Gwen stopped trying to lift the rock and staggered down to one knee, panting. ‘Maybe if we use my sword for leverage—’
She was interrupted by a massive shudder of the floor beneath them that sent Isobelle sprawling, and wrung a cry of pain from Tabitha as the rocks pinning her shifted. Gwen looked up to see a handful of mortar and pebbles come raining down at them.
‘There’s no time.’ The words came from Tabitha. She’d stopped digging at the rocks, and her voice no longer had the confused urgency that had marked her earlier questions. ‘Just go. You should go.’
Gwen glanced at Isobelle, who was looking back at her, expression grave – even Isobelle’s habitual positivity was struggling to see a way out here. She stepped forward, edging her sword under one of the stones. ‘Let me try …’ Her voice thinned with effort. ‘See if you can move,’ she gasped.
Tabitha gulped a sob, and reached over the top of the stone, grasping Isobelle’s extended hand, trying to pull herself out. She moved a scant inch … and the entire tower quivered. Another shower of stones came, making them all duck and shield their heads.
Shaking, Tabitha tried again, and again, the tower moved with her.
She let out another sob and caught her breath. ‘My spell,’ she gasped. ‘It’s still tied to the stones.’
Isobelle understood quicker than Gwen. She knelt down beside the slab pinning Tabitha to the floor, and curled her fingers around the young witch’s hands. ‘Let it go,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t need that spell anymore. Just let it go, and come with us.’
Tabitha grimaced with effort and pain, and shook her head. ‘Go,’ she demanded. ‘If it’s tied to me, maybe I can hold it long enough for you to get out.’
The ground all but vibrated with the impacts of falling stone and crumbling mortar. All at once, Gwen became aware of the sheer weight of the tower rising over their heads. Isobelle had spoken about the spirits of the witches who had died here, living inside the stones. For a strange moment, Gwen could feel them raging, tearing at the tower – she could see that Tabitha was bound to it as surely by her own refusal to release all that had brought her to this pass.
Isobelle was protesting, her voice rising with passion and fear. ‘We can’t leave you here—’ she began.
‘In ten seconds I’m going to bring the rest of this wall down on top of me,’ Tabitha said through gritted teeth. ‘You can either be standing here with me, or safe outside in the courtyard.’
Gwen met the young witch’s eyes, seeing the resolve there – the same resolve she’d expect to see in the eyes of an opponent in the jousting arena. She had committed to the fight, and she was charging down the lists. She no longer knew how to stop.
Tabitha let out a sound of fury and exasperation. She grasped Isobelle’s arm and jerked her closer. ‘Do one thing for me,’ she said, gazing intently into Isobelle’s eyes.
‘Anything,’ Isobelle replied.
Tabitha’s lips twisted. ‘When you see him next … tell our father that this was all his doing.’
The silence that followed those words was absolute. Even the tower seemed to pause its slow collapse, held off by the sheer weight of the witch’s implication. Isobelle went rigid – Tabitha’s words had gone through her like lightning through a metal spire.
Our father.
‘But …’ Isobelle’s voice came slowly, haltingly. ‘My father’s a diplomat. He’s … he isn’t …’
But that was all the time the collapsing tower gave her to process what Tabitha had said. The ground shuddered again, and Tabitha craned her neck, watching the stones overhead ripple and crack.
‘Go – get her out of here, Gwen!’
Gwen forced herself to move. She wrapped an arm around Isobelle’s waist, and hauled her, unresisting, to her feet. She managed four steps before the ceiling came crashing down. She shoved Isobelle ahead of her, got half knocked aside as the stones beneath her feet buckled and cracked apart, and hit the ground with a thud. She managed to turn her momentum into a roll, and came to a halt in the courtyard, lifting her head to look back the way they’d come.
Just in time to watch as the tower finished crumbling into the sea.
36
Olivia had finally met her match
Olivia was waiting for them at the edge of the courtyard. She was flanked by Achilles and Princess Buttercup, who had her teeth clamped firmly onto the woman’s cloak, as if to keep her from racing into the ruins of the tower. Olivia was dishevelled, struggling with the clasp of her cloak.
When Olivia saw Isobelle, she gave a wordless cry and renewed her efforts to get free of the horse’s grip. Princess Buttercup whinnied and held on, planting her hooves firmly on the uneven stones, and Achilles gave them both a sidelong glance, clearly declining to involve himself in the struggle out of respect for both parties.
It seemed Olivia had finally met her match. A part of Isobelle’s mind contemplated this from a strange distance, as if wrapped inside cotton wool. Everything seemed distant.
Our father.
I suppose I must address you as sister now.
