Chapter Twenty-Five
Matthias met them behind the inn and they ducked into the fields, the long grasses and shadows keeping them hidden. All eyes, now that they could see again, were directed at the fire.
“Keepers already got their mates out,” Matthias told them, sounding harder than he looked.
Briar only nodded toward the path where it curved away, leading down the craggy steps toward Ethan’s ship.
The moon caught the metal of a cannon, the white of a rolled-up and secured sail.
His brow lowered as he followed her, hand hovering by his dagger.
Her head pounded and her throat was sore from screaming, but she couldn’t stop.
Not now. The Keepers would come for her again, as soon as they could.
The fire would not distract them forever.
The steps were uneven and not particularly safe to maneuver over in the dark, but they couldn’t very well use the village stairs, made of white marble and edged with columns.
Ethan stayed close and she felt the coiled tension in him, ready to reach out if she slipped or her hip gave out.
White roses choked the cliff, clinging tenaciously to sandy ground where they had no business thriving.
Their perfume rivaled the salt breezes. Petals scattered like stars underfoot.
The sand was warm and welcoming, the docks painted with sigils that had not been there before. Anais waited at the railing. “Captain,” she said.
“Any trouble?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, get ready. It’s coming.”
“He didn’t get to any real memories,” Briar said. “Nothing about the ship or the charm. Just flashes of the cottage, the fireflies I chased as a girl. Our cat before he ran away. They’re fuzzy now, as if they belong to someone else. Is that normal?”
“Truth spell from the Order,” Ethan explained tightly to Anais. She swore.
“Unsanctioned,” Briar pointed out. “Bear did not know.”
“Oliver and his friend will pay the price.”
She was too tired to talk him out of murder again.
She crossed the gangplank. The witch glass rang.
Magic swirled, so close to the locked shields, flashes of light, curls of mist that were not quite natural.
Eyes where there should be no eyes. She knew better than to look back.
She ducked her head and hurried down the stairs below deck where her sister waited.
Ethan was a grim, watchful shadow at her back. The crew melted out of her way.
Matthias had not exaggerated when he said the crew had taken to Petal.
She lay in a bower of white roses clearly picked from the nearby cliffside.
They were scattered over her blanket, caught in her hair, piled in the hall outside the room.
Briar felt some of them growing vines even without earth or water to sustain them.
Their magic called to hers, making her momentarily dizzy. Ethan’s hand pressed to her lower back.
Bramble stood when Briar kicked the roses out of her way. “Has it always been like this?” she asked.
“Always,” Briar replied. Sometimes people brought Petal candy or butterflies in jars—which Briar always released—pearls they stole, more poems than any one person should have to suffer, pressed-tin medallions in every style of heart, and once, memorably, a donkey.
And a pie filled with blueberries and pearls.
Which the donkey ate. But usually, it was flowers.
Petal, despite her name and her green witch sister, did not particularly care for flowers. She preferred lemons and solitude and rabbit girls.
Bramble’s nose twitched. “What is it? What happened to you?”
“The Order happened to her,” Ethan said, his voice odd. “And I will be happening to the Order.”
“They don’t know Petal is here,” Briar assured them both.
“This isn’t about Petal,” he bit out, sounding even angrier.
“It doesn’t matter,” Briar whispered as Ethan shut the door. “I know where the moonstone is and they do not.”
Anais stayed in the hall, barking orders. “Not one more fucking flower. I swear to God, I cannot sneeze anymore. There’s more pollen than seawater on this blasted ship. Get to your posts. Now.”
Hurrying footsteps echoed on the other side of the wall as Briar approached her sister. Please let me be right. She had been so sure before the Keepers came for her. “You searched her for the amulet?”
“Of course,” Bramble replied. “Her pockets, even her shoes. And my sisters sent rabbits to your garden but found nothing.”
Briar had already found that piece, she reckoned, under Lord Coventry’s nose.
But her sister did like to hide things.
“Check under her tongue.”
Bramble stared for a moment and then darted to Petal’s side. “I’m sorry, love,” she murmured before kneeling next to Petal in the roses and forcing her jaw open lightly. A pause. An inhalation.
And then the moonstone in Bramble’s palm.
Elation shot through Briar, quickly followed by panic. There were no guarantees that this would work. But Petal could not stay like this, and anyone who might know how to help her would probably turn her into the Order. And after tonight, Briar knew they were out of time.
She extended a hand toward Ethan without looking at him, waiting.
Pieces of the amulet dropped into her palm.
She took the moonstone from Bramble. It fit perfectly in the silver-and-pearl-studded cage.
A whisper of magic rustled the rose petals.
A kelpie’s eye filled the portal window, flashing a threat.
“Are you sure about this?” Ethan asked.
“No.”
And then Briar fit the pieces together over the moonstone.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Petal did not wake.
There was only the lap of the waves against the hull, Briar’s pulse in her ears.
The moon egg was just a piece of jewelry, pretty but ultimately insignificant, with no real power.
It could have been one of the rosebuds for all that the curse changed.
Until there was a tickle, a curl of glittering power.
And suddenly, a crashing boom that Briar felt more than heard. It slapped through the ether, shaking the lamps, shattering the witch glass on deck, shooting like silver daggers through the ocean. A kelpie screamed.
Briar might have screamed too, but there was no air left in her lungs.
The flash of white light blinded her, seared into her brain. Her skin prickled. The white roses around her feet seared to ash, smelling of salt and fennel and magic.
And then Petal opened her eyes, groggy.
“Why am I covered in flowers?” She sneezed once, daintily. “Did I die again?”
Briar did not know if she was laughing or crying.
Bramble had hauled Petal into her arms, kissing her fiercely. Petal kissed her back, her hare familiar bounding through the room like a shooting star, finally free. It was dizzying. Petal finally stood and reached for her sister. The hug was fierce and Briar was not sure who was holding who up.
Ethan did not say a word, merely leaned against the wall, coldly watchful.
The magic that had pushed through the sea returned, jostling them hard. Petal stumbled. “Are we on a ship?”
Briar nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you stole the bloody moon, you idiot.”
Petal winced. “Right. That.”
“Yes, that.”
“I stole the moon for my beloved.” Petal glanced at Bramble. “Is it done?”
Bramble inclined her head.
Petal grinned. “Absolutely worth it, then.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Ethan said icily. “Your sister was the one paying the price, not you.”
Petal stared at him. “Who is that?” she whispered.
“The Dragon,” Briar replied. “He kept you safe. He and his whole crew.”
“Thank you.” Petal smiled, the smile that had won her countless marriage proposals and an offer from a king. Her teeth were small and perfect, gleaming white. She did not have a slightly crooked incisor, like Briar did. Another little thorn. Her smile was a work of art.
Ethan did not look particularly impressed.
Petal smiled wider. “Oh, I like him.”
He only grunted.
“But what does he mean, you paid the price?” she demanded. “You were nowhere near me, and I didn’t tell you what I was doing for a reason.”
“Yes, about that…” Briar replied.
“You would have tried to stop me.”
“Or she might have been prepared,” Ethan snapped.
Petal frowned. “Prepared for what?”
Briar waved her hand. “Nothing. He’s exaggerating.”
“You are lucky not to be in a Keeper’s iron collar,” Ethan insisted. “That blighter reached into your fucking head.”
He wasn’t wrong. But he had come for her. He had burned down the headquarters of the Order. She promised herself an inappropriate little swoon about it later.
He scowled. “And they broke your teacups.”
Petal gaped. “What the hell? That museum curator came after you? Instead of me?”
“The spell he put on the amulet found me instead,” Briar said. “A twin thing, I imagine.”
Her sister cursed. “I’m sorry.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “And I am starving.” She winced in pain.
“You’ve been asleep for days,” Briar explained as Bramble handed Petal an apple from the basket of food.
Petal took a large bite. “I don’t remember anything except coming through the portal and feeling awful. I had to crawl home. If I hadn’t had your lemon candies for the solstice dawn ceremony, I don’t think I would have made it.”
“Are you the one who broke the moon charm?”
She tilted her head, trying to remember. “Yes! That curator followed me. He wasn’t supposed to be able to even see me. I had rabbit magic.”
“Lord Coventry, yes.”
She winced. “He’s a lord, too?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Am I going to have to smile at him?” She shuddered. “Or flirt?”
“No,” Ethan cut in. “Coventry is too dedicated to his work for that.”
She looked relieved as she finished the apple and ate a hunk of cheese, and three rolls sprinkled with dill, before she could manage another word. “Can we go up top? I think I might be dying for fresh air. It stinks of roses in here.”
She moved slowly and carefully, like someone only just recovered from a fever. Bramble hovered.
Briar smiled at Ethan. “We did it.”
“You did it.”