I do the same for the windowsills on the upper floor—in my bedroom, the bathroom, and my mum’s room—hoping it will be enough to keep the guards at bay. For now. Just until we can think of a plan. We just need more time.
Back downstairs, I kneel before Will. The curve of his back is shaking, his head tucked into his chest, and he’s gasping for air against the wooden floor. I place my hand on his shoulder gently, not wanting to overwhelm his senses. I’m here. I’m here and I’m not leaving him. He shudders and sucks in a deep breath.
“I think it’s my turn now,” Will says, his voice cracking.
It takes a second for me to understand what he means. We’ve swung, switched places. Me, level-headed and composed, like all those times Will kept cool as I fell apart.
“I’m here,” I soothe.
It’s the permission he needs to surrender. Surrender and break.
Will digs clawed fingers in his hair and weeps. I sit silently by him as he chokes out sobs that mourn for so much—for the life ripped away from him all those years ago, for the freedom Morgana violated. For Howell. My own tears drip onto the floorboards.Never again.I’m never letting this happen ever again.
There’s a sudden bang on the door that has us spooked like an ensnared rabbit.
“Fliss!” Card pounds his fist again and again. “Are you in there? Fliss!”
“You’re going to break down the door,” Bastion warns.
“FLISS? You can’t do this to me! You can’t leave me like this!”
The knocks slam time and time again against the wood. Neither Will nor I move. He’s petrified, gulping down his tears. I pray with all my might for the pennyroyals to work.Please.I push my magic outward and beg the flowers in my shop for aid.Help us. Please don’t let them in. Please give us this sanctuary.There’s a soft rustle and a flow of magic in the air. My flowers hear me and obey.
“We should get out of here,” Bash says. “I doubt they’ll have stayed close.”
“But—”
“Babe, come on. You’ve hardly slept recently….”
Their voices fade away.
It’s just Will and me and a cold, dark room of flowers.
He shuffles upright, tears clinging to his eyelashes.
“Howell—” Will stifles.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“H-He—I—”
“Will, itwasn’tyour fault. I’m telling you.”
His bloodshot eyes scan my face. If I can say it, then it’s the truth, whether he can accept it or not.
“I keep putting you in danger,” he says. “I keep hurting you. I stabbed you. And n-now Howell. Who next, Fliss? I-I’m—”
“Will.” I push his ash-coated hair back. “I choose to be here. I choose you. You are not hurting anyone on purpose. It is not your fault.”
He reaches across where our knees touch and rests the tip of his fingers where my scar is, where the sword sliced me open.
“There isn’t a day, an hour, that goes by where I don’t curse myself for what I did to you. What I keep doing to you,” he says, a confession of the worst kind.
My heart can’t bear it.
“Stop it,” I beg. “Stop saying that. I don’t feel that way whatsoever. I told Howell it was Morgana. He believed me. He was helping me get to you and he saved my life. What she did was a horrible violation. You are not to blame, Will. She used you. This is onherhands.”
“I can’t…I can’t keep doing this.”
