Chapter Twenty-Six
Briar did not want to go to Holdfast.
She wanted a nap. And a cup of tea. Willow-bark powder for her head. And a mountain of scones with butter.
But no. Instead, Holdfast with its rocky beaches and unforgiving witches and slippery cobblestones.
Still, Briar could not help a small flutter of relief. Ethan would not be sailing away before the sunrise. Which was rather beside the point. Village in peril, etcetera, etcetera.
She felt as though she were moving through treacle while everyone around her sped about like they were being shot from cannons.
Ethan barked orders to his crew, before disappearing briefly into his quarters.
Petal and Bramble held hands, whispering furiously.
Aidan stepped off the gangplank onto the beach.
Briar followed him because there was something odd about the roses.
The moonlight touched them the way it touched her, which was curious enough.
But they were growing too fast and strong, tangled like a thicket.
Bear was right to be concerned about them.
They were hungry. Ravenous. Magic glittered between the vines.
She watched for a long moment until Ethan appeared at the rails, scowling.
“I told you to wait for me,” he said grimly.
She could only see one extra sword strapped to his back, but she knew full well there would be dozens of daggers and magical curses stuffed in every pocket and pouch.
In his boots, even. He held a stick, which he handed to her when he’d crossed the sand. “This won’t snap like driftwood.”
The stick was actually a cane. He had whittled roses into sturdy blackthorn, sharpening some of the thorns into lethal points. It was beautiful, but more importantly, it was the exact right height for her and it was strong and deadly.
“Did you do this?” she asked, running her fingers over a petal and remembering the small, carved seals and mermaids and dragons in his quarters, the swan he had carved while sitting at her table.
“Aye.”
“Thank you.”
“You could bash a bloke’s kneecaps in with that,” he added. “Start with Oliver. Then Aster.”
Because the gesture threatened to make her eyes water, and one could not fight off Iron Crows while blubbering, she forced a smile. “You’re not expecting me to use it to prop myself up and wait for you to come rescue me if there’s trouble?”
“Woman, I expect you to do as much damage as you can.”
It was such a lovely thing to do, to say, that her swan purred in her ear. She had not even known swans could purr.
Petal crossed to them, linking her arm through Briar’s. “Are we ready?”
“You’re not coming,” Ethan said calmly.
“I am not leaving my sister,” Petal shot back. Her chest mottled pink with outrage. Even that was beautiful on her. Her hare shot out of her ribcage, snarling. “Choke on it, Iron Crow.”
Briar frowned. “Why can’t Petal come with us?”
Ethan merely extended his arm and poked Petal in the shoulder, not particularly hard. She stumbled back, equilibrium dodgy. Bramble shot to her side.
“You’ve been out cold for days,” he said. “You’ll slow us down.”
Petal opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. “Damn it. I would have a better argument if there weren’t two of you.” She rubbed her eyes.
“You can distract the Keepers,” Ethan suggested. “Let them see you just enough to keep their attention.”
Petal nodded. “I can do that.” She turned to Briar, squinting. “I think you’re getting brighter. And why do you keep frowning at those roses?”
“There’s something off about them.” Briar glanced at Aidan. “Is it a part of your tracking spell?”
“No, it isn’t.”
Still frowning, Briar climbed the rough-hewn steps to the top of the cliff, Ethan right behind her, followed by Petal and Bramble and Aidan. The moonlight glinted off the water, and the flowers, but mostly Briar. She shivered, feeling very exposed.
The roses glowed at her feet. The vines crept down the cliff, reaching the wet sand. They crept across the field leading toward Haven. They crept toward the moors.
They were everywhere.
They grew into sharp, thorned thickets, choking the grasses and the thistles even as she watched. Briar already knew they would stand against sword and dagger and witch’s boline. The smell of roses was thick with salt and fennel.
She tried every counterspell she could think of—she pushed salt into the roots, burned rose petals, sang a song about barren stone fields, winter ice. She tore at the vines until her fingers were slick with sweat and blood. Her swan attacked with its sharp beak.
None of it worked.
The spell would not answer to her. The magic had gone too wild, fed by too many other hands. She found a sparrow trapped in a tangle of thorns and carefully set him free, knuckles and fingertips scraped and cut.
“I don’t understand what’s happeni—Unless.” She sat back, still kneeling on the prickly ground. Ethan speared a vine when it tried to wrap around her ankle. The burn of green witch magic stung.
“Unless what?” Petal demanded.
“When we had to hide you from the Keepers that first night, I stashed you in the rosebushes. I asked them to grow so thick no one would ever find you.” Briar picked up a petal, and it made her witch knot tingle, magic racing through her palm.
She dropped it when it reminded her too much of the truth spell electrifying her brain.
“You had the moonstone on you then, only I didn’t know it.
I think the roses followed you here to find you for the tracking spell, but also to protect you for me.
And that must be why there were white roses where I found the amulet pieces, as well. It’s all tangled together.”
Aidan looked down toward Haven, grimly serious. “Your spell is going to take over all of Lyonesse in order to hide your sister.”
She could see it too. It would swallow all of Haven, trapping people in their homes, in the streets.
It would pierce skin and bone. Then it would travel to Hallow and Holdfast. It would strangle Ethan’s ship, bringing down the masts, stuffing the cannons with leaves and thorns and pale, moon-colored petals.
“Blast,” she said. “I never meant to do this!”
“This is not your fault,” Ethan said sharply. “There are too many damn spells at work here.”
She made a fist, the blood from her pricked thumb smearing onto a rose.
It paused.
Then it recoiled.
Paused again.
Briar let out a breath.
Ethan cursed. “If anyone mentions this, they die. Are you hearing me, Coventry?”
Aidan nodded. “You have my word.”
Briar was still staring at her blood on the petals.
Her blood could stop the roses.
She knew as well as anyone that if the information reached the Iron Crows or the Keepers or anyone on Lyonesse, they would drain her dry if that was what it took.
And she might not blame them. They were about to be strangled to death by white roses.
She stood up, using her new cane to steady herself, and looked at Ethan. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Petal said. “I have an idea.”
Bramble was the only one who did not shudder in fear.
When they were little, Briar and Petal had loved building scarecrows in the vegetable garden.
They wove willow twigs into knights and sorceresses and mighty queens, all draped with roses and daisies and wild mint.
Crowns of clover and dandelion were braided together; foxglove swords were crafted.
They protected the cabbages and the onions and the carrots and the crab apples in the orchard.
And when a particularly persistent suitor would not leave Petal alone, Briar made a poppet of him and stuffed it with rue and stinging nettle.
He had developed such a nasty rash that he left the island altogether to search for a cure in London.
No one had tried to touch her sister again for a very long time after that.
Tonight, Petal helped her make poppets of thorny roses, smeared with Briar’s blood to distribute throughout the village.
Ethan hissed out a warning, clearly displeased.
But if nothing else worked, Aidan could gather all of the villagers at the bonfires and make a protective circle with the poppets.
It should keep the roses at bay long enough for Briar and Ethan to reach Holdfast and help the Iron Witches put things to rights.
But Briar was not only the twin sister to a moon-charm thief or the most beautiful witch in Britain.
She was also a green witch.
She would not be undone by roses.
Her magic might not work on them, but her blood did.
So she would think practically, blood and bone and breath.
Roots and branches and blossoms. She would tend to it like a garden.
She would never let mint or lilacs take over, draining the soil of nutrients.
She would not plant roses near a walnut tree—they did not get along.
But she would plant marigolds to deter pests.
There were hundreds of secret conversations in every patch of flowers.
Sun, shade. Predator. Only instead of keeping out the predators, this time she would invite them in.
Ethan, another predator, already invited, watched her steadily. “What are you thinking, little thorn?”
“I need club moss,” she declared, already scrounging through the grasses and the stony outcrop for the thick green fingers of the plant.
“You heard her,” Ethan said, and everyone in earshot scrambled to obey.
“Oh, I love it when she does this.” Petal grinned, her hands already full.
This had been a favorite game when they were young.
When Briar whispered to plants, they listened.
Fillet of fenny snake became serpents; rabbit’s foot clover became rabbits; wolfsbane became a wolf. “Why club moss?” she asked.
“Because its witch name is Stag’s Horn,” Briar replied.
“And?” Petal pressed when the others just blinked at her.
“Stags eat roses,” Briar explained, placing her witch knot down over the small pile of club moss. “Deer can decimate a rose garden within hours. They eat everything, even the thorns.”