Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(53)

But then he starts to cough. He closes his eyes, fighting against it, as darkness spreads across his throat.

Light glows from my hand, drawn out by the surge of shadows within him. I put my fingers over his heart and try to focus. The blackened tendrils start to shimmer, just like the lakeshore did earlier today at the ritual. I think of a garden, my father with his hands in the dirt as he turned stems to flowers. His magic is my magic. Petals and seeds, leaves and pollen.

My power is a thread, tied to Rowan. What I have is only a single flower, the smallest candle flame. I wish so terribly that I were strong enough to mend him entirely. All I can do is picture my magic unspun inside him, a brief flare of warmth against the cold, poisoned darkness.

Slowly, the Corruption fades back to pale shadows.

“Thank you.” He holds my hand tightly for a moment, then moves aside to make space on the chaise. “Sit down with me. I’ll tell you how it happened.”

I glance at his makeshift bed, which is ridiculously neat, the linen sheets crisp and freshly ironed. But his hair is tangled, and there are creases on his face from where he’s lain against the pillow. He’s more undone than I’ve ever seen him.

I sit down next to him, close but not quite touching. I can feel the warmth, left behind from while he slept.

He stares pensively out into the room. “When I turned thirteen, my parents threw an enormous party. All their friends from other estates, from as far as Anglria, brought their children. I danced all night, trying to work up the courage to kiss Linden Hawke before he went home.”

I give him a little shove. “Who knew you had such a wild youth?”

He laughs softly, embarrassed. “Elan told me I had to choose whoever had the prettiest brother, then we’d all live together in a tree house in the garden.”

“That might have been a little chilly in winter.”

They’re bittersweet, these memories. Rowan and I exchange a small smile, and he continues.

“We made ourselves sick drinking spiced wine. Elan stole my cake from the kitchen table. We ate half of it together. Florence was furious, but Mother just laughed. She iced it again and told everyone it was supposed to be shaped like a moon.”

Arien and I never celebrate our birthdays; we don’t even know when they are. Each new year as the world turns, we just add another year of our own. When Rowan danced and Elan plotted their future house among the trees, I was eleven. I scrubbed floors and chopped kindling. I made up stories and sat, watchful, beside Arien in the dark.

I picture Rowan surrounded by his family. Loved and happy. I can see it so clearly: the now-empty house full of light and voices, lanterns strung along the drive, candles that shimmer over a crescent of freshly iced cake.

I know how it ended, but still, it fills me with a cold flare of envy. “It sounds wonderful.”

His smile fades. “At the end of the night, my father put his arm around my shoulders. He told me I was a man now. And then…” Rowan presses his hands to his mouth for a moment. When he goes on, his voice is muffled inside his palms. “The whole room went dark, like someone had blown out all the lights. The Lord Under, he came back for me. You’ve had your childhood, he said, the rest of your life is mine. That was his anything. He let me live; then he returned to claim me. It was the only other time I’ve seen him, aside from when I was saved. And that first time, he was kind. But this time…”

Rowan’s fingers clench over the space he can’t fill with words. But I’ve seen that same darkness. This will hurt. The Lord Under can be kind, but he can also be so terribly cruel. I shiver and pull the quilts higher around me.

“He meant to take me to the world Below, but I … I refused.” His eyes shutter closed, and he shakes his head. He’s not frightened by this memory, I realize. He’s ashamed. “I don’t know what I expected. Maybe that he would argue, that he would ask me to bargain again. But he only laughed. Then he went away.”

Rowan tries to steady his words. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? The whole story. The truth. I could stop him now. Put out my hand and whisper enough. But I have to hear him tell it. I’m terrible and greedy and afraid. I need to know what happened to him.

“My father was dead the next morning.” He looks at me for a heartbeat, then turns away, going on quickly, like he’s afraid if he stops, he won’t be able to speak again. “They found him in the water. All of the guests left, terrified. That’s when the rumors started about the estate. How something dark had come into the house, and then my father had drowned in the cursed, black lake. Only I knew it was my fault. The Lord Under took my father’s life because I refused to give up mine.”

“Oh, Rowan.” I shift closer to him. He goes still at my touch but doesn’t move to widen the distance between us. “You didn’t tell anyone?”

“No. My mother, after it all happened, she was changed. It was like she didn’t know who she was without my father. How could I tell her that he was dead because of me? And so I tried to forget.”

I think of how I kept my own secrets locked up so tightly. How I’d tried so desperately to pretend that Arien’s dark magic was only dreams, because it was easier than facing the truth. “I understand.”

“I was the lord now. I had to do all the things my father once did. I went to the village. I collected the tithe. I made observance at the altar you saw.” He sighs heavily. “I didn’t know the Lord Under would come back, but then my mother heard a voice at night, in her room.”