’s gaze cut to her mother, whose lips were pressed tight in displeasure. “Yes,” Aspen answered. “But—”
“How does it work, your magic?” Bryony asked Emory and Romie with a tilt of her head, full of innocent curiosity.
“Well, it’s influenced by the moon and tides, you see,” Romie started, gaining Bryony’s rapt attention.
With a quick, pointed look at Emory, Romie launched herself into a lengthy explanation of the particulars of lunar magic. Emory immediately understood what she was asking of her.
It wasn’t only Lightkeeper magic she’d been practicing these past few days but Memorist magic too. Romie had begrudgingly let Emory try it out on her, though Emory could tell it had made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t blame her: the concept of Memorist magic had always felt intrusive to her too.
