Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alice
His hands slid to my waist, but I felt the tremor in them. The kiss slowed. I pulled back and found his face pale, his breath uneven.
"You're still healing," I whispered.
He started to protest, but I pressed a finger to his lips. "Rest. I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't fight me. That alone told me how exhausted he was. I curled against him, his arm heavy around me, and listened to his breathing even out.
I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw harpies diving, talons reaching, arrows flying wide of their mark. When dawn finally came, I slipped out without waking him.
Now, following Archer through the pale morning mist, I couldn't shake the feeling that today I'd prove everyone wrong—and not in the way they hoped.
I wished Darius was with me. His presence always made me feel more confident. Braver. But he was still recovering from the poison. I’d stopped it from killing him, but not before it had done its damage. Doc said he’d be better in a couple of days.
A couple of days felt like an eternity to wait.
Archer pointed up. No words—just the gesture. Right. Climbing a tree made sense. Higher ground meant a better view of the queen’s soldiers. Or harpies.
I followed him up, branch by branch, trying not to think about what came next. Spotting enemies was one thing. But what happened after that?
I had absolutely no training with the bow. Just a couple of shots in the cavern. I'd assumed there would be more—days of practice, at least—before anyone expected me to use it for real.
I’d never killed anyone. The thought alone made my stomach lurch. The wanderbread I’d eaten for breakfast churned, threatening to come back up.
Please don’t throw up. Please don’t give away our position by vomiting off a branch.
Archer stopped midway up the tree where the branches were thickest, the leaves forming a canopy around us. I settled onto a branch beside him, my fingers gripping the rough bark.
From here, I could see everything. The forest stretched out below, dappled in morning light, deceptively peaceful. Birds called to each other in the distance. A breeze stirred the leaves.
It didn’t feel like a war zone. But I knew better.
Archer caught my attention with a soft tap on my arm. He pointed up toward the sky—watch for harpies—then down toward a dirt path that wound through the trees below. His hand mimicked walking, then made a slashing motion across his throat.
The queen’s men. That was their route to and from the castle.
I nodded, my mouth dry. So we sat. And we watched.
Grump had told us not to shoot unless it was absolutely necessary—such as the enemy discovering Nowhere Grotto. More patrols had been sweeping through the forest lately, searching for our hideout.
No one had said anything, but I suspected I was the reason.
Ever since Ari saw me stop time, I felt like I had a big target on my back. Word had to have gotten back to the queen by now. A witch who could freeze the world mid-heartbeat? She’d want that power for herself.
I had a feeling she’d try to use me as a weapon—just like she’d tried with Joy and her shadows. I had to find a way to freeze time and help all of us escape before we fell into her clutches.
But if I couldn’t? If she caught me?
Stopping time would be deadly in the wrong hands. If the queen caught me, I’d rather be dead than be her weapon.
Hours crept by. Nothing stirred below except biting insects that found every inch of exposed skin. The sunlight wasn’t my friend either—it seemed to take pleasure in making me sweat, my eyes watering against the relentless brightness.
I was starting to think today would be uneventful and I wouldn't have to be put to the test. Relief and disappointment warred in my chest. Failing would be awful—but so would never getting the chance to prove myself.
Then something rustled behind me.
I turned. Archer already had an arrow nocked, his body coiled tight, eyes fixed on something above us. He didn’t hesitate. The string sang and the arrow sailed upward, vanishing into the canopy.
A shriek split the air—high and furious and almost human.
CrapCrapCrapCrap
I froze, my grip tightening on the bow. What the hell was that?
Then something crashed through the leaves and branches, snapping limbs as it fell, black wings flailing.
Oh shit.
A harpy.
She lay on the forest floor, her black wings crumpled beneath her, one bent at a wrong angle. Blood poured from her side where Archer’s arrow had found its mark. Even from up here, I could hear her—a low, keening whimper that drifted through the branches.
Not a battle cry. Not a threat.
Just pain.
My heart clenched. Someone—or something—was in trouble.
I was already moving, scrambling down the tree, bark scraping my palms. Archer grabbed my arm, his eyes sharp with warning.
I shook him off. “She’s dying.”
He hesitated, jaw tight, then followed me down.
My boots hit the ground, and I ran to her. Up close, she was younger than I’d expected. Her long black hair—glossy and beautiful even tangled with leaves and blood—fanned out across the dirt. Pale skin stretched over sharp cheekbones. Her eyes—wide and terrified—tracked my every movement.
She wasn’t snarling. She wasn’t lunging.
She was afraid.
I knew that look. I'd worn it my whole life. Every instinct told me to help her, not hurt her.
Something glinted at her throat—a thin band of blackened metal, almost hidden beneath her hair. I crouched lower, my stomach clenching.
I held out my hand, not quite touching her.
Magic, dark and oily, slithered against my senses like something rotting. It coiled around the collar, pulsing with a sickly energy that made my skin crawl.
This wasn’t loyalty. This wasn’t service.
The harpy was a prisoner.
My blood boiled. I knew what it felt like to be trapped, to be used. And the queen had done this to this poor creature.
“Oh god,” I breathed. “She’s not serving the queen. She’s enslaved.”
I thought of Keir’s harpies—the way they’d looked at Nyx with something close to devotion. They’d chosen to serve. Chosen to be loyal. And in return, they’d been treated with respect.
This wasn't that. This was cruelty. And I couldn't walk away from it.
What would happen if we had a harpy loyal to us?
It was a long shot. Impossible probably. But impossible was supposed to be my specialty now, wasn’t it?
I had to try.
Archer appeared beside me, his boots silent on the forest floor. Before I could speak, he had another arrow nocked, the string drawn back, his aim steady on the wounded harpy.
“No!” The word tore from my throat.
He released.
Stop.
Heat swirled around my wrist—sharp and immediate. The medallion on my bracelet burned against my skin, and when I glanced down, something new was etching itself into the gold. A thin line, curving around the face of the medallion.
Like the second hand on a clock.
The arrow hung frozen in the air, inches from the harpy’s throat.
I didn't wait to marvel at it. I ran, closing the distance between us, my boots pounding against the dirt, my heart slamming against my ribs. A glance over my shoulder showed Archer fighting to follow—his movements sluggish, pushing against the edges of the frozen world.
The harpy saw me coming. She let out a weak cry and tried to skid away, her talons scraping the ground. But she barely moved an inch. Too weak. Too broken.
I dropped to my knees beside her.
Angry red lashes crisscrossed her skin—some fresh, some scarred over, layered on top of each other like a map of endless cruelty. Dried blood. Open wounds. Evidence of torture that had gone on for far longer than I wanted to imagine.
My stomach heaved. My eyes burned.
The queen had broken her.
I seized the arrow and hurled it away from the harpy’s throat. My hands were shaking. My breath came in ragged gasps.
Archer grabbed me by the arm—his grip like iron—and dragged me backward.
“No!” I twisted against him. “Let me go!”
He didn’t even slow down. His face was set, determined, as he hauled me toward the path back to Nowhere Grotto. To safety. Away from her.
I dug my heels into the dirt, but he was stronger. The harpy’s whimpers grew fainter behind us.
I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t let her die alone, tortured and enslaved, without anyone ever knowing the truth. Without anyone ever trying to help her.
“I’m sorry, Archer.”
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t—he’d taken a vow of silence, but even if he could speak, I didn’t think I could explain. I just knew I had to do this.
I raised my palm.
Heat radiated through me, spiraling down my arm toward my bracelet. The medallion flared hot against my skin, and I watched as another etching burned into the gold.
A minute hand.
Archer froze mid-step, his fingers still locked around my arm—but motionless now. A statue. I wiggled free, my heart pounding, guilt already clawing at my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again. “I’ll explain later.”
I raced back to the harpy.
She had curled into a ball, her wings wrapped around herself like a shroud. Waiting to die. A low, broken keen escaped her throat—not a cry for help. A goodbye.
Then I saw the collar.
The metal collar had turned pitch black, darker than before, and spikes—spikes—were jutting inward, piercing her throat. Blood dripped down her chest in thin rivulets, soaking into the dirt beneath her.
The queen was calling her soldier home. And if the harpy couldn’t fly, she’d die instead.
“No, no, no—” I dropped to my knees beside her. “Stay with me. Please.”
Her eyes found mine. Glassy. Fading. But somewhere beneath the pain, I saw it—a flicker of confusion. Why was I helping her? Why did I care?
I didn’t have time to explain.
Think. Think. Think.
I could stop time. I’d proven that. But stopping the dark magic wasn’t enough—the damage was already done. The spikes were already buried in her flesh. The blood was already draining from her body.
I needed to do something else. Something more.
What’s the impossible?
Caterpillar’s words echoed in my mind. Perhaps... you can stop death.
What if stopping wasn’t enough?
What if I could reverse it?
My hands trembled as I pressed them against the collar. The dark magic recoiled against my palms—slick and venomous—but I held on.
Believe in the impossible. Six impossible things before breakfast.
I closed my eyes.
Turn back.
Power surged through me—hot and blinding—but the dark magic didn’t surrender. It pushed back, coiling around my fingers like living shadow, slithering up toward my bracelet as if trying to sever the connection.
You don’t belong here, it seemed to hiss. This one is mine.
Pain pulsed up my arm. Sharp. Burning. Like fire ants crawling beneath my skin, biting deeper with every heartbeat.
I gritted my teeth and held on.
We needed this harpy. I knew it deep in my bones, in a way I couldn’t explain. She was the key to something—maybe the battle, maybe more. I wasn’t letting her go.
I drew on every ounce of magic I possessed and pushed.
My arm shook. The pain turned to agony—white-hot, blinding—and I heard myself cry out. But I didn’t let go.
Reverse. You have no power here. Time’s up.
The medallion on my bracelet blazed against my skin.
Footsteps pounded toward us. Leaves crashed and branches snapped. Voices shouted my name.
I stayed focused on the harpy.
Don’t pull away. Don’t stop. Do the impossible.
The collar shuddered. Black smoke rose from the metal, thick and oily, reeking of something ancient and rotted. It twisted in the air, gathering, forming—
A hand.
Skeletal fingers made of shadow and malice.
It lunged at me before I could react, wrapping around my throat with a grip like ice. My breath seized. My vision flickered. Black dots swarmed at the edges, multiplying, swallowing the light.
The queen’s magic. Fighting back. Refusing to let go of what belonged to her.
“Alice, no!”
Darius. His voice—raw with terror—cut through the darkness. But he was too far. Too late.
My body convulsed. The world tilted. I felt myself falling.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.
I looked up into silver eyes wild with fear. Darius’ face swam above me, his mouth moving, but the words were distant. Muffled. Like I was underwater.
I reached up with a trembling hand and touched his cheek.
“Don’t kill the harpy,” I whispered. Each word cost me everything I had left. “We need her.”
His arms tightened around me. He was saying something—pleading, maybe, or cursing—but I couldn’t hold on long enough to hear it.
I stopped fighting. And the void took me.