“Howell, he’s possessed! It’s Morgana,” I say quickly. “I think I can stop it. Please, let me try. Let me get closer to him.”
His staid brown eyes search my face. He knows I only tell the truth, but he’s reluctant to let me walk into danger. Howell is Alrick’s shield—the first one enemies see, the one who takes the hits and walks off the injuries, who remains steadfast and true so others don’t panic. Who ties his own bandages. Who walks away from anexplosion and survives a gushing river. Now he’s faced with letting a young florist be the one in charge.
“Please.”
Howell rubs his jaw and surveys Will, then Ava. Decided, he says, “I’ve got your back,” and draws his sword.
I inch toward the gale, my hands shielding my eyes from the dust.
“Will!” I shout, and his head whips to me.
Like flooding a river, I throw all my concentration into finding the heather and dogwood inside him. Their emotions are wafts, somewhere downstream, but I’m determined to have them in my grasp.
“Fliss, get back!” Ava commands.
I keep pushing on. Keep closing in with my magic. Ten more steps from Will. Nine. Eight. Luck. Protection. I can feel the heather again!
There’s a twitch in those black eyes.
“Howell, get her out of there!” Ava shouts. “That’s an order!”
Howell remains at my back.
The ceiling groans.
The wall of wind between Will and me sparks with Morgana’s purple lightning. I reach my hand out and try to activate the hint of heather, not smoothly, thanks to Morgana’s potion. It’s like heaving myself through mud. I scream through gritted teeth andpull.
“Sneaky little—” Morgana growls through Will as she realizes what I’m doing. “Well, then.”
Will’s hands shoot up, and the hurricane follows his command. The blast splits the ceiling above us, and there’s a second—just one—where all the breath leaves my body.
Then, like bone grinding together, the ceiling cracks.
The stones above us crunch and start to fall.
I stare at Will in the center of the chaos and, with the fraction of time I’m granted, I yank at the flowers in the potion with all my strength. The darkness in his eyes retreats before the first stone hits the floor. He whips in my direction, flings out a hand, and it’s thelast thing I see before Howell flattens me to the floor, his large torso enveloping me like armor.
The entrance hall rumbles as it collapses around us, and I curl inward as much as I can, throttled by terror. Shouts echo. Rocks slam against stone, bellowing booms that have me choking on a scream.
Howell’s body goes limp. His arm falls away. He rolls off me and all goes quiet, like a blanket tucking in the storm.
When I eventually lift my head, the world is muffled, the air as thick as chalk. Giant slabs of rock decorate the room, dust settling like powdered sugar. Above, the star-spotted night pours in. I inhale the ash and gag, trying to push to my elbows. My eyes fall to my right.
Howell’s lifeless body stares up at the holes in the ceiling, his stoic brown eyes glassy. Glassy and gone.
Dead.
Iscream.I scream and it mangles my throat. Hurls me against the fallen chunks of ceiling. No.No.No—he—he survived the river—he was here—he was alive—he was fine—he trusted me—hesavedme—
“Fliss.”
The word is quiet. Barely a whisper.
My heart shreds with relief.
Will sways where he stands, his connection to Morgana severed. I claw over the rubble to him, bruising my knees and slicing my palms. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter right now. He hangs his head, the waves of his ash-coated hair tickling his cheeks, and when I reach him, when we’re finally together again, he slumps forward like he’ll faint any moment. I catch him under his arms.
“I’ve got you,” I say, and hold him upright. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
