Chapter Twenty-Four
The Order of the Iron Nail had come for her.
And that meant they were here for Ethan as well, just for being in her vicinity.
And if they came for Ethan, they would come for Petal.
Briar had no doubt that Anais was more than capable as his first mate, and the rest of the crew. But the ship belonged to Ethan. He was the Dragon. Petal needed his ruthlessness but also his reputation. More than she needed Briar.
Ethan would not agree. His dragon would not agree.
And she had mere moments to take the decision out of his hands. If he was captured—or worse, shot—because of her, she would never forgive herself. She might not even forgive Petal.
There was only one thing to be done. When the ants swarmed the peonies, you harvested the flowers before they fully bloomed. You set up protective barriers.
You gave them something else to devour.
Briar had to move fast. There were grasses and mosses and lichen, but not enough of them to send her magic to trip Ethan up. No trees to beg for help. Only those wild roses inching closer, thorns gleaming.
She moved as quickly as she could, and as silently, so as not to alert Ethan.
His dragon sharpened above her head, starlight fire streaming from his nostrils.
He knew something was happening. Could he see the Keepers?
They were at the edge of the field near her gardens.
She didn’t have much time. Any time at all.
She could try to hide, but she knew that Ethan would find her.
He was an Iron Crow. He was Ethan. And she already knew they were here for her.
The roses had told her, whispering, whispering, Run.
She nearly choked on the warning bite of mint at the back of her throat.
Her gardens shivered, leaves shaking. Bees filled the air.
Ethan was behind her. He would close the distance between them in moments. His dragon was already screeching.
Now or never.
Briar ran faster, faster. Panic clawed at her ribs. Her hip pulsed with pain. None of that mattered. She could not hide from the Keepers, so she would do the only thing that would keep Petal safe. Ethan safe.
He was going to be so furious.
The sweet summer air seared her lungs as she pushed a little faster. She stumbled over an anthill, and could not catch her balance. She slid down the rest of the swell of the field, tumbling to a stop in an undignified sprawl at the feet of the Keepers’ horses.
She looked up at them, gasping for breath. Her shopkeeper’s smile was firm. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
Ethan caught the moonlight on the daisies in Briar’s hair as she began to run.
He had pleasant enough thought of chasing her down, hearing her gasp and giggle when he caught her.
Until his dragon sent a stab of light through his chest. The silver crow claw around his neck frosted, searing into him.
Briar was in danger.
How had she managed to find danger in the handful of minutes since she had bolted, laughing over her shoulders, eyes bright, cheeks pink? The fields were full of fireflies.
Why the hell was she running away from him instead of toward him?
And then she was suddenly scooped onto the back of a Keeper’s horse and he was still too far away to stop it. And he already knew exactly what it looked like when she kidnapped herself. Little martyr.
Ethan hurled his dagger and nicked Oliver’s arm, biting through his sleeve and slicing through his skin.
He recognized the bloody Keeper, if not his two companions.
He had several more daggers to throw and would dearly have loved to aim for that blighter’s head, but the horses were moving and the light had faded and he could not take the chance he might accidentally hit Briar.
He was perfectly willing and able to kill them all for threatening her. Threatening his little thorn.
But not at any risk to her.
No time to go back to the ship for reinforcements. Any message he sent would be intercepted, that much he could assume. The Order was closing ranks around Briar. They must be getting desperate. And he didn’t trust a Keeper at the best of times. A desperate Keeper was a real threat.
But he was worse.
So much worse.
Briar had told him Matthias was at the bonfires. Ethan sent his dragon after him, knowing that when Matthias spotted the familiar, he would follow. In the meantime, Ethan would tail the Keepers.
He shadowed them through the village, where they were not even trying to be circumspect.
Not a good sign.
Fury was a lick of cold fire in his chest. Rain pattered the ground, hard as coins.
Briar in a Keeper’s cart, or a cell, however makeshift. At the mercy of the Order.
Without warning, the rain turned to hail, hard as musket fire.
Briar had never been inside the island headquarters of the Order.
She supposed it was better than the infamous dungeons of Holdfast, but she had not been there either.
The headquarters were stationed in a long wooden building that had once been an inn of some repute.
It was painted white, naturally, with a row of gargoyles on the roof.
Roses grew in a thicket between the red door of the portal and the front door toward which Briar was marched.
The horses were taken by a stable boy who stared at her, eyes round.
The headquarters mostly saw Keepers, travelers who had drunk too much goblin ale or tried to steal from one of the shops.
The occasional witch whose familiar would not behave.
The rain turned to hail, and she knew what that meant. Ethan was near.
If the bloody, ragged tear in Oliver’s sleeve was not proof enough already.
She was not sure the headquarters had ever seen the likes of an Iron Crow. It might not yet. She threw more magic at the roses, at the trees shaking their leaves in sympathy over her head. Ethan was meant to go back to the ship and protect her sister, not come after her. He must know that.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Bear said quietly. He had been very courteous, if unyielding. “Bewitching the roses will not win you any friends, Miss Foxglove.”
She frowned, blinking water out of her eyelashes. “I am not feeling particularly friendly, Mr. Bear.”
He smiled briefly before leading her inside and showing her to a chair.
There were iron chains attached to the back wall and three cells with iron bars studded with black jet.
Jars of salt sat in every corner. Ropes of rowanberries hung from the ceiling, painted with white sigils against baneful magics.
Even the Order had to ascribe to the aesthetic in Haven.
“Lock her up,” Oliver fumed. “I’m bleeding.”
“She didn’t cut you,” Bear said, quiet dignity turned to stone. “What your sleeve tells me is that you need more training.”
Oliver’s brow lowered. His companion laughed. There were two more Keepers, one who seemed to be rummaging around making tea in the back kitchen, another who held a pendulum over a map of Lyonesse.
Searching for Petal. Briar would bet her gardens on it.
She perched on the chair, Snapdragon tucked safely away, and twisted her fingers together so no one would see them tremble.
She did not know what they planned to do with her but could not imagine it would be pleasant.
She knew no charms to help her against a Keeper’s spells, no tricks.
She began to feel quite sick to her stomach.
What if she told them where Petal was hidden while under a witch binding?
“Miss Foxglove,” Bear said, “I do apologize for the manner of your arrival.”
Briar swallowed. “I don’t know where my sister is.”
“Would you tell us if you did?”
She stayed silent.
“I thought not. In any case, this is not just about your sister’s whereabouts.”
“It isn’t?”
“This is also about the roses.”
She blinked. “The roses?” Was she here as a green witch? Did they know what she had found beneath the white roses?
“Yes. As a green witch, you must have noticed them.”
“It’s the summer solstice,” she hedged. “All of the flowers are plentiful. And the business with the shields has muddled the magic some.”
“Not like this. So now I am afraid we really do need that moon charm,” he said. “And we were given information that suggests you know more than you are letting on.”
By whom? Certainly not Ethan or Sorcha. Who, then? Someone who had seen her digging under the rosebushes? Unlikely. She was always digging in the dirt. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that.
Which left Charles Bloody Aster.
“Is this because of Charles?” Briar asked, incensed all over again. “He has a personal quarrel with my family and can hardly be trusted as impartial.”
“We take all evidence seriously,” one of the other Keepers said. “If you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to be afraid of, do you?”
“That has not been my experience,” she said calmly, though she did not feel calm.
The Keeper at the table strewn with maps and scatterings of salt dropped the brass pendulum with an irritated grunt. “It keeps pointing to the roses, and the Foxglove cottage. And just now to headquarters since Miss Foxglove arrived. But nothing else.”
Not the ship. Bless Bramble and her rabbit magic and the Sea Dragons. Briar could only hope her own magic was as strong.
“Search her,” Oliver said, hauling Briar up by her elbow. He shook her once as if expecting the moon charm to fall from her person.
“That is enough,” Bear snapped.
“Sir, she needs searching.”
“Not like that. We are not Crows. And I was assured you were a gentleman. Act like it, damn it.”
Oliver released her, but the look he gave her sent a shudder through her.
“Miss Foxglove, I do apologize for him,” Bear added. “Once again.”
Briar nodded silently.
“We must search you for the charm,” he continued. “I am sure you understand.”