Wildflower

Chapter Twenty-Five #2

“Merit told Bash he heard your voice, and I couldn’t work out why you didn’t say anything.

Merit was sure he’d been hit by a piece of shrapnel too, yet the physicians couldn’t find any deep wounds.

Just a magically healed-over scratch on his leg, which very likely quickened his recovery.

He was soon back on his feet and even out in the yard training with Bash only three days after it all happened.

I spent hours going over and over it in my mind.

If you’d healed him, why didn’t you say so?

You’d already said you hadn’t been threatened to keep quiet, so, what happened? ”

I clutch my hands to my chest, fraught, as he continues.

“I realized while you were gone that I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about the flower.

It wasn’t from you. It was for you. You and Willoh were together that day.

That’s why you were acting so strange and secretive.

That’s why you ran to break up the fight and why he was so distraught in the dungeons.

It’s…It’s been him this whole time, hasn’t it? ”

His shoulders are a tense rope.

I don’t answer.

“Felicity, you lied to me.”

Lied?

No. I just…didn’t tell him the truth. Why should I have to?

I clamp my hands to my sides and stand up taller.

“He’s not who you think he is,” I say, and hearing me admit it hits Card like a hurricane. He wipes a hand through his hair and begins pacing.

“I don’t care. I’ll stand by Bash no matter what. You helped him escape from the dungeons, didn’t you? The guards didn’t notice the remains of dandelions on the stairs, but I did.”

“Yes.”

“How could you—?”

“How could I? Escaping was my best chance of survival! I’m alive today because of it! What about you? My mum said you didn’t even try to look for me! She heard nothing from you!”

He gasps. “Nothing? I wanted to ride out for you. I wanted to burn the whole forest down to save you! Bash’s mother ordered me to stay put.

I couldn’t even leave this room without a flock of guards watching my every move!

You think I wanted that? You think it was easy to be imprisoned in this castle not knowing if you would live another day? ”

“I think you chose Bash and his ridiculous, meaningless feud.”

“And you chose Willoh.”

Our eyes lock.

“Did Bash tell you?” I ask. “What happened at the oak tree?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And what? It was a stupid childish mistake.”

“It was Bastion’s mistake that Will took the fall for. See? That’s the truth.”

“You have no idea the amount of guilt he feels about that night—”

“And what has he done to make up for it? People are starving, Card.”

“He’s tried! But there’s so much royal protocol he has to abide by.”

“That’s a pathetic excuse. If he really wanted to do something, he should have found a way!”

Cardamine glares at me, exhaustion tearing at his seams. He’s disappointed.

Feeling burned like the charred wood in the fireplace.

We’ve never spoken to each other like this before.

But I’m done. I’m not wasting time arguing if the guards are out there looking for Will.

I spin around and march out into the carpeted, candlelit corridor.

The night outside presses against the windows as Card hurries after me.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Away from you,” I say, pacing fast.

He snaps at my heels. “If you’d have told me everything, then we never would’ve had any misunderstandings! You kept too many secrets from me.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault?” I bite back. “You think you’re entitled to every thought I have? I don’t owe you anything.”

“So you go running off with someone who’s endlessly tortured your best friend’s fiancé?”

“It’s not wrong to keep some things private. If you think that’s lying—”

Card snatches my elbow and spins me around. We face each other on the balcony overlooking the entrance hall.

“I just wanted you to stay in my life,” he says. “I wanted you to feel included every step of the way, so me being here, becoming royal, wouldn’t change anything.”

“No.” I throw his hand away. “There were no boundaries—though I admit that I was at fault for giving so much of myself to you that you always expected it. You were always calling on me and demanding my time, and the moment I finally took space for myself, you lashed out. Of course I kept Will a secret. He was the first person to ever make me feel truly seen. And if Bash hurts him again, I swear I will do my best to destroy this entire godsforsaken castle. And I am not exaggerating. I can’t. ”

Card stares at me like he’s never seen me before.

A blast of wind from the entrance hall soars through my ribs.

I know that wind.

Will saunters through the double doors, hands crackling with purple energy—the same magic I saw Morgana use in her chambers—and eyes a shadowy black from the potion she forced him to drink.

Dust and debris dance around his boots, swirling in an ever-growing whirlwind.

The magic feels off, tainted. Evil. But, gods, is it a relief he’s unharmed.

He reaches the center of the room and smirks.

It’s not the loving, teasing smirk that I adore.

It’s as sharp as a crevice in a stone. I race down the stairs, hearing Card follow behind.

“Will!” I call. “Stop!”

“I don’t take requests,” Will sneers, but it’s not his tone. It’s Morgana’s. Will is her puppet to control.

I advance toward him, each step a test of Morgana’s patience.

A blast of wind shoots my way, and I fling my arms over my face until it dissipates.

She can throw what she wants at me. I won’t give up.

I added the heather and dogwood. I know he’s in there.

I just need enough time to locate the flowers within him and activate the magic.

“Will, listen to me,” I plead.

I take another step. Card grabs the back of my coat.

“Fliss, don’t,” he says.

I shake him off. “I know you can hear me. Will, please. Fight this. Fight her.”

I try to sense the flowers in his system, searching for a way to pull their emotions to the surface, just like I do with the flowers in my shop.

It should be easy. Except, when I’m alone and it’s quiet, I can concentrate and take my time.

How can I focus when Morgana is using Will like this?

When her magic is infinitely more powerful than mine?

I catch the faintest brush of the heather’s protection and my magic scrambles to clutch it.

Will laughs, harsh and bitter. It’s so foreign, so out of place.

And like a breeze through open fingers, I lose my grip on the flower. No, come back!

“Ah, was it you I sensed earlier?” Morgana says through Will. “He was shielding me from something. How sweet. It serves you right for meddling!”

Will sends another gust of wind, and I decide to sprint for him. If I can get closer, get a hand on him, activating the flowers will be much easier.

Halfway there, a body slams into my side and my scar screams.

“Watch out,” Howell grunts as he cushions our fall. We skid across the stones to the sound of swords being drawn.

“Surround him!” Ava orders, positioning herself next to Card at the bottom of the stairs.

“Howell!” I wheeze, winded. He’s alive. Is Pigeon—?

Howell releases me, and I scramble to get my bearings.

Tarin is by the open doors, their sword raised in steady hands.

Howell and I are on the left, and on the opposite side, past Will, Godfrey takes a defensive stance, his face anguished.

To our right, Ava backs Card to the bottom of the stairs, her eyes fixed on Will in the middle of it all.

Howell helps me to my feet and holds out his arm to protect me from the magical cyclone picking up speed in the center of the room.

He’s changed into leather armor and bears fresh scrapes on his stubbled cheeks.

I almost laugh. Of course. Howell is unbeatable.

Could I ask him about Pigeon without arousing suspicion?

Before I can decide, the castle convulses as the purple crackles of power around Will’s hands grow stronger.

The guards’ sudden arrival hasn’t fazed Morgana.

“Come on, boy. Stop this nonsense,” Godfrey calls over the crescendo of wind.

“Howell, he’s possessed! It’s Morgana,” I say quickly. “I think I can stop it. Please, let me try. Let me get closer to him.”

His staid brown eyes search my face. He knows I only tell the truth, but he’s reluctant to let me walk into danger.

Howell is Alrick’s shield—the first one enemies see, the one who takes the hits and walks off the injuries, who remains steadfast and true so others don’t panic.

Who ties his own bandages. Who walks away from an explosion and survives a gushing river.

Now he’s faced with letting a young florist be the one in charge.

“Please.”

Howell rubs his jaw and surveys Will, then Ava. Decided, he says, “I’ve got your back,” and draws his sword.

I inch toward the gale, my hands shielding my eyes from the dust.

“Will!” I shout, and his head whips to me.

Like flooding a river, I throw all my concentration into finding the heather and dogwood inside him. Their emotions are wafts, somewhere downstream, but I’m determined to have them in my grasp.

“Fliss, get back!” Ava commands.

I keep pushing on. Keep closing in with my magic. Ten more steps from Will. Nine. Eight. Luck. Protection. I can feel the heather again!

There’s a twitch in those black eyes.

“Howell, get her out of there!” Ava shouts. “That’s an order!”

Howell remains at my back.

The ceiling groans.

The wall of wind between Will and me sparks with Morgana’s purple lightning. I reach my hand out and try to activate the hint of heather, not smoothly, thanks to Morgana’s potion. It’s like heaving myself through mud. I scream through gritted teeth and pull.

“Sneaky little—” Morgana growls through Will as she realizes what I’m doing. “Well, then.”

Will’s hands shoot up, and the hurricane follows his command. The blast splits the ceiling above us, and there’s a second—just one—where all the breath leaves my body.

Then, like bone grinding together, the ceiling cracks.

The stones above us crunch and start to fall.

I stare at Will in the center of the chaos and, with the fraction of time I’m granted, I yank at the flowers in the potion with all my strength.

The darkness in his eyes retreats before the first stone hits the floor.

He whips in my direction, flings out a hand, and it’s the last thing I see before Howell flattens me to the floor, his large torso enveloping me like armor.

The entrance hall rumbles as it collapses around us, and I curl inward as much as I can, throttled by terror. Shouts echo. Rocks slam against stone, bellowing booms that have me choking on a scream.

Howell’s body goes limp. His arm falls away. He rolls off me and all goes quiet, like a blanket tucking in the storm.

When I eventually lift my head, the world is muffled, the air as thick as chalk. Giant slabs of rock decorate the room, dust settling like powdered sugar. Above, the star-spotted night pours in. I inhale the ash and gag, trying to push to my elbows. My eyes fall to my right.

Howell’s lifeless body stares up at the holes in the ceiling, his stoic brown eyes glassy. Glassy and gone.

Dead.

I scream. I scream and it mangles my throat. Hurls me against the fallen chunks of ceiling. No. No. No—he—he survived the river—he was here—he was alive—he was fine—he trusted me—he saved me—

“Fliss.”

The word is quiet. Barely a whisper.

My heart shreds with relief.

Will sways where he stands, his connection to Morgana severed.

I claw over the rubble to him, bruising my knees and slicing my palms. I don’t care.

It doesn’t matter right now. He hangs his head, the waves of his ash-coated hair tickling his cheeks, and when I reach him, when we’re finally together again, he slumps forward like he’ll faint any moment. I catch him under his arms.

“I’ve got you,” I say, and hold him upright. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

I want to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t. His head sags onto my shoulder.

“What the…?”

Bastion appears at the top of the stairs. Lark is hot on his heels, with damp hair and dry clothes. He survived the river too. Pigeon must have as well. I can’t lose anyone else.

Bash sprints down two steps at a time, over the destruction to where Card lies, eyes closed, on his back by Ava. They’re next to a cluster of rocks. Next to. Near. Not under. Thank the gods.

Bastion tugs Card into his arms and slaps his cheeks.

“Babe. Babe, wake up. You’re okay.”

“Ugh…What happened? Bash?” Card mumbles then bolts up. “Ava?”

“I’m okay,” she says, flapping a hand but remaining on her side. “Catching…my breath.”

At the edge of the room, Godfrey groans as Tarin inspects the old man’s bleeding leg.

It’s oddly twisted, probably broken. Lark traverses the rubble to Howell’s body.

I can’t breathe as he checks Howell’s pulse.

He looks to the prince and gives the slightest shake of his head. Bash lets out a soft no.

The room hangs in silence.

The powdery air ripples.

All eyes fall to Will and me.

“It’s not his fault,” I say, loud and clear. No room for misinterpretation. The truth.

“Fliss, what are you doing?” Bash asks, his pitch rising as hysteria takes over. “He just killed Howell.”

I clutch Will protectively. They are not taking him. He mumbles something into my shoulder, and Bash’s shoulders rise.

“He’s done something to her! He must have!”

“It’s not his fault,” I repeat.

I can say it a thousand times. It won’t matter to them.

Right now, with emotions running high, the truth won’t make a difference.

There’s nothing I can say. The guards are broken, by both the fallen stones and their fallen comrade, but there’s a tension in their backs like they’ll come for us if commanded to.

Ava, Lark, any one of them would strike us down. Separate us.

“Hold on tight,” Will mutters, and his hands creep to my waist. There’s a brush of wind around my shins. He’s thinking the same thing. There’s nothing we can do right now.

I take one last look at Howell. Howell who saved me, who didn’t hesitate to shield me.

My face crumples.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Will exerts what little energy he has left to wrap us in wind and thrust us up through the holes in the ceiling, onto the roof he brought down. Toward the sky that Howell’s unseeing eyes stare up at, to where the gods will shake his hand, his service to Alrick over.