He reached up and brushed a bloody hand across her cheek. His eyes softened. He loved her. The wind knew it. It had known it for a long time now. It had probably known it before the boy knew it, although the boy was entitled to his secrets too.
“I know this isn’t a great time,” the boy said, his voice as soft as a kiss, “but I wanted you to know, I lov?—”
The woman pressed her hands to the boy’s lips. She shook her head. “Don’t say it.”
The boy gave her a questioning look.
“Don’t say it until I can say it back.”
He smiled against her fingers. His warm breath was gentle against her skin. “Why can’t you say it back now?”
She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder again at her brother.
“—Lia! Come on!”
“I just can’t. I want to say it when I’m free. When I can say it and mean it. I wouldn’t mean it now. Not when my own father wants me dead. Not when it’s wrong for a principal and an heir to?—”
He reached up and touched her cheek, laughter lining his mouth. “Not mean it?” He shook his head. “You’re always lying, Lia.”
“I am not?—”
“You are. That’s okay. I can wait to say it. I have all the time in the world.”
“Lia—!”
She glanced again at her brother. He was pinned beneath the horror’s mass.
The boy’s laughter faded. His green eyes turned from spring leaf green to dusky meadow. “Stay close to me.”
The woman looked like she wanted to argue, but then she nodded. They jumped up. The boy swept the curtain of his darkness aside.
They blasted the horror—the woman with her sharp-siren voice; the boy with a wave of diamond-bright air.
Instead of shrinking back, the horror grew.
“How . . .?” The boy gasped, stumbling under its mass.
Then, from the edge of the Silencer’s field, the cruel one laughed.
“Oh, great,” the citrus and pearl dust scented woman said. “Who invited him?”
“Take note!” the cruel one shouted. “The false Smith cannot stand against my creature! Tonight, you die. Tonight, I take the crown!”
He shoved a barrage of hate and cruelty toward the solange-eyed one. It was too much, even for a Smith. The million larvae, the horror’s darkness, and the cruel one’s spikes buried the solange-eyed one.
The cruel one laughed, and behind him, his father fed the horror. It foamed outward, frothing and seeping.
The musician fell. The horror rolled over him.
“Ragnor!” the woman cried.
The boy sprinted for the musician, shoving darkness in front of him.
The wave swallowed the boy.
The woman screamed. The sound of her voice could make a being’s ears bleed.
The cruel one turned. His eyes widened when he saw her. She’d dropped her illusions. She wasn’t wearing a Bard costume anymore.
