The briars slither up the legs of Emberlash and his goons. A few cry out and try to stumble away. But the briars hold strong, thorns like barbs pinning their arms to their sides.
Emberlash struggles against the snare, eyes frenzied. “Nightingale! I have direct orders from Sira. Release me at once!”
“In fact,” Wrenley purrs, waltzing in front of the pinned man, “I’m starting to believe I’m not a bird at all. I am a serpent, and I think I shall start devouring my masters whole.”
Emberlash screams, but briars cover his mouth.
Wrenley shakes her head, then looks up at me. “Cas.”
“Run, Birdy,” I try to say, but my throat is so parched, it’s nothing more than a wheezing breath. “Your briars are no good here. They’ll burn up.”
She doesn’t summon more briars. Instead, she widens her feet, juts out her arms, fingers curled like claws, brow furrowed. Magic sings in the air. Not Emberlash’s cursed flames but something familiar.
This magic feels like Aurelia.
The flames around my cage burst bright for a moment. Pain sings along my nerves. Then the fire dies.
I fall.
10
Dayton
So here we are again. Me and old turquoise. My little roselooks a lot better than the last time I saw her. Back then, she was wilted, brown creeping along the edges. Now, the blue petals are blooming bright and—I dare say—it’s even perky.
I sit cross-legged on the stone floor of the High Tower, fingers hovering above my rose. The dark purple brambles surrounding it have shifted to gold, like Farron’s did when he broke his curse.
I pour my magic in the rose, and it absorbs my strength. It feels as if the castle is trying to claim me, root me here. Closing my eyes, I draw in a slow breath, letting the flow of power surge through my bones. Castletree’s need is a silent, pressing weight, a cup that can’t get full. The castle feels frail, weary, its branches strained as if barely holding together.
The roses along the golden briars begin to unfurl, petal by petal. Castletree’s magic intertwines with my own, in turn strengthening Summer’s blessing. Even as I focus, my thoughts drift to Rosalina.
She’s sitting across from me, Spring’s rose cupped between her hands, blush-pink petals blooming under her touch. She told me on the way here how she’s guarding Spring’s blessing. Though she didn’t say it in so many words, I know she wants to return it to Ezryn. It’s a dangerous thing to pass a blessing—let alone give it back to someone who’s already had it.
But we don’t need to worry about that. Rosalina’s more likely to move a mountain than change Ezryn’s mind once it’s made up. And he doesn’t want his blessing back.
Now, her face is calm, eyes half-closed, and magic flows from her in steady waves. Currents of energy radiate from her, filling the tower with sunshine.
In the dim light, Rosalina looks ethereal, her features softened by the golden glow, her dark hair framing her face. She’s pouring herself into that rose, like I am, but with a peace that steadies me. I’m doing this for Castletree, for the land, but seeing her like this reminds me of why I keep fighting.
I’m doing this for her. For my mate.
A faint ache stirs in my chest, exhaustion whispering at the edges of my mind, but I push it aside, digging deeper. I will the turquoise petals to drink my power in.
A soft touch on my arm brings me back to reality. Rosalina kneels beside me.
“That’s enough.”
I nod, standing and reaching my arms to the sky. Damn, I know that doing this strengthens me, but it also gives me the bone-deep exhaustion of an intense training session. “Could go for a dip in the hot springs after that.”
Rosalina’s smile falters.
I let out a sigh. “Right. No more Summer wing in Castletree. Hadria under the sea. What am I even a prince of?”
Rosalina takes my hands in hers. I know she still carries guilt for what happened in the Summer wing, even though I’ve tried so many times to assure her that it wasn’t her fault.
“We’ll rebuild it,” she says.
“Better than before.” I nip the bottom of her ear. “Including a little cavern in the hot springs, perfect to escape to when we don’t want any prying eyes.”
