Chapter Eighteen #2
Will takes a moment to digest the situation. The sight of me. The way I’m barely able to keep my eyes open. The puddle of blood forming at my knees. He nods.
“There’s too much iron—I can’t use magic from inside the cell,” he says, with a clearer head. He kneels before me and undoes the clasp of a red earring like the one I saw him use in the memory. “But you can. Take this. All you need to do is activate the spell inside the gemstone.”
I lean my forehead against the bars to steady myself and pinch the crimson gem with shaking fingers.
It has a hum, an energy to it, but not one I resonate with.
I’m not a sorcerer. I don’t know how to use this kind of magic.
I wheeze through my dizziness. The dark spots in my eyes want to pull me under, want to return me to that cold, dark oblivion.
“Fliss, you can do this,” Will says, and reaches through the bars to take my jaw. He pushes my hair back and holds my face in warm hands. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Stay with me now.”
He takes my hand with the earring in and interlocks our fingers, the gem a spike between our palms.
“Imagine it’s the seed of a flower,” he urges. “It wants to grow. It wants to open. All you have to do is give it permission. Make it bloom, Fliss.”
I close my eyes and focus on the magic in my hand.
It’s not alive like a flower, not speaking to me like a flower.
But it is of the earth, and there’s a vitality to it that feels similar.
Familiar. It has the same punch that Will’s sorcery has, like the summoning spell he taught me.
And it’s his. It’s his magic. Under the hard surface, it’s bold and curious and longing to be useful. To be opened up and loved.
I squeeze our hands and try. The magic is there, I’m just—I’m just—
“I’m so tired.”
His free hand pulls my chin up, his fingers digging in to keep me awake.
“Don’t you dare,” Will says fiercely. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
I flutter open my eyes briefly. The world is swimming. Chamomile and the remains of the dandelions that I drained drift in the air.
“Fliss, stay with me. Fliss, please.”
He’s pleading now. Desperate. Terrified.
Will swears and pulls my forehead to his against the bars.
“Okay. Fuck. Let me try and help. Be brave, Fliss. Stay with me. Please.”
He grips me like it’s the last chance we have.
It is the last chance we have. He grits his teeth, suppressing a shout, and there’s a strike of magic in my veins, pulsing like the stinging of a nettle.
It soars down my limbs, down my spine, up and into our linked palms containing the earring.
Will hisses in agony and the earring cracks in two.
A flash of heat ruptures. The bars separating us dissolve like the burning of a match, and I’m thrown back against the dungeon walls.
The iron curls upward, leaving a door-size hole and Will behind it, who wipes away a stream of blood from his nose.
“Huh,” he says, like he’s nothing more than curious. “That was stupid of me.”
His eyes roll back and he slumps, motionless. Lifeless.
My heart stops.
No. No. No. Will. No. All this. I’ve come all this way. We tried so hard. Don’t. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone here.
“Will,” I cry, crawling toward the hole in the bars, heaving myself on. My chest is a heavy stone. I’ll get to him even if every second is a roar of agony. Even if it takes everything. I’m not leaving him.
“Will.”
The flood has broken me and I’m bawling, gasping through tears. Please. I don’t want to die. I don’t want him to die. Please.
Will’s limp hand twitches. He pushes himself up on his elbow and chokes on a cough.
Blood splatters on the stone floor as I wail in relief.
The sight of him breathing, moving—I’d trade anything for it.
He ignores his injuries and throws himself through the gap, wrapping himself around me immediately.
I whimper, too exhausted to cry anymore.
Too relieved to say a word. His chest is pounding. Alive.
“I’ve got you. You’re not dying on me today,” he rasps, and picks me up like he did the day he carried me into the cottage. In his arms, I reach up and use my thumb to smudge the blood flowing out of his ear.
“Will, you’re bleeding a lot,” I mumble.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, and smiles down at me, attempting a glimmer of his usual self. “Don’t worry.”
I’m a frayed floss of cotton, unable to speak or think or move, so I bury myself into his chest. He can do it. He can get us home.
We get as far as the nearest side entrance when the emergency horn destroys the quiet. Will startles and grips me tight as the clockwork of the castle churns to life—the distant echoing of the emergency bell, shouts from rallying guards, that metal grinding on metal.
There’s a waft of magic that sputters out and Will’s voice strains. “Stay awake, Fliss. Just a little longer.”
The cool night air is a welcome gift as he sprints, not toward the castle courtyard, but straight for the surrounding wall.
“Halt!” It’s Ava.
Will keeps running. He summons a breeze. It fades away. It dies like snow on a fire.
“Fuck.”
A few feet from the stone wall, Will whips around and faces the handful of guards who’ve caught up to us. They stand in a curved formation, blocking any escape.
“Evening,” he greets them.
I wonder what they see. A boy, the ends of his brown curls matted with blood and terror beating in his chest? The trembling in the hands that carry me?
Or someone to be hunted? Feared?
“Put Fliss down right now,” Ava orders. There’s the sound of a sword being drawn.
“Come now, Captain. That wouldn’t be sensible,” Will teases, but I can hear the edge to his voice. He’s almost as starved and spent as I am.
Bastion runs free of the line of guards in an oversized coat, just like the night in Will’s memory.
In his hurry, the prince must have forgotten his sword.
Regardless, Will takes a step back. His heart hammers against my ear and the wind starts to weave itself around us like Gill between our feet, building slowly while Will recuperates his strength.
“How the fuck did you get out?” Bastion seethes.
“You forget that I’m incredibly talented.”
“Let Fliss go.”
“Oh, her?” Will says, like he hadn’t even noticed he was holding me. He uses the moment to adjust his grip and lift me a little higher, stalling for more time. “Huh.”
“This isn’t a game, Will. She might die!”
“I know that,” Will says, his inflection suddenly sharp. “Don’t be an idiot. What do you think I’m doing? Do you want more death on your hands?”
Bash, interestingly, isn’t spurred to anger. Through heavy lids, I watch the realization dawn on him. He knows where Will plans to take me and knows Ruth might be my best chance.
The prince holds a hand out to still the guards.
“Your Highness—” Ava starts, but Bash shakes his head, eyes locked tight with Will’s. I can almost hear his threat. He’s trusting Will to save me. And there’ll be consequences if he fails.
“Lower your swords.”
“But, sir—”
“Do what I said.”
A splash of blood—mine or Will’s, I don’t know—hits the earth. A groan escapes me. Hurry.
“I’d love to stay and chat,” Will says, more pep in his tone now. The magic around us whirls to life. “But as you can see, I’ve got my hands full.”
Will leaps up and a gust catches us in gentle arms. We make it to the top of the wall just as Card sprints out the side door, his hair a mess and his eyes hollow.
“Fliss!” he yells. “No! FLISS!”
Bastion grabs him around the waist. Card fights and scrambles and pushes, grappling against Bash’s arms, and it’s the last thing I see before my eyes fall closed.
“Still with me?” Will asks, jumping off the other side of the wall and making for the northern forest. He runs through the air with the wind supporting every step.
“I’m with you,” I whisper.
“Stay with me.”
“I will.”