Ethlet pivots down a side alley, bringing them back to a wider street. ‘He was a member of the Society. He’d been trying to restore the balance of magic for a lifetime. But, in the end, it all comes down to a singular thing.’
‘What’s that?’ Lowri asks.
‘Our world is almost completely drained of light magic,’ she says, eyeing them both. ‘Isaiah believed that if we could only find a source, even just one person, we could reintroduce colour and light to the world. Then, the shadow magic would reduce, and magicians would replenish, having both light and shadow to draw from, the two twisted strands of magic reinforced. The cycle would begin again, and the world would heal itself over time. The fog would disappear.’
Lowri bites her lip. ‘Just one source?’
‘But there is no source, and there are no magicians left with that kind of power. Only scraps. So the people of Fallow weave any found glimmers into their footwear, and when we walk around Fallow, we recognise our neighbours, even if we cannot see their faces concealed under their umbrellas.’ She smiles. ‘Life finds a way, even in a world turned over to shadow.’
Ethlet’s words echo through Lowri’s mind with each step as she contemplates them. They stop outside an imposing building with pillars set beside huge doors thrust open on to the street. A few people mill in and out, putting up umbrellas to step back on to the street, or shaking them out, before walking inside.
‘This is our museum. It tells the story of the war, if you’d like to take a look.’
‘Yes,’ Lowri agrees, ignoring the way her vision already sways, the effects of the Fallow Fog brew already wearing thin. She must have answers.
They wander through rooms filled with artefacts and paintings, telling the story of the history of Fallow. Eli moves slowly, examining each one with wonder, but Lowri strides ahead, to the room namedWar. And there, in a framed painting, maybe once in vivid colours but now depicted in shades of grey, are the Rexilium brothers. She gasps, the floor beneath her tilting sickeningly as she stumbles back. For they may be the Rexilium brothers in this world, but in hers …
They are the ruling council of Arnhem.
‘Eli!’ she calls, a dull thump beginning once more behind her eyes.
He hurries in, looking first at her, then to the painting she points out to him. He stills, taking in the cruel twist of the brothers’ mouths, their pale skin, their eyes. Then he swears softly. ‘My father was right, in that letter he left. He was right about them.’
‘They’re monsters,’ Lowri says, lowering her arm. ‘What they’ve done to this world …’
‘We have to go back,’ Eli says. ‘If they have magic like mine, if they can wreak havoc like this, then the Fortunate Isles are in danger. Mira, Caden, Brielle …’
‘None of them are safe,’ Lowri whispers. ‘Ourentire worldis not safe.’ Then the last drop of strength leaves her, and she collapses.
Lowri wakes again on the sofa, the ebony flames crackling from the fireplace across the sitting room.
‘Lor? Thankeverything. Ethlet, she’s awake. She’s awake.’
Lowri blinks slowly, finding a figure hovering over her, quickly joined by another. Her whole body seems so heavy, and her mind is like cloud, her thoughts drifting too slowly, too hard to grasp.
‘At last,’ Ethlet says, but she’s already moving away. ‘I’ll brew more Fallow Fog. If a slip of shadow magic gives her even a little strength, she needs to keep drinking until we find a more permanent solution for her.’
Eli takes Lowri’s hand, and he thanks Ethlet beforeturning troubled eyes on her. ‘You’re cold, Lor. Too cold.’ He frowns. ‘I have to find some way to help you. My father’s work, it’s all in the attic, in his office. I’ll be back. Now you’re awake, now that I know you’re not …’ He shudders, releasing her hand. ‘Ethlet will bring the brew in a moment. We will fix this, Lor. I’ll find a way.’
He leaves her too, the door snicking closed behind him, and she breathes into the silence. But before she can follow her thoughts into sleep, she’s aware of another presence. A creature.
You know, I could probably help you, witch.
Lowri’s eyelids peel back, and she finds Gracious peering up at her. More shadow than cat, she notes the way he moves, like the fog in the sky above Fallow. Like he’s a physical, breathing embodiment of it. ‘In what way, creature?’
Can you sense what I am?
‘You are shadow itself.’ Lowri scrunches her nose, tiredness weighing on her, staring at the grimalkin, parsing back its form, finding what appears to be beneath. ‘Magic made almost flesh, aren’t you? You feel a little like another creature I know. My familiar, Nova.’
Gracious purrs.Clever, you witches. I have not met a creature like you before. If only you had brought more with you. Stronger ones filled with light magic.
‘You were too greedy, weren’t you?’ Lowri murmurs, beginning to understand what a grimalkin is as she fights to stay awake. ‘You absorbed too much shadowmagic. You were almost consumed by the fog. I can – I can sense it.’
Clever, clever witch.
Lowri squints at the grimalkin. ‘You have no light magic left?’
Gracious licks his not-quite paws.Yes. In another world, perhaps I would be a cat. But there was so much shadow, an abundance, and we grimalkin did not realise the true cost of our hunger.
