Nightweaver #1

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Albert?” I shake him. “Henry …” My voice trembles with panic. “He isn’t breathing. He isn’t breathing .”

Henry shoves me out of the way, kneeling over Albert’s body. He places a hand to Albert’s chest, closes his eyes. The seconds drag on, spiraling into eternity.

“Come on,” Henry says through gritted teeth. “Come on!”

Nothing. My chest squeezes tight, making it impossible to breathe. I can’t lose another brother. I can’t—

Albert’s mouth parts with a strangled gasp for air. I lurch for him, cradling him close to my chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” Henry stammers, shaking his head. “I didn’t—”

“But you did !” I snap. Fear turns to rage, and I open my mouth to chastise him again, but the look on his face—the fresh terror in his eyes—gives me pause. I take a deep breath, reminding myself it was an accident. I was prepared to strike Albert myself, but Henry was faster.

“I didn’t mean to,” Henry says again, his voice somewhat broken.

I sigh. “I know,” I say, stroking Albert’s hair. “You saved him. That’s all that matters.”

Henry presses his lips together, his face grim. “I shouldn’t have had to.”

“But you did,” I counter. “Thank you.”

Henry snorts, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets. “I electrocute your little brother, and you thank me?”

At that, Albert pulls away from me, twisting to look up at Henry. His hair stands on end, his eyes bright with wonder. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

Henry and I share a comical look, dissolving the thick cloud of panic still lingering in the air.

“I think it’s time you get back to… whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing,” Henry says, extending his hand to Albert.

“Right!” Albert jumps to his feet as if he didn’t just suffer a fatal injury. “Jack sent me to get you. Lady Isabelle told him to tell me to tell you there’re some people she wants you to meet.”

Henry groans, rolling his eyes. “There always are.” He casts me an exasperated glance, dusting off his jacket. “Coming?”

“Not yet,” I say, waving them off. “I think I need a minute to myself.”

Henry looks as if he may insist, but then he dips his chin. “Be careful,” he says, his expression entirely too thoughtful for someone who wished me dead only a few months ago.

“You too,” I say, saluting him. “I hear these waters are infested with leeches.”

Henry snorts a laugh, mussing Albert’s hair as they turn and make their way back through the garden. With his other hand, he makes a rude gesture behind his back, and a somewhat hysterical giggle escapes me.

I watch as they disappear around the bend. Alone among the roses, I hear the distant sounds of music and chatter fading beneath the wind rustling the bushes. Wind that carries the faint scent of briny air…

“Aster.”

My heart leaps into my throat.

“Owen?” My gaze darts wildly about the garden. There—a lock of dark blond hair rounds the corner up ahead.

Owen.

I chase after him, thorns tearing at my arms as I race down a narrow pathway. I turn the corner, my pulse throbbing in my temples.

“Owen!” My voice falters as I skid to a halt.

Owen is gone.

My stomach sours. Am I losing my mind? I know it can’t really be Owen. Owen is dead. I watched him die.

But the Shifter did take on his likeness on the hill that day all those weeks ago.…

Behind me, footsteps fill the void of silence ringing in my ears. I tense, remembering the hairpin near the nape of my neck, praying to the Stars that I’m fast enough.

In the blink of an eye, I whirl, hairpin drawn. I lash out, but a strong, calloused hand grips my wrist.

“I don’t know who this Owen fellow is,” the prince says, his voice light as he eyes the hairpin an inch from his jugular. “But this seems like a strange custom for greeting.”