I don’t look at him. I look at Caz, whose eyes – the only part left above the ground – flick wildly towards me. White-red-white. Terror. Pain. Pleading.
She isn’t gone.
Not yet.
Dinah said there were two more daggers, so there will be other chances to learn the truth of my mum’s heritage.
But Caz will have no second chance.
It’s hard to let go, yet I press the weapon into the Quiet One’s gloved hand all the same. ‘If you don’t save her, I swear by all the Gods, you won’t live to see morning,’ I snarl.
She bows her head. ‘Then we should hurry.’
Kyor releases them and the two fox-headed figures sprint the short distance to the heaving mass of roots.
They kneel and one of them rips off their gloves and lays their palms against the writhing earth, while the taller of the two lifts the dagger in a slow, ceremonial gesture. Then, with a move so fast it takes me by surprise, they drive the blade downwards, slamming it into the Sannthrall’s writhing roots.
The sound that rips through the forest is unholy, and all the hair on my neck stands on end.
There’s a crack like splitting bone and an unearthly, impossible scream, as though it is ripped from stone.
The force throws me to my knees. Our horses rear and shriek. Elska growls and snaps to keep the equines close, but they panic all the same.
And for a moment … the rootsseize.
Every tendril gripping Caz freezes, trembling as though stunned.
‘It stopped!’ Benny gasps.
‘Only for a moment,’ the Quiet One warns. ‘The Sannthrall is vicious and deadly. A single blade strike will not end it. We must dig your friend up before it recovers itself. Quickly!’ The fox-beings begin scrabbling at the earth with their hands while Benny and Loch run forward, throwing themselves to the ground to help their fellow Eastern Islander, this horrifying interlude having energised Loch enough to finally rouse him from his lethargic coma.
But I have a better idea than panic-digging her up.
‘Everyone, get back,’ I order, but they do not move. ‘Get back!’ I repeat impatiently.
‘NOW!’ Kyor roars, and they fall back, scrambling away from the twisted tree.
The Sannthrall pushed me out when I tried to command it. Now, with the blade driven into its heartwood and its focus shattered, I feel a tiny fracture – the faintest gap – in its will.
A tiny opening. A weakness.
‘Rose…?’ Kyor begins.
But I’m already moving. I slam my palms into the dirt, fingers digging into moss and soil. I reach for the plants the way I always do, but this time it’s like grabbing the tail of a beast made of thorns.
Luckily for Caz, I’m also made of thorns.
Magic surges up my arms, wild and furious, like a contained storm trapped beneath my skin.
‘Let. Her. GO!’ I roar. And I shove my willintothe Sannthrall.
It’s a battle of two magics I didn’t even know existed. Mine, with all its heritage that I haven’t even begun to grasp, and the Sannthrall’s, whatever the fuck it is. It pushes back, slick and dark as it tries to claim me, tries to take hold of my being and manipulate me like I’m nothingmore than a sprig of mint, but I am so so much more than that. I’m the fucking gifted, and I’m not afraid to show it.
I wrench myself free of the tendrils of its power that still threaten to hold me and expel everything I have into it. The roots writhe in agony and for a heartbeat longer, they try to resist … and then theycrack. And they’remine.
I wrench my hands upward, and the roots obey.
They tear open like great jaws forced apart. Coils snap. Binds withdraw. The entire mass recoils violently from Caz as though burned.
